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The Golem swept Dean aside, and Sam hissed in sympathy as his brother hit the ground with a thud. In one motion, John took his son's place and fired the full round at the monster, but the bullets bounced off its skin. John roared in frustration, and Sam, who was quickly at his brother's side, realized with horror that although the magazine was empty, his father was not going to move.
'Dad!' Sam shouted in perfect chorus with Dean, but John just snarled at the golem, towering over him, heavy and threatening.
Sam exchanged a frightened glance with his brother: but Dean was still pale and shaking slightly from the fall; Sam made a quick decision. He cocked his pistol and connected a shot with each step; the first came under the golem's eye - Sam watched in horror as the monster tried to wrap its arm around John's torso - and his father didn't move. What the hell?
’Move, what are you doing?!’ Sam screamed, but John only reached out, snarling: the boy suddenly understood that Dad wanted to strangle the monster, or at least to try; but at the same moment he knew, that it was a riddiculus idea, design to fail. Was he triing to die?
The next bullet landed in the enemy's hand, and Sam had just enough time to shove his father in anger.
’What the fuck are you doing, we have to run!’
But the next moment something heavy, massive slammed against his chest - the golem's hand - and everything went black around him.
*
He woke up in the forest hut they had borrowed from Rufus, lying on a sofa with a clean towel underneath. Dad was sitting on a chair next to him, and when he noticed Sam watching him, he flinched.
’Hey, Sammy’ he said, uncharacteristly softly. ’Dean is out, he went to the next town to buy painkillers. We assumed you will need them.’
Sam looked at him, unmoving, anger burning in his soul. Everything hurt, but he didn’t care.
’Are you in pain?’ asked John, and he looked like a sad bear.
Sam was suddenly overwhelmed with compassion, seeing his usually brutally strong father sitting there, huddled in a state of defeat, even though he wanted to hold on to his anger.
’I am so, so so pissed at you!’ he wispered. John smiled into his massive black beard, which made Sam even madder.
’It’s so not funny!’
’Well’ said John, with his usual grumpyness, and half smile now. ’If you are mad at me, then, you are still you. You are always mad me nowdays.’
’I’m not always…’ Sam was so angry that he choked on the words and was silent for a moment. ’What the fuck is wrong with you? Did you try to die out there? And you just assumed I will let that happen?!’
’Sammy…’
’Don’t Sammy me!’ the boy growled. ’Your life is worth more than that! Who the hell cares for the freaking golem? I won’t let you die such a stupid death! You know what, I won’t let you die, at all, period. What the fuck?! Didn’t we lost enough already?! You are not allowed to die, you are not going anywhere! I'll burn everything around us to the ground before I'll let that happen!”
For a moment, they just stared at each other, in the sudden silence, two pairs of perfectly identical, deep brown, sensitive eyes. Sam's anger suddenly evaporated, and was replaced by a strange sob, which the boy tried with all his might to suppress. John blinked.
’I’m sorry, Sammy’ he said, the most tenderly his son had ever heard him speak.
The hunter softly touched his son's wrist, and Sam winced as every surface of his skin ached.
’Sorry’ murmured John, this time meaning the physical pain, but Sam gently shook his head, when John tried to pull his hand back.
’No, please, come here’ he muttered, and when John didn’t move, he repated. ’Please’. This was the most open they were with each other in ages, especially since Sam entered teenhood, and they both knew it.
So Sam rolled agonizingly deeper into the couch and John lay down in front of his son, effectively sealing him off from the outside world; Sam’s back pressed against the back of the sofa, and opposite him, the big, black, safe bear.
There was a moment of sielnce, and then –
’You almost died out there!’ Sam wishpered, with some rage, still.
’No big loss’ murmured John, akward.
Sam’s dark eyes became huge.
’God fucking help me, you sound exactly like Dean would!’ he snapped. ’And people think I’m more like you?! Well, maybe I am, as far as apparence go, but the rest is all Dean. You deseve things! You deserve to live, and I would miss you, if you would be gone! But. You are not going to die. Understood?’
John Winchester was incredably shit with emotions, but now he easyly smiled.
’Yes, Sir.’
’Good’ muttered Sam grumpily. ’I swear to god, you and Dean will drive me into an early grave, even before I’m twenty-one.’ Sam nestled into his father's arms, ignoring the stiffness of his grasp.
When John relaxed a little and gently hugged the boy, the hunter added:
’You shouldn’t die either, Sammy. I’m useless without you boys.’
Sam burrowed his face into his father's neck and inhaled his distinctive scent of tobacco, wishkey, and untanned leather.
’Not planing on it’ he muttered.
Fatigue began to take hold of him again, but he woke suddenly when John let go of him with one hand.
’Don’t…’
’Ain’t going nowhere’ grumbled John, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black leather bag.
’Happy Birthday, Sammy’ he said, simply. Sam stared at him, stunned. His father always forgot all about such things, and frankly, this year he'd forgotten about it too. But then he grinned broadly, and John's dark eyes softened.
’Thank you!’ Sam said, and suddenly his pain was a bit better. He opened the small leather bag, and held a thin, walnut-brown leather bracelet in his hand, with a simple, plain silver leaf in the middle.
’Its so cool! Help me with it?’ John slipped the bracelet on with clumsy, huge hands, and Sam grinned so wide that the corners of his mouth hurt.
’Perfect’ Sam declared, self-importantly, and John laughed softly, grumbling, until his son crawled back into his embrace.
'So, we're going to lie here all day?' asked Dad, but there was no real grudge in his voice: Sam's body was covered in bruises.
’Gonna do this the rest of our lifes, deal with it’ murmured Sam, already half-asleep again. John laughed and rested his chin on his son's forehead.
When Dean returned two hours later with a bag of medicine and, as a surprise, a slice of cake for Sam, he found his father and brother still lying on the couch.
The boy and the man were sleeping soundly, in a loose embrace, so close together that it was impossible to know where one began and the other ended.
Dean set the bag and the cake down on the coffee table in front of the couch, then took out a blanket and covered the two sleeping figures with it.
The boy then bend down, gently brushed Sam's thick brown hair aside from his forehead and kissed him barely perceptibly on the forehead.
’Happy Birthday, baby brother’ he murmured, then he straightened up and stepped out of the hut, leaving the two people who were most important to him to sleep, in piece.