Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sam wouldn’t shut up. He wouldn't shut up, and Dean was starting to lose patience. He knew his brother was just hurt and angry because their dad had dumped them in some random cabin in the middle of nowhere, far from any trace of civilization, far from school, but come on, Sammy, grades are not everything, and will you just stop being such a brat and shut up already?

But no, Sam did not stop. He kept rambling about how hard he was trying to keep his marks up even though they were moving all the time; about how little money their father had left; about the dirt in the cabin, and the food, and the weather, and Dean, are you even listening to me?

“Yes, Sam, I'm fucking listening to how you keep complaining about everything! Will you shut up already? Jeez, you're so annoying.”

“Dean, we don't even have any money for food, and this stupid cabin definitely doesn't have enough food for the both of us!”

“Okay, so we'll figure it out, like we always do! Now, stop being a bitch about it and toughen up.”

“Toughen up? Yeah, we'll see who is tougher after two days without food, Dean. God, you idolize Dad so much you won't even admit that he is a jerk! He left us here with nothing …”

“Don't you dare talk about Dad that way!” Dean yelled, now furious.

“… and I'm going to have to repeat the school year if I keep skipping—”

Dean pushed his brother in the chest, hard.

“SHUT UP! At least you're not left to babysit your stupid little brother who won't shut his mouth! I should be hunting right now with Dad, not here stuck with you!”

“Right, so both of you can get killed and I'm left here alone!” Sam yelled back, and Dean pushed him again. Sam’s back hit the cabin’s wood wall, and all hell broke loose.

Sam threw a punch at Dean, who received it with wide eyes. It hadn't been a strong punch—hell, it hadn't even hurt—but who the hell did Sam think he was? Dean’s fist flew before he had time to think, and Sam’s face avoided it by just a few inches. Sam moved, agile, and tried to lock Dean with a movement he had learned a while ago. But Dean grabbed him like he weighed nothing and punched him in the face, seeing red, all his anger and frustration focused on that punch.

To be fair, Dean was huge in comparison with Sam. After all, Sam was still small at twelve, while Dean had already had a growth spurt at sixteen. So, when Dean's full-force fist connected with Sam's stomach, it wasn’t a surprise that the younger kid went flying.

A grunt of pain left Sam’s lips the second the punch hit him, and then he was flying across the room. The fall wouldn't have been that bad, really, if there hadn't been a fucking table in the middle of the room. Sam landed on his back behind the table, right after hitting it full force with his arm.

Dean froze. He couldn't see Sam from where he was standing—the table ( the fucking table ) hiding his little brother—but he could hear the soft whimpers coming from Sam.

“Oh God. Sammy?” He took three quick steps and kneeled in front of his brother.

Sam was lying on his side now, clutching his shoulder, tears streaming down his face, his eyes shut in pain.

“Sammy, shit, are you okay?” Stupid question , Dean told himself. His hands flew toward Sam's body, determined to find the injury and fix it, but Sam backed off frantically, avoiding Dean's touch, dragging himself over the floor miserably.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he said, his voice tinged with fear and pain.

Dean looked at him, but his sibling's eyes were unfocused and his pupils were huge. His forehead was already filling with sweat, and his body was starting to tremble badly. God, how had this happened?

“I'm sorry, Dean, please don't hurt me,” Sam said feverishly, and Dean's heart sank.

“Sammy, I'm so sorry, I won't hurt you, I promise, okay?” he said, and tried to come near Sam again. This time, Sam tried to use both his arms to move backwards, and the moment his left arm touched the ground, he emitted a sickening sound accompanied by a pained scream that Dean never wanted to hear from his brother again.

“Sammy, stay put, please. I think your arm is broken or something.”

Sam looked at him confused and swayed slightly. Oh shit, was he going into shock? Clammy skin, dizziness—oh shitshitshit—

“Dean? I don't feel— so good…”

Dean took that as an invitation to go next to his brother (again), and so he did. He caught Sam before his weak body could fall to the floor completely again, and gently made him lie on his own chest.

“Okay, Sammy, we're gonna fix this, yeah? Where does it hurt?” he asks, trying to sound controlled and calm, but it comes out scared and wrong.

“Sh… shoulder…” Sam says, and he whimpers again as Dean touches him there, feeling his sweaty skin and trembling body. He then realizes that Sam's heartbeat is going too fast and starts freaking out even more. “Hey, hey, you have to slow down, okay? You're fine, everything is going to be okay,” but as he says this, he wonders what the fuck they're supposed to do, because they are kind of in the middle of nowhere, and wasn't that just perfect ?

Making a decision, he goes to the phone and dials 911, his dad's words ringing in his head, telling him not to involve the cops, social services, but also take care of Sammy —the most important one—and right now Sammy is in full shock mode, so yeah, calling 911 is probably not that bad.

Sam keeps whimpering all the way through the call, and finally the woman on the other side of the phone line tells Dean to wait until the ambulance gets there. He has to slow down Sam's heartbeat though, so he kneels in front of his brother and tries to soothe him by rubbing his back.

“Hey man, you gotta calm down, alright?” he says slowly, trying to make eye contact with Sam.

“...I'm sorry I made you mad… I'm just so angry… I miss Dad…” Sam looks at Dean with those stupid puppy dog eyes and what the fuck, Sam? Who said this was the right time for a chick flick moment? However, Dean guesses that he deserves it—it was his fault this had happened in the first place, after all.

“Sam, focus on your breathing,” Dean says, trying to distract him from his thoughts. Stupid girly thoughts.

“...I wish everything was normal, and we could…” Sam trails off, and Dean rocks him as tears begin to flow down his pale cheeks.

“Sam, stop. Everything's fine. You're feeling emotional because of the shock or something, okay? But it's okay. Everything's gonna be okay.”

“...I wish you also wished everything to be normal…” Sam says just as the ambulance siren starts sounding in the distance, and Dean prays for the paramedics to kick some sense into his rambling little brother— this silly, cheesy brat who’s making him go all chick flick too.

“I wish we were normal too, Sammy,” he murmurs, and wishes that Sam doesn't remember when he wakes up, because if Sam starts believing that both of them want a normal life, he'll start believing it too.