Disclaimer: the monster fighting magician says no.
A/N: Howdy. Haha, I see you weren't too fond of the one shot the other night-- oh well... I was bored in GP, and that's what came out. Tonight's one is a story that I wrote quite a while ago, and is a WeeChester story. I've said it many times-- I love to write with John, and also the relationship he had with Dean. And I guess now is also an ok time to mention something-- the person that gives me my 300th review... haha... gets something special. Though I don't think it'll happen this one shot, but keep it in mind. Enjoy!
Title: I'll Be There For You
Genre: Angsty!
Summary: Fights and arguments are happening to all the Winchesters, but it isn't until nine year old Sammy goes missing at past midnight that they realize what really matters.
I'll Be There For You
"I don't have to listen to you John," immediately after Dean let the words leave his mouth, he knew he was in for it.
"You know what Dean," John's voice was surprisingly calm, "You just turned fourteen years old. If you think you know better than me, you can leave, and take care of yourself."
Dean stared a moment at his father. The two rarely had arguments-- at least not like his Dad and Sammy did. His little brother, from the time he was five, wanted to be independent, and do his own thing. When John got wind of this 'phase', he'd put up an argument that'd keep the neighbours up at night-- the two would butt heads, yell, and once Sammy even threw a glass plate against the wall. With Dean, however, John argued differently. His words were quiet, and definite, leaving little room for Dean to argue back.
"Dad," Dean's voice matched his fathers, "I just want to go see a movie with my friends."
"And I said I need you to stay here," John explained, "Sammy will be home either tonight or tomorrow morning, and I have to go away until Monday morning-- that's two days."
Dean rolled his eyes at his Dad's dumbing down, "Dad, Sammy is nine years old; almost ten. I'm pretty sure he'll be ok on his own if he comes back tonight. I just--"
"No." John stated, and walked out of the room, ending the conversation.
Dean sighed loudly and aggravated as he walked into his own room, making a point of slamming his door loudly. He hated his Dad at that moment-- truly hated him. The young teenager's feet paced back and forth across the gross yellow carpet as he breathed deep, willing the tears not to come.
"He never lets me do anything," Dean fumed to himself, "All I ever do is watch Sammy, get ready to watch Sammy, or do some stupid thing for Dad's hunt. He doesn't even let me hunt! Ok, once he did-- but all it was, was a fricken spirit on some random farm."
Dean's face began to turn red, and he felt a painful lump form in his throat. It hurt both inside and out, and Dean's anger towards his Dad intensified.
"Dad!" Dean shouted out, stepping out of his room, "Dad!!"
John walked out and met Dean in the hallway.
"What?" John's face reflected that of anger, and Dean knew that this conversation wasn't going to go well.
"Take me with you," Dean's question came as a statement that surprised even himself.
"What?" it apparently surprised John as well.
"Take me with you!" Dean repeated louder, "I deserve to go too! You always talk about this thing that killed Mom, and how we have to kill all the evil things in the world, and you never let me help you at all."
"Dean, I don't have time for this--" John started.
"Mom would have had time!" Dean shot out the words without even thinking.
John swallowed hard, "Well your Mom's not here right now, and if you had any respect, Dean Jonathan Winchester, you would keep your mouth shut, and do your job."
Only three times in his life could Dean remember his middle name being used. Once was a sweet memory; his Mom. He was four, and asked what his middle name was-- curious as Sammy had just come into the world with one. His Mom explained that it was Jonathan; after his Daddy. The other two memories were worse… much worse. When Dean was nine, he found one of John's guns and was showing it to five year old Sammy-- it seemed like an instant that his name was screamed and he was sitting in his room with a red bottom. The other time was when Dean was twelve, and he had tried to help during a hunt by climbing onto the roof a large house to set a trap. John wasn't too happy about that one.
This time was different though. John hadn't yelled-- he didn't even raise his voice. And it was that that scared Dean more than he cared to admit.
"No Dad," Dean shook his head, "No Dad, you can't do that to me anymore. You can't intimidate me-- I'm an adult now."
"You're fourteen!" John barked out, "When you start acting like an adult, I will start treating you like one."
"I do!" was all Dean could think to retort, his hands going to his hips.
"Dean," John closed his eyes, "I don't have time for this," he repeated, and walked out into the living room where a large duffle bag was sitting, "I have to leave-- we can discuss this more when I get back."
"Maybe I won't be here when you get back!" Dean yelled out desperately as John opened up the front door, "Maybe I'll go back to Kansas!"
"Dean, please!" John was really getting angry now, "Just grow up!"
At that the elder Winchester slammed the door shut, and Dean was left standing alone in the run down, rented house. His heart pounding in his chest, he replayed, by far, the worst argument he'd ever had with his Dad. And why-- because Dean couldn't go to a stupid movie. It seemed like hours the older Winchester child stared at the shut door, thought realistically it was merely five minutes. He would have looked longer if it hadn't been for the ringing of the phone, causing him to jump.
"What time is it?" Dean frowned glancing at the clock; a quarter to midnight, Dean picked up the phone, "Hello?"
"Is this John Winchester?" the voice sounded urgent and was that of a female.
"No," Dean shook his head despite being on the phone, "This is Dean, his son. My Dad is gone for the weekend."
"Oh Dean," the voice still hadn't lost it's urgency, "This is Mrs. Ash."
"Hi Mrs. Ash," Dean felt a cold feeling fill the pit of his stomach; Mrs. Ash was Jackie's Mom-- the friend who Sam was staying with until the next morning, "What's going on?"
"Dean, Sammy left," Mrs. Ash's voice shook slightly.
"What?!" Dean cried out, his mind flashing the long distance it was to Jackie's place, "What do you mean?"
"Jackie told me a few minutes ago that around an hour ago Sammy and him got into a fight," Mrs. Ash explained quickly, "And then Sammy said he was going home, and left."
"He doesn't know the way!" Dean panicked, "It's nearly four miles, and it's almost midnight."
"I know. I'm going to take my car out right away-- if you can get a hold of your Dad to look, that would be great," Mrs. Ash spoke.
"Ok," Dean breathed, "Ok-- please look."
Without even waiting for a reply, Dean hung up and ran into his room. His heart was pounding like he couldn't remember it ever doing before, and his eyes scanned the room. His brain refused to work, and Dean found himself having to close his eyes and take a deep breath to calm down.
"Maybe Sammy is ok, and is just walking here," Dean whispered to himself, "He has to be ok."
His brain decided to work then, and he lunged towards his dresser, throwing open the top drawer. Grabbing a flashlight, and then his jacket sitting on the bed, Dean raced into the living room. He was about to leave out the door when he saw the phone sitting on the small end table.
"Dad," Dean swallowed.
He knew John carried his cell phone when he went out on a hunt-- in case of emergencies. And despite the anger that still boiled inside of him, he knew his Dad needed to know about this. He needed his help.
Dean dialled the numbers that he'd had memorized since his Dad bought the phone.
John answered after two short rings, "Dean, what's wrong?"
"D-Dad," Dean was startled by his shaking voice, "h-he… Sammy-- Dad, he--"
"Dean, take a deep breath." John ordered.
Dean did so before speaking again, "Dad, Sammy is missing."
"What?" John's voice heightened in worry, "What do you mean he's missing? Sammy is at his friend Jackie's for the night."
"No," the phone shook in Dean's hand, "Mrs. Ash just called me: Sammy and Jackie had a fight about an hour ago, and Sammy just left. Dad, I'm going to go look for him."
"Dean, n--" John stopped, "Alright Dean, go. Just leave a note in case Sammy comes back. I'll take the car and circle around the root."
"Ok, thanks Dad," Dean smiled to himself, "Mrs. Ash is also going to go out and look."
"Be back by one thirty at the house," John's calm voice reassured Dean, "I'll meet you there then."
"Ok Sir," Dean tried to mimic his Dad's calmness, "Bye."
"Be careful Dean," John warned, "And don't worry-- everything will be ok."
A small click on the other end let Dean know to hang up the phone. His body worked in fast forward after that as he grabbed his watch off the couch and wrote a quick note on a piece of paper: 'Sammy, if you get back before me or Dad, just wait-- please.'. After that Dean pasted it to the door with a large piece of tape and left; flashlight in hand.
"Sammy!!" Dean hadn't even gotten a block before he started calling out his baby brothers name, "Sammy!"
Dean found himself running down the block, his flashlight shooting everywhere. His chest hurt, but he refused to stop; hoping that each time he yelled out his brothers name, he'd hear a reply. By the time he reached the park halfway to Jackie's, he would have settled with the sarcastic responses that Sammy was getting into lately.
"I'm fine Dean, why do you have to be such a baby?"
A small smile touched Dean's lips at the reply that Sammy would no doubt give if he knew that Dean was running down the street at past midnight looking for him. By the time Dean got to Jackie's house, however, Dean was starting to get angry.
"Damn it Sammy!" Dean's voice broke as he yelled out, "Why the hell did you do this!?"
The porch light was on at Jackie's, and Dean ran up them two at a time. Similar to their place, Dean found a note on the door.
'Sammy-- we've gone out looking for you. Please go inside, and call me at 572-0119, and don't go anywhere. -Mrs. Ash'
With little hope inside, Dean banged on the door, praying that Sam's sheepish face would appear. It didn't, and feeling the warm tears come back down his face, Dean headed back down the steps, and back down the block. His pace was slower now, as a stitch had formed painfully in his side, though he still called loudly, shinning the flashlight into yards.
"Sammy!" Dean's voice was raw and hoarse, "Sammy, please answer me!"
There was no answer, and Dean felt the familiar sinking feeling form in his stomach. He glanced at his watch: 12:48. He'd have to hurry to get back to their place on time, though his legs refused to work properly.
"Maybe Dad found him," Dean told himself, "He was in the car, so he probably found him."
As Dean got to the park, the time was 1:20, and Dean imagined how mad his Dad was going to be when he was late. Sammy would be sitting on the couch, grinning and Dean would get chewed out by his Dad. They'd all go to sleep, and in the morning maybe laugh about it. The last part of the thought made Dean smile, though getting yelled at again by his Dad was the last thing he wanted.
"I'll cut through," Dean's flashlight illuminated a path in the darkened park, "It'll save about fifteen minutes."
The gravel route through the thick trees of the park was ominous, but Dean took a deep breath and walked into it anyways. If a demon was going to attack him, he really didn't care-- he'd rather that than getting home and finding out that his Sammy was still missing. The trails that ran through the woods were called the 'Monkey Trails' for the small winding paths, breaking apart and joining together with sporadic dead ends, and sharp turns.
With his friends, Dean had memorized the area, and so now walked through it without even thinking. It was second nature, and Dean smiled at the memory of Sammy asking him to teach him the trails someday. Dean promised he would, and now vowed that, indeed, as soon as he could, he would teach Sammy anything he wanted.
"Oh my God," with that thought Dean stopped dead in his tracks; the flashlight lighting up a lone tree in front of him as the path broke into a fork, "What if he came in here to try and get home quicker…"
The thought had never occurred to him on the way there. Sammy had always gone around the park when he'd go walking with Dean. Dean was more of the adventurous person who invited danger, and adventure. But what if, Sammy being so angry, he decided to cut through and try to get home quicker.
"Sammy!" Dean called out, "Hey Sam!"
Dean expected no reply, so when he heard a small voice, he paused, holding his breath.
Nothing.
"Sammy!!" Dean screamed it at the top of his lungs.
This time the reply was louder, and Dean heard it coming from the path breaking to his right. With legs of rubber, Dean ran that way and stopped.
"Sammy!" his little brother's name was shouted out again.
"Dean?" the voice was small, and sounded scared.
His heart skipped a beat as Dean's flashlight caught the small huddled ball of his dirty brother about ten feet in front of him. Sam sat curled up by a large tree, and the light on his face showed the tears that had been coming down so freely for God knew how long.
"Sammy!" Dean cried out running over.
"Dean!" instead of getting up, Sammy looked up at Dean with eyes swimming with tears.
"Oh God Sammy," Dean placed the flashlight on the ground and bent down, grabbing Sammy into a tight hug.
Sammy reciprocated the hug strongly, sobbing quietly into his big brothers shirt, his small chest heaving in and out.
"Shh…" Dean choked on his own words, "Shh Sammy, it's ok."
"D-Dean," Sammy hiccoughed, squeezing his small arms around his big brother, "I-I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
Dean moved back, crouching down on his knees, he picked up the flashlight, "It's ok Sammy. Are- are you ok? Are you hurt?"
He moved the light up and down the trembling Sammy, seeing just a few cuts from the branches. Sammy nodded his head, small gasps wracking through his body as he tried to calm down, though tears still fell down his face.
"Shh Sammy," Dean rubbed his back; he hated seeing his brother like this, "Everything is going to be ok."
"I'm sorry Dean," Sammy's small eyes stared up at Dean, "I'm sorry."
Dean laughed, his own tears threatening to leak over, "I guess you should have went around the park huh Sammy?"
Sammy nodded again, though this time spoke, "I got lost."
"So I see," Dean looked around, "Are you sure you're ok Sammy?"
Sammy held out his arms, "I got cut by the branches. But I'll be ok. Is-- is Dad mad at me?"
Dean shook his head, "No, he's not mad. He's scared Sammy. I was scared-- really scared."
The tears which were threatening to leak over did, and Dean quickly took the light away from his face, hoping that Sammy wouldn't notice.
"I was scared too," Sammy admitted, "Really scared. I thought I'd never see you or Dad again."
Sammy's voice broke again, and Dean leaned down to accept another hug. Taking this time to wipe his eyes on his sleeve, Dean also awkwardly stood up, pulling Sammy to his feet as well.
"Come on Sammy, we have to get back," Dean lead his brother down the path, "Dad will be waiting."
Sammy nodded, adjusting his backpack, "Ok," he paused, "Are you mad at me Dean?"
Dean smiled to himself, wrapping his arm around Sammy's shoulder as they walked slowly, "No I'm not mad Sammy-- just please, never do that again."
"Ok," Sammy's small voice came out, leaning against Dean, lacing his hand around his big brothers.
It was almost two by the time Dean saw the house. The front light was on, along with pretty much every other light in the house. His Dad's black Impala sat haphazardly in front of the house, and the sign was taken from the door.
"Come on Sammy," Dean reassured.
"I don't want Daddy to be mad at me," fresh tears came down Sammy's face as he stood his ground outside the house, "I'm really sorry Dean. I didn't mean to scare you and Daddy-- please… I don't want him to be mad at me…"
The words his brother spoke broke Dean's heart, when suddenly he thought of something, "Hey Sammy… want me to go in and talk to Dad first? That way I can make sure he's not mad at you."
Tearfully Sammy nodded, and Dean squeezed his shoulder affectionately before going towards the front steps. Looking back, he saw Sammy staring apprehensively at the house; the outline of his Dad in the front window causing fresh tears to come to his eyes.
Dean walked into the house, and immediately John looked over.
"Dean!" John cried out, "It's two in the morning! Did you--"
The older man's eyes were wide, and Dean was sure he saw evidence of tears.
"Dad," Dean swallowed, "Can I talk to you for a second?"
"No," John shook his head, his voice shaking, "No, Dean, I'm going to call the police now-- we need help."
"Dad!" Dean spoke loudly to stop his fathers movements, "Sammy's ok."
"He--" John stopped and looked at his oldest boy, "Dean, you found him!? Where is he? Is he ok?"
Dean swallowed back the lump in his throat, "He's ok Dad. He's out in the front yard right now."
John took a large step towards the door, but Dean stopped him.
"Dad, he's scared," Dean's voice was quiet.
"Why?" John's voice caught in his throat; Dean couldn't remember seeing his Dad like this in a long time.
"He's scared that you're going to be mad at him Dad," Dean felt the warm tears come down his face again, though he wasn't sure why, "Please don't-- please don't be mad at him Dad. He- he was so scared. Please don't be mad at him."
John silently nodded and walked by Dean, opening the front door. Dean followed behind and watched as John went down three steps before sitting down on the last one.
"C'mere Sammy," John's voice was laced with tears.
Sammy looked a moment, and at Dean's nod, went running over to John, who folded his son into his arms tightly.
"I'm sorry Dad," Sammy's muffled sobs went into John's shirt, "I'm so sorry-- please don't be mad Dad. Please don't be mad."
John rubbed Sammy's back for a few moments before clearing his throat, "I'm not mad Sammy. I promise I'm not mad."
Sammy shook as he clung onto John.
"Sammy," John pulled Sammy back, and looked into his nearly frantic eyes, "Sammy, listen to me-- I need you to take a deep breath, ok?"
Dean smiled behind them at the familiar words. Sammy, however, took a deep shaking breath.
"Are you alright?" John gently pulled back his youngest son's hair, and wiped away tears from the side of his face.
Sammy nodded, "I'm ok Daddy. Dean helped me."
"Ok," John stroked Sammy's hair again, "I'm glad you're ok Sammy. I want you to go inside, wash up and get your pyjamas on. Dean and I will be in, in a minute, alright."
Sammy took another deep shaking breath, "Ok," he hugged his Dad tightly again whispering tearfully, "I love you Dad."
"I love you too Sammy," John smiled, "Now go clean up. And pick out a book-- Dean can read something before you go to sleep."
"Will you Dean?" Sammy's eyes lit up and he looked up at Dean.
"Sure will," Dean grinned, "You can even pick out two."
"Yeah!" Sammy grinned and bounded up the stairs, stopping to give Dean another hug before going inside.
"Dean…" John's voice rung out a few seconds later, "Come here."
Dean took a deep breath and walked down the stairs, then stood in front of his Dad.
"Yeah Dad?" Dean was scared he was going to get in trouble, and felt butterflies form in his stomach.
"Dean--" John got the one word out before Dean interrupted.
"Dad I'm sorry, I didn't mean what I said before, I really didn't. I know that you do what you do for a reason, and I know protecting Sammy is important, and that I should just do what I'm supposed to do, and not complain. I didn't mean what I said, I swear," the words tumbled out of his mouth, and he, again, felt the tears form and fall from his eyes.
John laughed, "Dean, it's ok. You had a right to be mad. I was wrong."
"You were-- what?" Dean breathed hard, adrenaline pumping through his system still.
"I was wrong," John spoke softly, "I've been so wrapped up in hunting lately, I haven't paid attention to you or Sammy at all, and what you two need."
"I'm sorry Dad," Dean whispered out.
John would have laughed if everything that had happened that night wasn't so serious. His boys were boys through and through, and neither of them liked to admit to being wrong, never mind apologize. And yet here was his boys, Dean at that, apologizing and getting teary eyed.
"Dean, it's ok," John smiled reassuringly, "Sammy's ok thanks to you, and--" the oldest Winchester was forced to clear his throat, "And there's nothing I can do to thank you enough."
"He's my baby brother," Dean shrugged, "I had to save him."
"I know Dean," John pulled Dean into a hug.
Dean let himself be hugged, and repeated the words which meant to much to him, "I had to save him Dad. I have to save Sammy…"
The End.