Preface

Ordinary People
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/698485.

Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

Gen

Fandom:

Supernatural

Relationship:

Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester

Character:

Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester

Additional Tags:

Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Action/Adventure, Brothers, Siblings, Sibling Love, POV Outsider, High School, Family, Family Drama, Hurt Sam Winchester, Big Brothers, Little Brothers, Crying, Hugs, Bullying, Brotherly Affection, Affection, Teenagers, Teenage Winchesters, Comfort, Hospitals, Protective Dean Winchester, Ghosts, Injury

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2013-02-24 Completed: 2013-03-13 Words: 27,450 Chapters: 13/13

Ordinary People

by fogsrollingin

Summary

Teenchesters. Outsider POV & OC: Jesse really appreciates Sam as he's welcomed into their group, but slowly realizes the truth behind his family as reality sets in...

Notes

See the end of the work for notes

Chapter 1

We didn't really get to know Sam until like 2 weeks after he'd started coming to Falls Isle High. He kind of blended in with all the other randoms that populated our huge high school. A thousand kids to one class; it was pretty common to graduate after four years and still not know some of the people in your own class. But when Sam Wesson started sitting near me, having been moved by the teacher (another kid was misbehaving in the back, so the teacher swapped Sam out for him), it wasn't a big deal; wasn't really news to me. We didn't say much to each other.

There was a moment, though, in class. A teacher of ours couldn't answer my question about how museums started in the first place after we had watched a documentary about the Natural History Museum in New York City. It was a class filler activity; everyone knew that… Mr. Harriss was a lazy guy. After I had asked the question, and received a noncommittal answer from Harriss, Sam smiled in my direction. I'd never really seen him smile; he was always sort of staring off into space. To the untrained eye, it looked like he was taking all topics the teacher taught very seriously, but no. He was just staring off into space. I felt like I had perfected that look myself over the course of the past year; I knew that look. But he didn't seem sad or anything, just far away and pensive. He didn't wear any weird clothes, except that sometimes they were ripped or sometimes too large on him. But that wasn't really something to be judgmental about. He didn't fit those classic high school stereotypes or anything.

I guess now that I think of it, he could've been a jock; he was really tall… Probably great at sports, now that I think about it. But he never tried out. I figure anyone that can spend such a long time daydreaming in class… They probably have thoughts that go beyond team spirit.

So when he looked at me and smiled, I was surprised that his face lit up like it did. He had dimples and his eyes were alert, sort of twinkly. I had only ever seen them glazed over and bored; hand covering his chin and mouth in the, 'thinking man,' pose at his desk. He leaned in towards me and, curious, I leaned in closer to him.

"Um, so the way museums started out is kinda cool. They were originally called Cabinets of Curiosities in the 1920s and private home owners would buy really weird things… Like… Twin fetuses and the skeletons of a donkey with a human skull growing out of it… And put them on display and then charge people money when they took the tour."

I smiled, kind of jazzed that I had hit an interesting fact with my question. Still skeptical, I asked, "Really? A skeleton of a donkey with a human skull growing out of it?"

"Most of the exhibits were hoaxes; it would be like a skeleton of a donkey and then someone would just like… Glue a human skull somewhere on its body and then call it a natural phenomenon."

"Eh sounds like a nasty job," I replied, smiling. Sam's smile grew wider in reaction to my appreciation for this nugget of information. "That's kinda cool, though, thanks."

Sam, recognizing the moment was over, nodded good-naturedly and leaned back against his chair.

…

A few days later, I saw Sam in line at the cafeteria. He was a few people ahead of me, including a guy who was actually taller than Sam. He turned for a second while I was watching and I saw his profile; he was a lot older than Sam: that was why. He must've been a senior… And I noticed he wasn't carrying a backpack, which was weird. Sam's was full on his back with a few more books to spare under his tray.

When I finished paying the cafeteria lady, I looked up after Sam and noticed that the guy was walking away from Sam while Sam was crouched on the ground, tray on the floor, and picking up pieces of food as well as the books he'd been holding, scattered out around him. Curious, and a little irritated on Sam's behalf, I walked over to help.

"Hey," I said as I crouched down to pick up a couple books Sam would've had to reach for.

"Oh. Hey," Sam replied. "Thanks."

I continued to help him get his stuff together. Finally, Sam was ready and able to stand up and go on his own again.

"Seriously, thanks."

"No problem. Was that guy you were standing next to in line being mean to you?" I asked, finally. Sam kind of rolled his eyes.

"Yeah but it's okay, really."

"No, I mean, it's not that okay…" I replied, looking into his eyes sincerely.

"Yeah it is. Trust me," he replied glibly. His words seemed final.

"Where are you eating?" I asked, trying to casually switch the subject. Sam looked surprised.

"Um… I don't know…"

"Okay you want to come hang out with my friends and I in the student lounge downstairs?"

"Sure."

And so we did. He was kind of quiet the first day; I could tell he was just listening to our conversations, getting to know us by the idle things we said.

A few days later, he started talking. Little stuff: jokes, agreements or disagreements with opinions that were thrown out and discussed. Gossip was a huge thing to talk about and I noticed that Sam stayed away from them. I didn't know if that was because he didn't know the people we were talking about or by principle, but it was fine. There was one day, though, about two weeks in, that surprised me.

"My sister came back from college today for spring break," Pete commented randomly. He had a sad tone to his voice, as if it was an unfortunate event. He was a nice guy, a good friend. He tended to dramatize his life a little bit, but didn't we all?

"Is that really bad?" I prompted, as expected.

"Yeah. She listens to terrible music and her friends are all back for spring break, too, so the house is always full of her irritating friends…"

"My brother listens to terrible music," Sam interjected. I looked at him, surprised.

"You have a brother?" I asked. Sam nodded kind of shyly into his food in response. I continued looking at him, kind of expecting more of an answer. Sam looked up at me.

"What's his name?" I asked.

"Dean."

Shelley, a friend of mine, leaned in next to me.

"Older or younger?"

"Older."

"Does he go here?"

Sam shifted in his seat, looked down at his food and nodded.

"Seriously, what's his name?"

"I can't believe you've been eating with us for like two weeks and we never knew you had a brother walking around the school… We never see you with him," Pete commented. Sam looked at him nonchalantly and shrugged.

"He's older. You guys probably don't know him. We don't see each other very often around the school."

"His name's Dean Wesson?" I asked, just to make sure. Sam looked at me again. There was the slightest hint of irritation that flashed in his eyes before he smiled.

"Yes. Dean Wesson."

"Sam and Dean. Interesting combo. My parents went with Pete and Esther," Pete began, capturing the conversational spotlight again.

"Oh god your sister's name is Esther?" Shelley responded. Pete nodded and gave Shelley a look to indicate that he also thought it was a terrible decision on his parents' parts. I laughed and looked back at Sam. He looked satisfied as he continued eating his food and listening to us.

…

As time went on, Sam just became a staple friend that was always present with us in the cafeteria. He was shy, but we coaxed him out pretty well. We got to know that he appreciated salads and parfaits (which we mocked him for, but then Pete had a taste and got on the parfait-band-wagon). He knew a lot about computers – he was always willing to help me out on Lexus Nexus because I never knew how to navigate that damn database. He liked J.D. Salinger and Sylvia Plath (we knew this because he was reading Catcher in the Rye and The Bell Jar for his class and broke the mold inside our group by saying that they were actually really good books). He even went shopping with us once and bought himself a plain slate-grey hoodie and a pair of pants that I was positive wouldn't fit him. Luckily, we never saw him wear them after that (it must've been an impulse buy; even guys fall victim to the phenomenon). But he wore the hoodie a lot. That day, though, was one of the first days that my friends and I started to worry. Sam tried on the hoodie and when he took it off in the store, his undershirt lifted up with it and we all saw an unmistakably huge, dark, serious-looking bruise. I don't think we even saw all of it because it seemed to trail all the way up to his ribs. It was really awkward, because Sam wasn't even acting like it hurt, and none of us had the audacity to immediately point it out. If it had been Pete, I feel like Shelley and I would have exclaimed in the store and gone to lift up his shirt to get another look at it; demand an answer that we were sure would be an entertaining story. But that was because we knew Pete. Sam was a really closed book… And as we all kind of ignored that we had seen it, it occurred to us all that we actually didn't really know all that much about Sam.

I tried to forget about it, though. Count it as a one-off. Maybe it was just, I don't know, a terrible accident on his bike. But the following week, I couldn't pretend like that day hadn't happened when I noticed that he was limping. It was really subtle, but I could tell. When he sat down with us, I leaned in towards him.

"Hey are you limping?"

"Yeah… Sprained my ankle running."

"In P.E.?"

"At home."

"You just… Run at home?" I asked, surprised. "Why don't you try out for track?"

"Because, like I told you, I move around a lot and I probably won't be here long enough for it to make a difference."

"Well ask your parents how long they intend to stay – you should at least try, right?" Not for the first time, Sam's eyes flared up at me in irritation for a brief second. I recoiled slightly in surprise. I honestly never knew why, or what I had said.

"No."

"No about asking your parents or no about at least trying?" I prompted tenaciously. He dropped his food down on the chair quickly, turned back to me and, with a raised voice, told me:

"No to both, okay?" And then he left for the vending machines to grab a coke or Gatorade or something. I didn't really know how to combat that, but I was still so curious. Sam came back and sat down with a sigh. He looked at me and he looked kind of embarrassed.

"Sorry I got mad."

"It's okay," I replied quickly, simply in response. Sam looked as if he thought the conversation was over, and he was looking up at us expectantly.

"Why can't you ask your parents how long you're going to be here?" I blurted out. There was an awkward pause until Shelley backed me up.

"Yeah because we want to know how much longer we have you for… You can't ask just for us?" She added. I looked at Shelley and gave her a small smile, and turned back to Sam. Having heard Shelley's flattery, he seemed at ease. Compliments, flattery goes so far sometimes… Shelley was being honest, too, so that made a difference.

"No my dad's not around much."

"What about your mom?" Pete asked with his mouth full of the sandwich he'd just jammed into his mouth.

"My mom's dead," Sam replied bluntly.

"Oh. Sorry," I responded, kind of shocked. Sam shrugged.

"No it's okay. She died when I was really little. I don't really remember her."

Sam's words put me at ease that time. We never mean to stumble into such intense revelations; most high school students advertise their life's tragedies… So it was a little weird not having heard that one. But, I reminded myself, this was Sam. He was kind of special.

"So it's just you and your brother most of the time?" I asked, trying to get an idea of Sam's home life. Sam gave a small shrug and nod.

By now, I realized that this, getting an idea of Sam's life, was like pulling teeth. I didn't get it – was he just really boring? Is that why he didn't answer anything beyond a monosyllabic affirmative or negative? Most importantly, if his older brother and him were the only ones around together most of the time…

"Are you and your brother close, then?" I asked, dying to see Sam's answer. It was going to help me a lot, his answer, in trying to figure out whether or not Sam was getting hurt at home. Sam gave another shy shrug and nod. He looked up.

"I guess," he responded. I tried to catch his body language and gauge the truth. I knew that he was lying, but I didn't know which way. Something had shadowed through his eyes when he'd looked at me, but I couldn't catch it.

…

A week later, I heard some of the school's most popular guys in the hallway talking about how Dean was an asshole. I assumed it was Dean Wesson, as 'Dean' was such an unusual name to begin with. Apparently Dean had gone out on a date with one of their girlfriends. He was reckless, having gotten into a couple fights outside of school so far… He was really disrespectful towards teachers. Drank a lot. Just all around, a total asshole. It made me wonder. Most of all, it made me worry.

Sam had a lot of small, easily unnoticed injuries that I'd absentmindedly recorded in my head since that day in the mall. If his brother was such an asshole and Sam seemed so avoidant – so distant – in the midst of his injuries… I wondered if there was something wrong there. Especially if Sam and Dean only ever saw each other most of the time at home. The set-up that we'd pulled out of Sam seemed to indicate anything other than a typical functional family situation.

…

A week later, Sam came into school with a bloody eye: as in, he had been punched in the eye, and the capillaries had filled with blood. It looked gruesome. He looked like the Terminator or something. None of us were so awkward with him by this time to cover up our disgust and concern when he approached us in the student lounge for lunch.

"What the hell happened to you?" Shelley exclaimed; it was the first time she'd seen him that day. He smiled, a little embarrassed.

"It's fine. Just got in a fight."

"Who the hell gets in that kind of a fight?" I asked, pointing at his eye, indicating the extent of his injury.

"People."

"Does it hurt?" Pete asked. We went on for awhile and then eventually moved to other topics. Eventually, the bell rang and I made my move.

"Hey, Sam, can we talk for a second?" Sam looked up innocently.

"Yeah sure. What's up?" He asked. He now seemed really serious, really dedicated and willing to work with me. I think he sensed that I was nervous. I walked over to a corner of the room where it wasn't easy to be overheard.

"Listen, did… Um… Did your brother do that to you?" I asked honestly, looking at his eye, worried. Sam brought his head back and cocked it to the side in confusion and before he could censor himself, he started saying:

"How-"

Then a look of understanding flushed through him.

"Oh! No! No no no no…" He replied fast, rushed, almost urgently to me. I looked at him; my turn to look confused.

"Sam – if your brother is hurting you…"

"Ha!" Sam laughed honestly, which struck me as even more weird. "No, listen, he's not. It wasn't him. It was just a fight. It's fine."

"Seriously, though-"

"No no… This conversation's over, okay? I'm fine. My brother's fine," he responded, a little skittishly. Before I could add anything, he'd whisked away and gone to class. I took a deep breath; that could've become a really heavy conversation...

I was almost positive something was still wrong, though. I just… I just couldn't place it.

Chapter 2

It was a Friday night. We had all gotten together at Pete's place after school. A few videogames flashed by (Sam and Shelley were the best players) and soon it was 6 pm. I noticed that Sam took his phone with him when he went to the bathroom. When he came back out and Pete started serving us beer he had raided from his parents' fridge (they were out of town), he frowned.

"Really?"

Pete looked at him comically, tilted his head down in a set stare and replied, "Really." There was a beat, then Pete sat back smiling, "C'mon, Sammy, just a few won't do any harm. Cut loose a little!"

Sam sighed and sat down.

"It's Sam, Pete."

"Sam. Sorry," Pete replied, handing him a cold one. Sam took it gingerly and opened it. He took a swig and I could tell it wasn't the first time he'd had a drink… So why the hesitation?

It was a good night, over all. We stayed up until 10 or 11 pm. Shelley and I decided to sleep over at Pete's house (we'd been close friends since 7th grade; sleepovers were standard practice on Friday nights), but Sam wanted to go. At 10:45, he sat up and said he was going to head out.

"Wait… Who's picking you up?"

"I don't know… Dean, maybe, but I haven't called him yet."

"Well call him right now and stay here while he comes to pick you up."

"Nah, it's okay. It's a short walk from here, so I'll just get going and see if he can pick me up while I'm en route."

I suddenly realized that Sam had been expressing a desire to get going for the past 45 minutes and we had kept ignoring him, getting him to have one more beer. Now, he was obviously a little tipsy (he was slurring his words), so I didn't think this plan of his was a great idea, and I said so.

"No I'm fine I'll see you guys later," and before I could reply, he just skipped up the stairs to leave the house. Shelley and Pete shouted their goodbyes after him. I sat on the couch, watching Shelley and Pete staring at the video game monitor, then back at the stairs. I was a bit conflicted.

"Shit," I sighed as I got up from the sofa to follow Sam. I left the basement ("Bring down the Pringles when you get back!" shouted Shelley) to go investigate where Sam was headed. I caught him just as he had closed the front door.

"Sam hold up!" I shouted, grabbing my jacket and opening the door back open. Sam stopped, and looked at me, surprised. I came outside to stand next to him.

"Hey."

"Hey," he replied, looking at me, a little confused. I felt the need to explain my presence, like I had just interrupted him doing something that he didn't want me seeing.

"I just thought I'd come out here and give you company while your brother's on his way," I said breezily, hoping he wouldn't reject me outright and tell me to leave. He didn't, though, I think because he is just really really polite.

"Um, okay." I watched as Sam pulled the cell phone from out of his jacket pocket and I noticed his hands were shaking.

"You cold?"

"Nah nah…" He responded. He clicked one number and held the phone to his ear. I watched him as he waited, his hands trembling visibly. I heard the phone pick up on the other line and Sam gripped it tightly.

"Yeah… Yeah… 612 Syc'more… Sick-A-More…" Sam repeated because he'd slurred. He turned away from me and gripped the cell with both hands. "Yeah… Ye-Ye-ah," Sam's voice broke. I looked at him sharply; he was turned away from me, but I was positive I had heard his voice break like he was crying. He sniffed a couple of times and then I heard him say, "Yes, sir," with a much stronger voice. What the hell, he was calling his brother, 'sir'?

And then he hung up and turned around, betraying nothing. I looked at him seriously.

"Sam… Is everything okay at home?" It was night time, but I could've sworn a shadow crossed through his eyes. He smiled a fake smile (I could tell by now, his fake and real smiles).

"Of course it is. My brother's on his way. You don't need to keep me company."

"No I want to," I replied. It was the best I could do; I think of myself as a good friend. We kind of sat in silence anyway, though. Sam's hands still trembled a little.

…

A huge black car soon rode up to the house… It looked scary, menacing, and I could only see Dean's silhouette in the car. He looked kind of scary, too, and something made me really want to hold Sam back and tell him to just relax with another beer before going to bed on one of Pete's over-stuffed sofas with a lived-in comforter. But Sam, who had seen the car come around the corner, immediately jumped up (like someone had lit a fire) and said goodbye to me hastily and sidled up to the edge of the sidewalk without me. Okay, I thought,message received loud and clear. So I walked back into Pete's house and watched them from the window. They stayed there for a few minutes, actually, just talking. I saw Sam's hands gesture in frustration and immediately the car took off out of my sight; out of the street. I remembered the guys said Dean was reckless. Seemed like he was pretty reckless with his car.

…

Sam really never stopped surprising us. We saw firsthand what he had meant we he had said that people get into fights sometimes. He straight up just punched a guy that was maliciously insulting and imitating Roger Clear, a special needs kid (Autism). He was like our class's hero for awhile after that and I was really proud.

…

"Hey did you hear that a kid got suspended for a week?" Shelley asked me.

"What? That's news that almost never happens," I replied.

"Who? What'd they do?"

"I don't know. I just know a kid got suspended."

"Go ask Tom he always knows this shit," I said absentmindedly. Shelley walked over just as Sam sat down.

"Hey what's up?" He asked casually as he took his backpack off and got settled.

"Not much. Some kid got suspended for a week, apparently," I said just as casually. I took a bite of my noodles and looked up at him, surprised at the expression on his face. "What? What'd I say?"

Just then, Shelley ran up to us, excited, then saw Sam, and fell into silence. I put two and two together.

"Dean? Dean got suspended?" I asked, incredulous. Sam sighed and sat down.

"Yeah."

"Wow, what'd he do?"

"I think he pissed the P.E. teacher off and then got into a fight on the same day."

"Dude your brother's pretty scary," Pete commented darkly, "I don't know how someone like you could handle being around someone like him."

"Oh, you know, I manage," Sam said humorously. The rest of us were just not in on the joke. Sam dropped his smile.

"Seriously, Sam. Is he okay? What's his deal? Is he on something?" At the last question, Sam almost snorted into his food with laughter. It set us at ease, but we were still wondering.

"No, he's not 'on something.'"

"So…?"

"I don't know. He's just… Rough around the edges."

"That's putting it a little mildly, Sam," Shelley said. I agreed.

"Yeah Sam I heard he hooks up with anything that'll move and he's really disrespectful and just mean," I said. Honestly, I had wanted to talk to him for ages about this. Sam just nodded a little.

"Well maybe that's why you don't see us together very often, huh?"

"Seriously?"

"No."

Sam smiled, as if this was a game. We were all stumped and a little irritated Sam wouldn't give us the full story behind his brother. We'd known him for so long, now. We really wanted to hear about how terrible he was from Sam, the kid who could really dish out the truth.

And then it occurred to me. Sam really was the, 'good,' one: he was polite, got great grades, and seemed to have a moral compass. Whereas Dean, who was equally, if not more, popular by now, was like Sam's opposite: disrespectful, probably received low grades (I didn't know that for sure, really), aggressive. They even looked like opposite: Sam wore comfy-looking hoodies, but his brother wore this slashed up, worn leather jacket all the time. Both of them were popular, both of them were complete opposites. How did they actually live with each other?

I figured maybe Sam was lying about how rarely he saw his Dad. His dad must be the buffer between the two of them. There was just no way the two of them could survive without an intermediate: They were just way too unequal. And Dean just seemed like a completely self-centered bastard… Like that phone call I had heard. Sam had to call Dean, 'sir'? And he nearly cried (I swear it was like a crying voice break) over just some beers on a Friday night? I mean I know it's underage drinking, but why was Sam's brother making him cry?

Slowly but surely, I was becoming more and more angry at Dean on Sam's behalf. I didn't really know what the hell was going on, but I knew that it had to be coming from Dean. All signs pointed… And I kind of hoped for the day I could talk to him. I wanted to make a freaking speech to this asshole.

Chapter 3

We were outside near the fields in the last half of our lunch. We could see the parking lot from where we were and I noticed, for the first time, the big black car that Dean drove. I turned to Sam. "Do you get a ride to school with your brother?" Sam, really open with us by now, responded casually.

"Yeah most of the time. Sometimes I don't."

"What when you're running late he won't wait?" I assumed. He looked at me, a slight disturbance in his eyes.

"No," he replied slowly, "the other way around." Sam eyed me a bit and I found myself a little embarrassed to be so obvious that I practically hated his brother.

"You take the bus," Pete stated, nodding his head at the idea.

"What? Yeah," Sam answered, and took a last bite of his sandwich. He wiped the crumbs off his lap and t-shirt. He pulled his backpack up to him and pulled out a book.

"Catching up on homework?" Shelley asked as she moved to get hers' as well. About every 3 days out of the week, a quick 20 minute portion of lunch was dedicated to completing homework assignments.

"Yep," Sam answered without looking up.

"Sam-" Sam looked up as Shelley continued, "-Can you help me with this geometry question-?" Sam looked at it from her textbook and nodded.

"Yeah hold on a second," he replied, looking at his book and jotting down his place before looking more carefully at Shelley's book. As Shelley and Sam read the book, Pete and I had taken to identifying cloud shapes.

"Definitely a bear…"

"No that's a gun…"

"Boobies. 2 O'Clock," Pete stated with exaggerated certainty. I laughed for a second and glanced over towards the school building. I did a double-take when I saw who was walking straight towards us. People were milling about and quite suddenly I felt a buzz in the air… It was alarming, to say the least, and before my eyes, it was quite plain to see that people were attracting each other towards Josh Rollins. Josh Rollins was the son of a bitch that had been rightfully punched in the face by Sam after having cruelly mimicked Roger. Josh was a lacrosse jock; big, bulky, compact. He was a junior… He was totally off his guard when Sam had clocked him… Primarily because Sam was a freshman. And Sam, to be fair, was a gangly guy. I mean, he was tall, but he didn't seem like someone with the muscle or confidence to hit some guy like Josh. Like I said, Sam continuously surprised us all.

But when I saw Josh walking towards us with that determined air of hostility… And he was flanked by a few of his ugly lacrosse friends… It was pretty obvious what his plan was. Everyone seemed to feel it. I turned urgently and slapped the textbook Sam was focused on.

"Sam! SAM!" I yelled. He looked up, noticing my tone of voice.

"What, are you okay?" He asked, confused, then followed my gaze.

"You should go, Sam," I started saying, but then I stopped when I saw his eyes. He was determined, too; I could see him revving up to have the fight.

Honestly, where the hell did this kid think he had the skills to take Josh? The face punch was a guttural thing that just happened… But this. This was Sam Wesson just acknowledging a proper fight as if it was just a thing to complete before he went back to helping Shelley do her homework. Not to mention the fact that he was normally just so shy and unassuming. It was weird to see him just gears. He stood up and walked over to meet Josh.

"Seriously?" Pete asked me as we all got up, feeling resigned to following Sam and backing him up. "Am I going to get hurt?" Pete whispered to me and I smirked.

"Shut up, Pete." We huddled behind Sam, Sam giving us a brief surprised double-take when he realized we were behind him. Since Sam just kind of trotted up to Josh, there was nothing to be done on Josh's side in terms of insults… Josh didn't have the pleasure of the best part of any fight (at least for him): the taunting part. So when Josh just saw Sam (who was acting really really cocky in my estimations), walk right up to him, Josh did the only thing he had left to do: punch him. I had to blink my eyes to believe that Sam had dodged the punch… It was the swiftest motion I'd ever seen. Josh had put a lot into that punch, too, so he was all off balance when he'd missed. Sam twisted out from his dodge and pushed Josh's back so he'd hit the ground face down. The crowd, "Ohhh!"-ed. Sam didn't say a word. He kept on the balls of his feet and waited for Josh to get up. Meanwhile, Josh was yelling expletives as he assessed his favorite shirt's new stains (his favorite t-shirt is a beer company's emblem and slogan – he's that guy, yeah) and grudgingly got up to go another round. This time, he was mad… And really intimidating. Sam was never that intimidating. Watching him now, I was just impressed. But he didn't scare me. We watched Sam as he kept his defensive posture; he wasn't planning to hit Josh at all.

Josh grunted in anger, said something obnoxious and dumb, and ran straight at Sam, ducking low and barreling into him. He got Sam around the waist and pushed him back against the school wall. I saw Sam's expression as his head collided with the cement; definitely one of those intense grimaces you give with shock and pain. I watched, concerned that he'd get a concussion, or would be dazed and collapse, but as fast as that expression came, it went, and Sam looked at Josh as Josh took two seconds to regain his own senses after the distance he'd pushed him. It was two seconds too late, though, and Sam, using the wall as balance, just gave the most walloping upper-cut I'd ever seen. It might as well have had those movie-style sound effects of a punch because, in my head, it was so good I still replay that memory in slow-motion. I saw one of Josh's buddies start to come out into the cleared area where the fight was taking place and thought maybe that was our cue to come in and help Sam out… Sam might be able to take one guy, but he couldn't take Josh's friends or anything. So I tapped Pete, who had moved a couple feet away from me in order to get a better view, and nodded at Josh's buddy. Before Pete could understand what I was trying to say, though, I got distracted. I couldn't see too clearly, but I saw that Josh's buddy had been on his way towards Sam through the crowd. All of a sudden he had this really pained expression on his face, and then crouched down and disappeared from view. Confused, I slowly walked around the oval of people watching the fight, assuming that Sam was okay for the time being, in order to see what had happened to Josh's goon. I looked to the open field where the fight had started and saw the other one there, sitting, completely out for the count, holding his stomach and cradling his wrist. What the hell happened there? I wondered. I turned around to find the second guy on the ground, closer to the crowd, in the same position. I approached him.

"The hell happened to you?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Fuck you," he answered, pissed. I held such contempt for the guy, I just walked away.

…

I met Sam unexpectedly in the library this one time.

"The occult, huh?"

"Hey!" Sam called in response, alarmed, acting like he had been caught in some embarrassing act.

"Hey," I responded, relaxed. I pulled out a book and started flipping through it, looking for photos. "So you wanna be a ghost hunter?"

For some reason, Sam blanched.

"S'a joke, Sam. Chill."

Sam betrayed nothing.

"No no I know."

I shot him an amused you're-crazy look, but moved on…

"I don't think that's even what they're called. Ghost Busters, you know?" I said. Sam broke into a greater smile.

"Yeah definitely Ghost Busters. Haha yeah… Great movie," he added, suddenly relaxed again. Why did he emphasize the 'busters' part so much? It wasn't that big of a mistake… I thought.

"We could get into this... I think Shelley has a Ouiji board," I commented as I watched Sam put all the books back into the shelves.

"Probably not a good idea…" Sam said reasonably. I looked at him like he was nuts.

"Seriously? It's good fun."

Sam looked up at me from his crouched position as he slid the last book into its proper place.

"It's not a thing to toy around with," he spoke expertly, then added, as if it was an afterthought, "I don't think…"

"Oh god, are you superstitious!" I asked, surprised and excited. I could have so much fun with pranks; I always wanted a superstitious friend to mess with!

"I wouldn't say I'm superstitious, no," Sam replied.

I could tell there was a condition.

"…But?" I prompted.

"But I just think it'd be better to leave things be, you know? Like… Like just in case, you know?"

I grinned and Sam looked defeated.

"You're going to mess with me, now, aren't you?"

"Yes!"

Chapter 4

Ordinary People

Chapter 4

A week later, I got Shelley to bring the Ouiji board over to Pete's place. Friday night again, and we managed to convince Sam to come over, too. I loved Ouiji board nights; we didn't have them often. Even when we asked, "who's going to die first?" It was entertaining… In a creepy way. It seemed like Sam wasn't easily creeped out, so I thought this would be fine. I had told the others that he was a little squeamish about these things and they were laughing and ready for the joke as well. So when Sam rang the doorbell around 6 pm, Pete led him in, and we all cracked up at Sam's face when he laid eyes on the Ouiji board in the basement. He smiled a little bit and rolled his eyes.

"Guys, seriously?"

"Yes!" We laughed back.

"I mean, okay, but I'm not putting my hands on that thing," he replied in a your-loss-not-mine. We laughed more.

"Oh come on, Sam, really?"

"Yeahh really. It just really isn't my thing," Sam replied apologetically.

"Okay okay whatever will you watch? Maybe you'll see us go a few rounds and realize it's not a big deal."

We saw Sam think about it and then shrug a little. He pulled out his phone offhandedly to look at it while we awaited his answer with hope.

"Sure why not?" He mumbled. He started texting something…

"Yes! Still on for Ouiji!" I announced. Shelley and Pete were excited, too. Sam went to the bathroom (with his cell phone again) and came back out to sit and watch.

We met a banker from Cleveland, Ohio that told us Pete would die in a refrigerator. A old grandmother that wished us well and then said goodbye. A very distant relative of mine (like… ten cousins removed) – I had no idea if the spirit was telling the truth, though, as I have no idea about my family tree. I just went with it. By then, it was about 8 pm.

"I'll be right back," Sam said as he got up to go to the bathroom.

"Will you get us more chips?"

"And dip?"

"And coke?" We had made the change to coke because I had told Shelley and Pete about that other one time Sam was with us. Since we didn't often get super drunk off the beer Pete had, we decided to forfeit it. Sam seemed happier that we were keeping to non-alcoholic beverages, too, so it was a good decision. Sam stopped on his way upstairs to look at us indignantly.

"Pleeeeease?" We chorused. Sam couldn't help but chuckle.

"Okay okay okay…" He said tiredly as he trudged up the stairs. Shelley, Pete and I settled back down around the Ouiji.

"Ready to go again?" I asked them.

We placed two fingers each onto the planchette and waited. Soon, it started to move and we, despite ourselves, started giggling.

"Who are you?" It asked.

"Hey normally we ask you who you are," Pete responded.

"Who are you?" It repeated, and we kind of giggled again. I took the reins.

"Okay I'm Jesse, this is Shelley, and this is Pete…" I called out.

"Oh and Sam, Jes-" Shelley whispered.

"Oh and Sam is here, too, but he's not touching the planchette," I called out.

"Why not?" The planchette asked.

"He's totally scared," Pete replied to the board, but more to us than the board. Like he had been wanting to talk about it for awhile now – he really thought Sam was actually afraid of the Ouiji board. Shelley and I started laughing and I honestly kind of agreed. Just by the way he monitored it and watched us. God, he was such a weird kid. The planchette started to move again and we paid attention.

"Why be afraid?"

"Sam!" We shouted, laughing. We heard the planks of wood floor creak as Sam moved over to the basement door.

"Yeah?"

"Why are you afraid of the Ouiji board?" We called out, calling him out.

"Because I know ghosts are real!" He shouted back, laughing back, exasperated. We heard him walk back to the kitchen area, where, I assumed, he was getting the stuff ready to bring downstairs.

"Ah we gotta ask him about his ghost story when he comes back," Shelley said, delighted. Pete and I smiled and agreed. The planchette started to move around again, but nobody had been paying attention.

"Shit look!" I exclaimed.

"-E-A-N…" Pete read out and we waited, but the planchette didn't move after the letter, 'N.'

"… Shit that's all I saw, too," Shelley said.

"Please, please ghost," I asked with mock sincerity, "Will you repeat your question?" And with a flourish, the spirit started moving the planchette again. I inhaled kind of sharply as it had started moving quite quickly, and Pete and Shelley kind of laughed uncomfortably at me (they were a bit nervous, too, I think - ?).

"H-I-S-B-R-O-T-H-E-R-D-E-A-N," we spelled out. After the, 'D,' letter, we knew it was talking about Sam and Dean, and we got excited.

"Yes! Yeah what about his brother! Isn't he an asshole?" I asked.

"Jesse…" Pete said in a reproachful manner.

"Ghosts tell the truth, Pete," I whispered vehemently, joking.

Suddenly, we heard an alarmingly loud slam come from upstairs.

"Sam? SAM?" Pete called, getting up first. I wasn't too far behind and Shelley picked up the rear as we raced up the narrow basement staircase. We ran up to find Sam on the floor, passed out in the kitchen. I raced around to crouch over him.

"Sam? Sam?" I touched his cold, sweaty face. Shelley held his head and neck steady. Pete watched me try to bring him around. Suddenly, he started to move a little. Finally. Relieved, I sat down next to him and watched him gain his senses. He looked around and he saw us, then furrowed his brow and put his hand to his forehead groggily. He didn't move to get up.

"What happened?" He asked, steadily, as he pulled his phone out from his pocket to look at it. I watched him, a little surprised that he wasn't getting up immediately. It was like he felt right at home on the floor.

"C'mon, Sam, get up," I said honestly, standing up and reaching for his arm. Sam sighed.

"No no, I got it," he replied, and got up pretty normally, like nothing had happened.

"What happened?"

"We were in the basement. Do you remember what happened?"

"Not really," Sam replied, and looked at the stuff on the table. He seemed just a little bit dazed. "Should we just… Bring this stuff back down with us, then?"

Everyone looked at each other, not knowing if anything else should be done for Sam. Could we really just go on, pretending nothing bad actually happened? Was it just like a one-off thing?

"Do you normally pass out like that?" Shelley asked.

"No… But… I feel fine," Sam replied simply. We all looked around each other and basically shrugged.

"Okay. Let's bring the stuff down…"

We gathered together and pulled the chips and treats and coke off the table and started walking down the basement with it.

"Oh shit," I said.

"What?"

"I wonder if we can get that spirit that knew Dean was Sam's brother-" I said conversationally.

And suddenly we heard the coke fall to the hardwood floor steps and Sam's feet beating back upstairs.

"What was that?" Pete asked, confused, as he was the first one to go down the stairs, thus the last one to notice things happening behind him. Shelley was right in front of Sam.

"Guys Sam for real just flipped his shit…" Shelley replied, surprised, looking behind her. I let my bags and stuff down on the stair and jogged past Shelley and out towards Sam.

"Sam! Sa-" I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw Sam rummaging through Pete's parents' best china while holding his phone to his ear. He turned around and saw me and his facial expression really scared the shit out of me. I felt like jumping, the intensity in Sam's eyes. I wasn't even surprised, even though I did jump, when Sam shouted at me, "Get Pete to get out as much salt as he possibly has in this house NOW!" And the minute after he said that, the lights flickered all around us, like a strobe light, and I couldn't believe my eyes when suddenly Sam was literally picked up off the ground and thrown across the room until he smashed into the opposite wall.

Chapter 5

Ordinary People

Chapter 5

"SAM!" I yelled, and went for him.

"NO. GET THE SALT!" He yelled back at me. I said I was never scared of Sam, but I had never seen him look so furious at me. I felt like I was doing something really wrong, like immoral, just by trying to help him. I faltered for a second, looking at him, trying to make the decision for myself before he really pushed me over the edge.

"I need that salt, Jesse. Get it no-" and suddenly Sam reacted as if he had just been punched across the face. The punch had turned his head so far that he braced himself against the wall, placing his hand against it. I turned around to go find the bag of salt in Pete's kitchen just as I heard Sam grunt in pain from, what I assumed, was another hit from some invisible form. This is not happening. This is not happening… I thought as I grabbed the bag and ran back to Sam, who was being helped by Shelley and Pete. Sam was bloody and it really scared me. The lights were still flickering and it disoriented me a lot. Sam grabbed the bag I gave out to him and held it. He struggled up, with Shelley and Pete's.

"Okay now we're going to get out of here…" Sam said determinedly. He took a step and just as I felt a slight wind, I felt a spatter of salt thrown in my direction and it was gone.

"Sorry," Sam whispered gruffly.

"What the fuck is going on?" Pete whispered, his voice cracking in several places in utter terror as he clutched Sam just as much as he was helping to hold him up.

"Ghost," Sam replied seriously. "-One that my brother seriously pissed off-AH!" It was a clipped exclamation, full of surprise, as Sam got ripped from Shelley and Pete's grip and slammed up against the ceiling, only to come crashing back down with the full force of gravity.

"SAM!" I cried.

"I'm calling 9-1-1," Shelley cried, terrified. She ran to the phones, but just as she reached them, the receiver was ripped off the wall and Shelley screamed bloody murder.

Shelley's voice was jarring; it felt like we were in those ridiculous, terrible horror movies. I was looking at Sam on the floor again with Pete and we were trying to get him back up, but he couldn't really move that well. He only kind of opened his eyes for us. Pete and I tried to lift him up together by holding him under the shoulders. We managed it, but just as we had him half-standing, we suddenly realized that he was being held up by something else.

It took the breath out of us when we realized that we could just step away from Sam… And he was still suspended in the air. I could feel my heart beating; I literally couldn't breathe. We couldn't believe our eyes. There was this brief, terrifying, mystifying moment of calm as we just stood there, looking at Sam, our faces frozen in terror. He was a few inches off the ground, arms out in the air, his long hair covering his downturned head, under flickering lights, with blood dripping from the gash along his cheek… In the center of Pete's living room. It was pure unreality. Shelley, Pete and I had our mouths open.

But that's when the worst happened. Sam was too out of it, but the three of us heard this whoosh noise, and then Sam gave an excruciating spasm as the sound cracked. A millisecond later, he screamed. He started to try to struggle weakly; I don't think he even registered we were right in front of him. Again the invisible whip came down again on Sam.

"FUCK YOU!" Sam cried in anguish. His feet were not held back to anything, and he struggled in vain to get away from the invisible restraints on his chest and arms.

His swearing snapped the three of us back to life and we rushed to him. I looked at his back and he already had two deep, bloody welts on his back. Pete was using all his strength to pull Sam towards him, but whatever was keeping Sam secured in the air wasn't letting him go.Whoosh! The third hit smacked Sam right down the spine and Sam shouted in pain, right in front of us, and right in my ear. I gasped, terrified to hear the awful sound come from Sam. I looked over and in what seemed like strobing lights, I could see Shelley had tears streaming down her face, shouting Sam's name in vain. Sam was just hovering there getting whipped and we, I couldn't do a damn thing about it.

"C'mon! Guys! On three!" Pete yelled to us, his voice shaking with fear. I helped him.

"3-2-1!" And we pulled Sam with all our might. All of a sudden, we felt like the floor had become air… And in fact it had, as a jolt of air had thrown us back about three feet away from Sam. While trying to gain our bearings after the shock of our crash onto the floor, I heard several more whooshes, each one freaking us out more and more as we tried to get up, still dizzy, and get back to Sam and his shouts, nearly screams, of pain. Sam was losing more and more blood; I had seen how deep those whip wounds were...

With one last whoosh, we heard Sam cry out really loudly in desperation and pain: "DEAN! DEAN! Please come get me please… Please…" He was exhausted, trembling, face wet with tears. I ran up to him, got hit in the stomach by something, and stumbled back, unable to help Sam. Sam's eyes were red from tears, his hair beaded with sweat, his skin visibly cold and clammy, and his t-shirt nearly cut through the back; simply in tatters. I could hear Sam sobbing.

I didn't know how this had all happened. It was like a single flash and we'd all gotten here somehow… Cradling my stomach on the floor, I jumped when I heard Sam exclaim in the most heart-breaking cry of agony one last time.

"DEEea-!" He gasped. Whoosh, Sam's body vibrated and his voice was effectively silenced. I just stared at the scene in shock and pain. I realized my face was wet with tears.

Chapter 6

Ordinary People

Chapter 6

It couldn't have been two seconds later that I heard intense banging against the front door. It really scared me; I thought it was the ghost, only this time inviting friends or something. But I recognized that it was a human a second later… But I also recognized it was an angry, scary, belligerent-sounding human. Shaking, I crossed the threshold into the front door area.

"Jesse, don't do it!" Shelley scream-whispered at me as I approached the door. She was on the floor, gasping, probably in the midst of a panic attack – she was clutching her chest.

"OPEN THE DAMN DOOR NOW!" The voice roared, making me jump a foot. Before I could reach the handle, the man's hand broke through one of the door's windows, expertly unlocked the door, and let himself in. That's when he saw me, right in front of him, scared out of my wits.

"Jesse…" I felt as Dean grabbed me by the arms and pushed me back against the wall inside the foyer (he still hadn't seen Sam hung up like a marionette in the living room). I flinched when he called me by my name. How did he know I was Jesse? "Jesse, listen to me, where is the Ouiji board you were using?" He asked calmly, but urgently. Like a paramedic, I thought, weird. "JESSE!" He yelled at me, shaking my shoulders as I stared dumbly at him. Okay, not exactly like a paramedic.

"Uh uh… In the basement. Basement," I repeated, gesturing lamely towards the kitchen. It seemed Dean had a one-track mind and set off directly to the basement. I didn't know what was going on, but I turned back to the living room… And Sam was still there, writhing a little bit, before I heard him gasping, having trouble breathing.

"Sam… Sam?" I ran to him and held up his head in order to open his airway. He just struggled in pain and whimpered.

"Dean... Get Dean…" Sam cried and gasped. I heard a thump downstairs and someone yelling; it had to be Dean. I turned back to Sam.

"He's coming, Sam," I gulped back tears myself as I watched something suffocating Sam. I didn't understand this at all; I thought Dean was borderline, if not entirely, abusive to Sam… And Sam had always shied away from being with Dean or associated with Dean… But now Sam's begging for him-? After he had, well, okay, probably done all those things to him at home in the past?

I obviously wasn't this cogent while everything was happening, but the feeling of utter contempt I had for Dean… And then Sam begging for him… It was a pretty blunt conflict that I didn't understand.

I felt a blast of air sweep over me and I backed up in shock, knocking against the wall, my head smashing into a mirror. Dazed, I slid down the wall and watched as Sam sobbed once before being completely unable to breathe. I heard the thundering sounds of Dean's feet as they raced upstairs from the basement and watched his reaction when he saw Sam in the air. He didn't even really flinch; he just ran right to him. I couldn't hear what he said into Sam's ear before he took him under the shoulders, lifted him a little bit (like he was unhooking him), and settling him down to the floor. The minute he set Sam down on the ground so gently with his stomach on the floor, he leaned down, kneeling on the floor, to look Sam in the eyes.

I watched, shocked, that a guy like this could be doing and saying what he was saying to Sam. But I swear I heard him…

"Sammy, breathe, slow in, slow out… No panicking I'm right here… Don't think about anything I'm right here… Breath, Sammy, that's it…" He was coaching. I sidled up next to them, tentatively. I looked at Dean, still scared of him, but worried about Sam.

"Is it working? Is he breathing?" I asked, looking at Dean anxiously while Dean had his head cocked, and his body nearly lying on the floor, now, with Sam. He was staring at his brother sadly, worried. Sam reflexively reached out and, as a mutual reflex, Dean caught his hand and held it.

"Yeah it's working… It's working…" Dean replied calmly, almost soothingly. It was a voice I never thought Dean could make. Dean looked up at me.

"You okay?"

"God yeah, compared to Sam?" I replied honestly. Dean gave me a look that agreed with me.

"You got any gauze? Clean fabric? Anything to press onto Sam's back?" He asked. In my head, I went through Pete's family's inventory.

"Yeah we have that, hold on…" As I got up, I looked back down at Sam and Dean was stroking his hair.

When I came back with the first aid kit and towels, Shelley and Pete finally checked back into the world from shock and approached us, too. They sat a little bit behind me and off to the side so they could see what was happening, but didn't have to talk to Dean. Dean worked precisely as he started to take off what was left of Sam's shirt. Sam cried for his brother when the pain got too bad.

Dean would stop and put a wet cloth on his forehead and give him his hand. He told Sam a couple off-color jokes that didn't work, but Sam would give a half-hearted smile anyway. Finally, Dean took the towels I had gotten him and told Sam to brace himself.

"I can help," I offered. Dean looked at me, considered it, and nodded as I walked around to look into Sam's eyes.

"Hey Sammy-" Sam's look of disgust was visible through the pain. "Oh, sorry," I replied, noticing, and realizing that Dean was the only one that Sam allowed call him Sammy. "Sam take my hands and squeeze them to brace yourself. Dean's going to put the blankets over you now until we get you to the hospital, okay?" Sam nodded a little bit with watery eyes. He glanced at Dean and I thought I saw a message pass between the two of them… I couldn't catch it… But Dean was apologizing and Sam looked defeated.

"Okay Sammy. 1… 2," and I felt Sam scream with pain as he writhed on the floor, trying to ride out the unbearable pulses of electric pain shooting from the deep whip wounds. He was really crying, like sobbing, and I didn't know what to do, I was so scared for him. Gently (which was, strangely, what was coming to mind, now, as Dean's way of doing things), Dean pushed me over so he could be in front of Sam once he was done. He had wrapped the towels around Sam, so all he had to do was keep them steady until the pain settled and the blood clotted, and it wouldn't really hurt anymore… At least that was the theory.

"Sam… Sam stop crying," Dean whispered to Sam, close to his face. I realized it was more a request, a favor, Sam could do for his brother; not an order. Sam closed his mouth and nodded a little bit, but gave up with a heavy exhale… Like he had been holding his breath in order to heed his brother's words. On exhale, he whimpered, "Dean…" in a soft voice, "-it really hurts…" And his face screwed up and he started to cry again…

Dean smoothed Sam's hair more. "I know, I know, Sammy…"

Dean and I watched Sam finally relax, almost go to sleep, on the floor. Five minutes in, Dean looked up at us and goes, "All right we've gotta move. The Impala's out front. Who can Pete sleep over with?"

"My place," Shelley and I volunteered.

"Who lives closer?" Dean whispered back.

"Shelley," I responded quickly.

"Okay that's fine. Pete, I'm dropping you off with Shelley, then you, Jesse, then the nearest hospital."

"I'll come with you to the hospital…"

"No, you won't," Dean responded. His words seemed final. So that was where Sam got it from...

Dean looked at us. "Okay get your stuff."

"My stuff's on me," I answered. Dean looked up for a minute, nodded, and looked back down at Sam. He kneeled down and started to lift Sam up from under the shoulders. At the feeling, Sam stirred in his sleep.

"De..Dean… Dean! DEAN!"

"YEAH Sammy! I got you!" Dean responded, fully waking his panicking little brother up. Sam clasped Dean's forearms for certainty and Dean, seeing how distraught he was, came closer and pressed Sam against him for a hug. I watched them and honestly, I could've done with a hug like that at the moment.

I watched as Sam, initially nervous, melt into Dean as he felt Dean's pressure. Dean was careful not to touch his back. He whispered into Sam's ear as he held Sam with one hand at the nape of his neck, his fingers intertwining with Sam's long-ish hair. I didn't hear much, but I know I heard Dean say, "You're gonna be fine," and, "You're with me; you're safe." And right before we had to move Sam to the car, I heard Dean say, "I love you," and kiss Sam's head. Sam nodded, too, like this was a normal thing...

…And all of a sudden I felt incredibly ignorant and embarrassed to have thought that Dean was hurting Sam. Not while I watched Dean take the blanket Shelley handed to him to wrap around Sam. He maneuvered around and took up post behind Sam's head, telling me to take Sam under the knees as we carried him to the car in the least painful manner possible.

Shelley got into the backseat of the car, followed by Pete, and they handled Sam carefully as we pushed him through the backseat and I moved to sit down in the backseat with Sam's legs and feet near my lap. My hand snagged on something plastic and sharp on the inside of the door. I looked down and squinted… It was a broken little green army man stuck in the little ashtray of the door. I felt a pressure on my shoulder stopping me, and turned around to look at Dean.

"No you'll sit up front with me, I'm going to need directions," Dean said in a low tone.

I nodded in the dark.

"-Kay…" I walked around to the passenger seat. I got in and closed the door. Dean was sitting beside me and started up the car. I looked at him; stared, really. He looked tense, his eyes hooded with worry. "Go straight off this street and take a left," I murmured.

The car took off. I felt the rhythmic rumbling of the vehicle… It was calming, in a way. I looked around the interior of the car I thought was so intimidating; it was well lived-in, though. The leather was soft and worn and it actually smelled good; clean.

I gave Dean the directions to Shelley's house and I slid into the backseat with Sam when Pete and Shelley got out, still dazed. We took off again as soon as they were out of the car. I could only imagine what Pete and Shelley felt like as they stared after us, with only the crickets and soft moonlight shining softly down on the small, empty suburban street. Sam had his eyes closed as I checked for and monitored his pulse, following Dean's directions.

…

Dean pulled up to my house.

"Thanks, Jesse," he said clearly, softly. I just nodded.

"Of course," I muttered. I got out of the car and stood there as Dean drove away with Sam in the back seat. It occurred to me, as a random thought, that Dean hadn't asked me directions to the nearest hospital.

Chapter 7

Ordinary People

Chapter 7

On Sunday, I tried calling Sam several times, but I didn't get an answer. On Monday, he was absent from school and Pete, Shelley and I didn't really talk much, except about Sam and how we thought he was doing.

"Where does he even live?"

"I don't know," I replied, surprised. All this time, and we had no idea where Sam lived. After school, I called Sam again. Finally, it picked up.

"Sam?" I asked, a twinge of hope in my voice.

"No it's Dean. Hi Jesse."

My spirits sank.

"Hi. Um, I'm calling because I wanted to know how Sam was doing."

"He's doing fine," was Dean's glib answer. I waited. Dean's voice sounded tired, sad.

"What hospital is he staying in? Can I come see him? I have stuff from us to give him…" I asked, referring to the cards and chocolates and Shelley bought Sam a cool Starbucks water bottle (I thought that was a little weird, but whatever).

"He's not in the hospital. I took him back home."

"Oh…" I said, conflicted between being polite and asking if I could come to their home… I heard Dean sigh over the phone.

"You can come over, though," he finally said. I smiled.

"Really?"

"Yeah we're at the Blue Light Motel."

"The… Blue Light Motel?" I asked, stalled, thinking I hadn't heard him correctly.

"Yeah. Room 20.

"Um. Okay can I drop by in an hour?"

"Sure."

Dean disconnected. A motel room? They had been living here for two months…

…

I took my bike over to the motel. It was a hike, but I didn't mind. I pulled my bike into the parking lot, sweating, and kicked up the brake, leaning my bike against it and pulling the stuff I brought with me out of the side-pockets attached to the back. I was really nervous, scared to see Dean again. I glanced at the homey wooden structure of the motel. It was ranch style; there was an outside deck to their room that spanned down past all the other rooms until the motel's main office. Room 20 was the one at the very end, and just past their door was a small creaky chain-swing bench made of nearly-rotted wood. I stepped up and knocked on the door with light force. I gathered myself, my heart pounding, as I heard steady footsteps approach. The door opened and there was Dean, looking relaxed, but tired, holding a cup of coffee.

"Hi," I said in a rushed exhale. Dean didn't make an effort, but the ends of his mouth twitched up for a second.

"Hi Jesse," he said calmly, and started opening the door further. I watched him, surprised by how old he actually seemed. I didn't get it: how was this guy the one with the reputation he had at school? He didn't seem troubled or aggressive or disrespectful. So, I bit the bullet.

"Hold… Hold on…" I raised my hand in a way that stopped Dean from opening the door all the way. "Can I talk to you for a second?" I asked. My voice was shaky, and Dean nodded with a furrowed brow and followed me outside when I gestured for him to come out onto the porch area. When I saw he was following me, I turned around and went to the swing to sit, trying, for all the world, to avoid Dean's eyes… But I knew I'd have to look at them eventually. Dean leaned up against the railing, expectantly looking down at me. Before I could start, I felt tears brimming the corners of my eyes and I sniffed. Finally, I looked up at Dean. It really struck me how, right now, he seemed like a real adult, you know? Like a teacher. He seemed understanding and calm and open to me...

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry," I managed to get out. Immediately, Dean looked confused and shifted his weight around, but I kept going, tearfully spilling my guts out to him: "It was my idea for the Ouiji board thing and it was while Sam was upstairs when we started talking to the ghost and I didn't know…"

"Hey, hey, Jesse, calm down," Dean replied, crouching down in front of me. His eyes were sympathetic and steady on me and I looked straight into them. "You're upset because you didn't know that ghosts are real? Newsflash. Nobody knows ghosts are real, Jesse. Don't blame yourself for this."

"But I made Sam take the risk…"

"Sam knew what risk he was taking. I did, too."

This time, it was my turn to look confused.

"Sam texted me telling me about the Ouiji board game when he found out you guys were doing it."

"So why didn't you tell him not to do it?" I asked, still on the brink of tears. Dean sighed calmly, but regretfully.

"I… I didn't think there was much harm in it as long as Sam monitored what was coming in and going out. I let him do it, Jesse, and I knew ghosts were real," Dean said with a hint of a smile… Hoping he was getting through to me.

"-So don't blame yourself when you thought it was okay to do when you didn't, understand me?" He looked sincerely into my eyes and I nodded and gave him a small smile, letting him know he had made me feel better. I sniffed again… And Dean came over to sit next to me on the swing. He was the opposite of everything I thought he was…

"So you guys are ghost hunters, huh?" I asked, almost comically. Dean smiled self-consciously and looked into his coffee.

"Yep." He looked up at me. "Jesse, you want to go see Sam now?"

I smiled and nodded, relieved he knew what I was thinking. Dean gave a small nod in return and got up to usher me in.

I walked inside the small room and saw Sam wrapped up in bed. I looked at Dean and he nodded with a small smile.

"He's in and out. In right now," he informed me. I nodded and walked into the room. I saw Sam in his bed, covered in blankets; tissue and water and pain meds neatly surrounding him and the bedside table. There was also a bucket and clean bandages and a first aid kit… Just about everything Sam could possibly ever need. I walked around to where Sam could see – he was lying down, facing the wall. I crouched down to his level; I didn't want to move his bed by sitting on it.

"Hey Sam," I whispered. His eyes were open and at the sound of my voice, he looked up and tried to smile.

"Hey Jesse," he managed.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he replied, then looked down at the floor again. I pulled the stuff I'd brought over for him.

"I got some things Shelley and Pete and I wanted to give you…"

Sam looked up and his eyes lit up a little inside; a hint of a smile curving his lips.

"Thanks," he replied.

"Let me show you," and I pulled out and described each thing. It was all kind of in whispers; I didn't want my voice to sound jarring or too loud. I heard Dean in the kitchen, setting the coffee pot again. I got to the Starbucks coffee mug.

"…And Shelley got this for you… Kind of random, but-"

Sam smiled at the bizarre gift.

"No I like it. Tell Shelley I like it."

"Okay I will," I promised. We shared a look together. I could see Sam was okay and recovering. I looked up when I saw Dean walk into the room with a glass of water and something in his hands. He came around to the side I was on and softly leaned onto the bed, leaning over and setting down the glass of water and pills on the nightstand.

"Sammy can you get up?" Dean asked. Sam inhaled heavily.

"Yeah…" Sam braced himself with his hands and shakily lifted himself up. Halfway through, he started to shake more heavily and Dean was there in a split second, grabbing him under the shoulders to hold him up. He looked at me.

"Hey will you get the pillows set against the backboard?" Dean asked me softly, casually, as he held Sam. As I stood up to rearrange the cushions, I noticed Sam's shaky hands lift up to grasp onto Dean's forearms while he held him. Sam let out a huff of pain and I could see Dean hold him a little tighter as he repositioned himself closer to him. Dean leaned Sam up against the cushions and Sam looked pale, but fine when his head landed against the cushion. Dean reached over to give Sam the pills and water, which Sam took without complaint and swallowed. Dean watched him with concern, then took back the empty glass of water.

"Sleep, okay?" Dean gave Sam a look and Sam closed his eyes and nodded. "You want to stay like this or lie down?"

"I'll just lie down myself if I feel like it," Sam responded lazily, groggy.

"Okay," Dean replied, and got up from the bed. I didn't really know my place, so I stood up.

"Thanks, Jesse. Really," Sam said, eyes closed.

"Yeah no worries, Sam. Feel better, okay?"

"-Kay," Sam responded softly. I could tell he was about to go to sleep again. I heard a mouth-click come from Dean; I looked up and he nodded outside.

"Coffee?" He asked as I moved towards him.

"Uh, sure…" I thought I was supposed to get going; apparently, Dean had other plans. He turned and walked back into the kitchen and I followed him. I was kind of confused: hadn't we had our moment before I had gone in to talk to Sam? Dean opened the fridge for milk and I saw a couple of rows of beer lining the door. He shut the door and poured me coffee with milk.

"Sugar?"

"Yeah," I breathed, nervous again. He turned and handed it to me as we went outside and sat on the swinging bench. I shifted a little uncomfortably in my seat, trying to balance my coffee, but Dean steadied the swing almost immediately. I took a sip. It was good. We shared a couple moments of silence as we looked out at the barren parking lot – dusk was coming on.

"Is Sam going to be okay?" I asked.

"Yeah he'll be fine," Dean returned, squinting as he looked away from me. In that moment, I really believed him, somehow. For the billionth time, I tried to figure this guy out and I stared at him as he looked out to the parking lot. I looked down at my coffee.

"60 stitches, you know. But he'll be fine," Dean added tiredly. He wiped his face and leaned forward, moving the bench a little bit. As he moved, I looked at his jeans and realized they were the jeans Sam had bought that time we had gone shopping at the mall. I looked back up at him… And I took a big breath.

"My question… Isn't just about last night, though… Sam always seemed to be hurt a lot…" Dean sighed loudly and leaned back, kind of stretching.

"Yeah I know," he offered. He looked at me straight in the eye, lazily, with a hint of a smile on his face. "I also know you thought I was beating him up," he replied. I felt like a deer in headlights.

"Ah… Um… I mean it's just that Sam said it was just like you and him and I couldn't think of another place-" Dean smiled with a look of understanding and gestured for me to calm down.

"Relax relax I'm not mad, Jesse," he interrupted.

"You're not?"

"No," he stated. There was an awkward pause that I thought I would have to fill by adding rationales, but instead Dean spoke again. "You know, you were the only one that called, too," he glanced at me again, then looked into his coffee. "That counts," he said softly into his coffee. I felt really special just then… Really special. I didn't know what it was about Dean, but I could tell that these moments with him, with me, were really rare for someone like him to have.

I couldn't settle my curiosity, though.

"You know that time when Sam called you after having had a few beers with us?" I started. Dean listened and I saw him retrieve the memory and back his head up in recognition. He smiled sadly.

"Yeah."

"You picked him up… But when he called you, he was really upset…" I continued; Dean was nodding, following me.

"Why was that?... Why'd he call you, 'sir'?" I added. Dean sighed and pushed back on the swing bench a little and we let it sway.

"Uh… Sam's not sober after like two beers, as you well know," Dean leaned into me with a fake-reproachful look. I blushed a little, embarrassed… Then wondered how the hell the irresponsible jerk of Falls Isle High could make me feel embarrassed about drinking underage... Dean leaned back away from me, smiling. "He also only ever drinks when I'm around," Dean pointed to me that this was another contributing factor. He leaned his head back in thought. "He's usually a happy camper, but unfortunately Dad had dropped by unexpectedly that night. So he only spoke to me for the first half of the conversation you heard; our Dad insisted to talk to him after I'd told him Sam had been drinking."

"Why'd you tell your dad that Sam was drinking?" I asked, curious. I thought good siblings kept each other's secrets…

"Oh y'know because Dad had to cool off about it. He would've realized it anyway once Sam had gotten back…" Dean looked at me, then looked at the small motel room, then back at me, meaningfully. I understood: The motel room was so small, Sam wouldn't have had anywhere to hide or sleep off the beers' effects once he'd gotten home.

I nodded, listening. Made sense.

"Sam calls your Dad, 'sir'?" I asked, skeptical. Dean smiled and pushed back again.

"Yeah we both do. Our dad's ex-marine… It's just a thing."

"Oh." Another pause.

"So, then how was Sam always injured?"

Dean thought about it; shrugged.

"He gets some good shots in, too, when we train," he said, lifting his eyebrows, smiling slyly at me with his implicit message.

"So you are the one hurting him?"

"Yeah, I guess… But it's training… It's not abuse. We spar together and sometimes shit happens."

"But aren't you outside Sam's weight bracket?"

"I take offense to that," Dean replied comically. He cracked a genuine smile and yeah, okay, it was charming. I really wanted to smile back at him, but I didn't really get it… So I remained stoic.

"Seriously," I stated. Dean realized I wouldn't break and broke eye contact. He shrugged.

"I hold back with Sam," Dean replied simply, and sipped his coffee.

"Really? Because that eye of his…"

"Oh that… That wasn't when we were sparring."

"You hit him?"

"No! No, I uh…" Dean started smiling and I was not appreciating where this story could be going… "Okay. I turned around when I was holding a pole… And he'd been behind me… and the end of the pole wacked his eye."

It was weird that I wanted to smile with Dean. But out of loyalty for Sam, I didn't.

"Why were you holding a pole and why'd you turn around?"

Dean broke into a bigger grin.

"Pole because we were sparring. And I was checking out a chick running across the street while Sam had stopped to look up at the clouds," Dean laughed. Okay, fine, that's kind of funny. Definitely 3 Stooges humor, but it made me laugh. Especially since it seemed like the two things that distracted the brothers were so perfectly fitted to their personalities. Dean relaxed, looked at me, and started appealing to me; I could tell he wanted me to understand.

"Seriously, though, for that other stuff… Think of it like if Sam was in school and boxed or played a sport. Injuries happen. But we take care of it."

Dean's last sentence was easily translated: I take care of him. I nodded silently.

"Okay," I said, getting used to the idea. Dean was right; it made sense… Until another thing popped into my head.

"If you take care of it, why weren't you there when Sam got into that fight with Josh?"

"I was there what're you talking about?" Dean responded pretty fast, confused.

"What? No you weren't. I didn't see you."

"Well. I didn't want to be seen," he replied as if it was obvious. I thought back to that day and remembered the two guys – Josh's friends. Dean watched and smiled a little bit as understanding spread across my face.

"You're the one that stopped Josh's friends?"

Dean grinned and nodded. He looked up at me.

"Yeah. I'm a ninja." Dean's eyes twinkled with mischief and I smiled against my better judgment. "– but I saw that you had seen them, too, and were heading towards one of them after I had stopped him. I noticed you." I blushed a little bit at this.

"Yeah…" My turn to smile self-consciously.

Suddenly I realized all this time, while I consistently wondered what the hell kind of asshole Sam's brother was, Dean was consistently increasing his appreciation for me. It made me feel so guilty, but so happy… That someone cared so much about Sam that they actually wanted to thank me on his behalf. Dean wasn't thanking me, but I got the impression that this was as close as it got. But why the hell now? Why didn't I know that Sam was so close to his brother? Why didn't I know that Dean was actually a good guy?

"Why does Sam not talk about you?"

"He doesn't talk about me?" Dean asked with surprise. I shook my head.

"I thought you were an asshole. The rumors… And you got suspended… I never saw you two together in school…" I started listing things and understanding flashed through Dean's eyes.

"Ah okay, that." Dean planted his feet on the ground.

"First off," he started with a smirk and twinkled eye, "if I ask a girl out and she doesn't tell me she has a boyfriend, that's not my fault. Secondly, when that boyfriend comes after me with more than two guys flanking him, you can sure as hell bet that I'm not gonna hold back during the fight…"

"…That's why you got suspended? Because you didn't hold back?" I asked, incredulous. Dean looked at me with kind of a devious smile.

"Yeah. And it's why Sam didn't get suspended with Josh."

"What, Sam did hold back?" I clarified again, slowly becoming really, really impressed. Dean nodded.

"Yep."

I sat back, surprised, and tried to wrap my head around it.

"…And as for Sam not talking about me… Well. He likes school. He likes his own friends."

"No but like he wouldn't even say anything about you… He'd go to the bathroom to take your calls."

Dean smiled and shrugged.

"He'd come home and talk my ears off about you and Pete and Shelley, if it's any consolation," Dean offered. I smiled, flattered. I still wished I had known the truth about Dean long before this conversation… But I guess Sam had his reasons, whatever they were. Apparently, my thoughts came across in my expression and Dean repositioned himself to face me on the bench.

"Look, I wouldn't want Sam to tell anyone about me the way he knows me. And Sam doesn't want anyone to know him the way I know him. It's… Too… Personal?" Dean tried to find the right last word and finished, questioning it. He looked at me, silently asking me if this made sense. I thought about it and nodded a little.

"I guess… Yeah…" I trailed off.

"But you come off like an asshole. Why do you want to seem like that?"

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Okay kiddo, that's enough questions," he replied, relaxed, and moved to get up from the swing with his coffee. I sighed and nodded, understanding. "If you want to come over again, just give Sam a call and I'll pick up, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," I replied. Dean reached for my mug to take inside.

"Have a good one," Dean said as he turned to go inside.

"Dean-" Dean stopped and turned back to look at me. "Dean, I… I wish I had a big brother like you."

Dean kind of gave a lopsided grin with both mugs of coffee in his hand, standing in the threshold of the door.

"Thanks, Jesse," he replied genuinely.

I smiled and nodded, turned to grab my bike, and Dean went inside and closed the door.

Chapter 8

A week and a half later, it was Monday. We hung out in the student lounge like we always did: Pete, Shelley and I. The week prior I'd noticed that Dean was back in school – carrying around Shelley's Starbucks coffee mug in the mornings. I smiled about that. I knew Sam liked coffee, but I doubted Dean would have him drink it while he was recovering. Plus, I knew now how close they were, now; they probably shared a lot.

Last Thursday, while it was a little late in the game, I went to Sam's advisory teacher to ask him about picking up Sam's homework for him. I found out that Dean had already beaten me to it; the teacher, slightly disgruntled to see Dean Wesson in front of him asking for his little brother's homework in such a polite manner, had given him the work Sam had been missing in class.

It was weird, seeing Dean around school now. Weird because he still acted like that tough guy that didn't take shit. I still heard rumors about him obnoxiously hitting on girls; heard rumors about how menacing he was: disruptive or sleeping in class. He was still that pain in the ass, confident jerk. He still walked around like he owned the school, an easy, cocky smile playing on his face. True, he looked a little worse for wear – bags under his eyes… But I think only I noticed it for what it was. To most people, it just made him seem scarier; more threatening. But I knew otherwise.

The bell would ring and Dean would never linger, now, like he had before. I'd seen him once – last Wednesday, walk straight through the halls past me, outside, and tear out of the parking lot at near-breakneck speed. Whereas any other kid in our school would think Dean was speeding out of there to go meet and deal drugs to the local community college kids (the most recent rumor I'd heard), I knew he was going straight home to get back to Sam.

It was also weird to see Dean around school, now, for an entirely different reason, too: the way Dean acted, now, seemed really cool to me. Before I really did think he was self-centered; a bully, a mean guy. Now that I knew otherwise, I really liked his demeanor. It was authoritative, but casual; obnoxious, but charmingly mischievous. His attitude was that he had nothing to lose…

And there was something in that. There was something about knowing that he actually did have something to lose. Well, someone,but that made it all the more endearing. Knowing how he was with Sam… It made me feel special. It was like I was in on the secret that Dean actually had a heart – that Dean loved and took care of his little brother.

Slowly, I came to realize that this was probably why Sam didn't really talk about Dean. He really liked the way Dean was… He liked Dean's façade; he liked knowing the truth about his brother. Honestly, I really liked knowing, too.

So, anyway, Pete, Shelley and I were in the student lounge chatting. There had been a pause in our conversation as we ate until I saw Shelley's eyes widen. She put down her sandwich and rushed past me. I turned around and I saw Sam grinning as he walked (sorely) towards us. Shelley made her way to him and wrapped her arms around Sam in a great, though really painful-looking, way. Painful, I say, because Sam had been whipped on his back, and Shelley grasped him there. He hissed in pain and surprise.

"Oh my god I'm so sorry!" Shelley exclaimed, immediately letting go and looking incredibly foolish. Sam laughed.

"It's fine it's fine, Shelley."

"Hey Sam!" Pete and I chorused and waved. Sam sat down next to Pete and Pete ruffled his hair good-naturedly. Sam kind of chuckled.

"Hey guys," he replied, a little nervous but also excited. I could see his confidence growing as he took in our feelings about him. Our smiling, lit up faces didn't hide the fact that we were really happy to see him. We spent the rest of lunch talking and filling Sam in on school gossip that he'd missed out on. He, still, remained relatively stoic, but for the first time he seemed at ease and interested in the gossip. Maybe he was just interested in hearing his friends again.

…

School kept going. Even Sam, at one point, told me in confidence that he was surprised he was staying for so long in this town. Once Sam was back, it was like nothing had happened: Sam and Dean were still always apart from each other during the day, and now it was only Shelley and Pete that still questioned Sam about Dean. They were outright scared of Dean; that night had been terrifying, and I think they had projected some of those feelings into their impression of Dean. Either that, or they just had never actually sat down and spoken to him like I had on that day in the motel. I was surprised that I had now adopted Sam's policy of reticence when it came to Dean. Usually I'm quite talkative, but there was something so embarrassingly meaningful between Sam and Dean that I didn't really want to cheapen it by talking about it. I just always said that Sam was taken care of whenever Pete or Shelley had expressed concern while he was absent from school recovering.

It was the same week Sam had come to school – a few days later, on Thursday - that I started to pick up on a problem. Josh was still around (acting so drastically different than Dean – it had never occurred to me that Dean didn't really have a group of idiot friends; his confidence wasn't bolstered – his behavior didn't change – when he was around students or teachers or alone). Josh always got more obnoxious the more he sensed people were enjoying his mean-spirited antics. He would laugh loudly in the student lounge and create pranks that weren't very funny (as far as I was concerned). He didn't really go near Sam, but I noticed that Sam watched him. For good reason, too, because the jokes and pranks were all at the expense of someone else; someone that didn't have the security of a group of friends and generally kids that wouldn't have the confidence to stand up against him or even report him afterwards… I could tell that it pissed Sam off. Every time he would just stare at Josh… And then on Thursday, Josh finally noticed Sam and they hit eye contact.

It was a small exchange. I could see the disgruntled surprise from Josh as he noticed Sam's intense stare. I'm pretty sure there were a lot of messages in Sam's expression; I was quite happy I wasn't on the receiving end of any of them. Within the blink of an eye, Josh's expression melted away to ignorance and he kept his eyes moving, acting as if the moment had never happened. Sam was unabashed; he continued to stare at Josh until Josh moved back to look at his small close group of friends he was sitting with.

I smiled a bit and leaned over to nudge Sam's shoulder.

"That was awkward," I said. Sam looked at me, then gave me a slight, sly smile.

"It was, wasn't it?" He replied gently, thoughtfully. We exchanged looks and then we both glanced over to the guys.

"He's going to come after you," I warned. Sam shrugged and sighed, then looked at me with sincere, clever eyes.

"S'kind of the point."

"You want to be bait?"

"Well," Sam looked a little taken aback, "I'd rather see myself as the hook…"

I understood what Sam was saying, so I nodded slowly, thinking. I turned back to him and nodded towards Josh's friends, of which there were three.

"What about things 1, 2, and 3?" I asked. Sam smiled a little bit at my reference and leaned back in his chair, sizing them up from afar. He shrugged.

"I don't know. What happens'll happen," he replied, insouciant. I felt it sounded a little too careless, so I kept staring skeptically at him.

"Seriously?" I finally, asked, cutting him out of his reverie of looking at Josh's backup. He looked up, slightly confused about why I was acting the way I was.

"What? Oh, yeah. Yeah," he repeated, building a, 'why not?' attitude around his words. I let a couple of beats pass by.

"Okay whatever," I replied, letting it go.

I knew odds were that if Josh was going to try something with Sam, either I would probably be around… Or Dean would. And, yeah, I know that I'm not a pro at fighting, but I have my uses: I can be the one to go find Dean.

Chapter 9

Ordinary People

Chapter 9

I knew it was only a matter of time before Josh would address Sam. But I was actually taken by surprise; it didn't happen like that.

The next day, Sam and I and the rest of us were hanging out together outside the school – over by a corner of the football field – after school. Loads of kids relaxed there, taking smoking breaks and snacking on leftovers from lunch or vending machine chips… Some would have just finished sports practice or theater rehearsals and taken time with each other just socializing before they called a friend or family member for a ride home.

There were about 2 to 3,000 of us in our school, so it was relatively easy to be unnoticed if you made a quiet entrance into any well-populated space. And that was us, pretty much.

So we were sitting on a patch of ground – a grassy area – and chatting - just the four of us.

"Would you rather…" Shelley started.

"Can we stop playing this game?" I asked.

"No," Pete interjected.

"Absolutely not," Shelley replied with charm in her voice.

"-Would you rather… Die… Asleep and unconscious in your bed… OR-"

"That one! Hands down that one!" Pete claimed shamelessly, grinning.

"OR… A hero?" Shelley asked juicily.

"A hero?"

"Yeah like… Saving somebody's life…" Shelley said offhandedly. At this statement, I saw Sam's lips give a slight twitch towards a smile, cocking his head to the side. It looked like he had just remembered an inside joke. Within the blink of an eye, he simply looked like he was actually just contemplating the question, though. I figured I'd just leave it alone and answer the question.

"A hero, I think," I said.

"Really? What!" I heard Shelley and Pete exclaim in surprise. I looked around at them and even Sam looked surprised.

"Yeah, I… Yeah," I stated confidently. "I think it'd be really cool to go out on a note of self-sacrifice, you know? We all want to be good people, but it's kind of like the final proof that you are a good person – is if your last act in the world is a heroic one…" I tapered off a little, watching Shelley and Pete's expressions: they looked like they thought I was nuts. I turned to Sam, though, and realized he had really been listening… He looked really serious… Like what I had just said had really resonated with him. I wasn't 100% sure why, but when I caught his gaze, we kept it for a meaningfully long time – at least it felt that way to me.

"Screw that, man, I'd rather die painlessly and snug in my bed," Shelley said honestly, comedically. The second she had started to speak, Sam broke our look, glanced towards Shelley and gave a small smile as he continued to listen to her while absent-mindedly picking grass from the ground.

"What about you, Sam?" Pete asked. Sam looked up, expression open. He shrugged.

"Not sure. I know what my odds are, though."

"What do you mean?"

"Just that… The odds of any of us dying in our sleep are so low… That's one way out of a billion ways humans could die. But the ways you could die in an act of heroism – there're more ways to die that way. So odds are higher that we'd all be more likely to die in an act of heroism than comfortably in bed, unconscious, and old."

At this, we all kind of pondered Sam's words for awhile.

"So which one would you prefer-?" Shelley pressed. Sam shrugged.

"I don't know. It's hard to say which way you'd prefer to die if you already know the odds. Honestly…" Sam suddenly caught sight of something beyond our little circle in the grass. We were all too hung up on what he was going to say next, though, that we didn't care to look where he was looking – he had our undivided attention. "Honestly I'd just rather not think about it…" Sam finished, still staring past us somewhere. I looked at Shelley and Pete.

I looked back to Sam to see if he had noticed the effect his words had had on us. I was expecting to see a glint of humor in his eyes; his own way of letting us know that we shouldn't take him too seriously. Instead, I was struck by his countenance. In an instant, Sam's lips had become a single line, his eyes narrowed in anger; staring at something behind me. I could feel his animosity – he was silent, still as a statue, but his eyes were scanning the grounds beyond me. It took a second for me to really get a bead on the fact that something was really wrong as I took in Sam's bearing. Finally, getting a clue, I turned to see what Sam was looking at. As I turned, I heard a rustle next to me – Sam was getting up – and as he did, I heard him whisper, more to himself than to me, "I've had enough of this shit." I turned back to look at Sam immediately, struck by the threatening nature of his voice. If I hadn't known Sam, I would've been a little afraid of him with that voice. When I turned to look for him, I realized he was gone - already up and walking quickly towards where he had been staring. I hadn't seen anything, so I called out to him.

"Sam what're you-!"

Then a yell and shout rent through the air. Everyone turned to look where the cry of pain had come from. Having turned to look for Sam, I was facing the exact origin of the yell: the parking lot between the school and the field.

I wasn't surprised, but became quite worried when I realized that Sam was making a beeline towards Josh, who had just knee-ed some kid in the stomach. The kid was scrawny and pretty short… He looked young: probably a freshman. I stood up and began to walk towards Sam, wary.

I felt like what was coming was something more serious… I knew why after a second or two – the kid that had gotten knee-ed in the stomach made a quick recovery and stood back up against the school wall. He was a little hunched over from the impact, but he was still standing, hands up, palms towards Josh in supplication. I couldn't see Josh's face or expression – his back was to me – but he was hovering over the kid, right in his personal space, menacing. I did see the kid's expression, though, and the kid was giving a grimace: he was attempting to smile through his pain at Josh. This wasn't an example of Josh bullying someone. Josh was teaching this kid a lesson – Josh wanted this kid to know who was in charge of the clique he ran.

I gulped as I got closer; as Sam walked up, closer and closer to Josh. I gasped a little as I saw the kid exclaim in pain again when I saw Josh's subtle, yet extremely forceful punch to the kid's left abdomen. This time, the kid crumbled to the side, but Josh grabbed the front of the kid's shirt and lifted him back up against the wall. He was talking to the kid as he held him; as the kid held onto Josh's wrists, which were gripping him so roughly. Now I was close enough that I saw the kid's face again – it no longer held the glint of hope that Josh was just messing with him – tears had streaked down his cheeks and he was looking at Josh in genuine fear.

"Shit," I mumbled to myself with concern. I felt my heart kick up its speed even more as I saw Sam's beeline end right next to Josh. Sam wound up and smacked Josh against the side of his head with an upward shove of his palm.

Did Sam just box Josh's ears? I wondered in bizarre fascination. My eyes widened and I broke into a run to back Sam up as I watched Josh stumble to the side, clutching his head and ear. The kid slid down the wall and I saw Sam crouch down in front of him while Josh quickly regained his senses.

"Sam what the hell are you doing-!" I whispered to myself in anger as I made my way to them. Inside, though, I had to admit: Sam's actions felt so right to me. He wasn't trying to satisfy a need for empowerment on his end… Sam just always seemed unable to accept or bear witness to Josh's behavior… Because his behavior was, put bluntly, wrong.

Josh shook his head to clear it one last time. He moved over and his figure eclipsed my vision of Sam crouching down over the kid as he checked to make sure he was fine. I couldn't believe my eyes (well, knowing Josh, I shouldn't have expected anything more) when Josh sucker-punched Sam in the lower right quadrant of Sam's back and then shoved him back onto the gravel.

"SAM!" I screamed, running much faster now, knowing Josh had just hit him where his stitches must've been. I finally got to them and ran up to Sam as he was, miraculously, getting back to his feet rather elegantly, given the fact that I knew he must be bleeding now. I grabbed his forearm to help him balance.

"Sam… Sam!" I asked urgently, begging him to respond in kind. He gave my hand a squeeze and moved away from my grip. He stood up fully and looked Josh straight in the eye.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?" Josh spat. Sam smiled and got into a stance – I recognized it from movies I had seen – but I'd never seen someone do it in real life. It looked cool, you know? I had seen kids in school bounce on their heels, circling each other in a goofy imitation of what they thought was the right way to prepare to fight… But Sam… I don't know what it was – Sam didn't look like he had learned it from the movies.

His chest was directed full on towards Josh's, not at an angle, and he was guarded, but not pulled in, like I had seen most other fight-club idiots do. His muscles twitched in anticipation, but only slightly and he started to advance. As he did, I saw the back of his shirt – he was wearing an old, what-was-once-navy-but-is-now-a-dreary-shade-of-blue t-shirt… And it was darker and sticking to his back in blotches. Blood, it occurred to me. His stitches were bleeding… A lot. But Sam didn't seem daunted by it as he moved into Josh's space. Josh had put on an intense look of anger – he looked scary, fire in his eyes as he came to terms with the fact that Sam actually had the audacity to stand up to him and face him in a fight.

Josh had a terrible sneer, his nostrils flaring, one corner of his mouth reaching up, showing his grimey teeth. It was a predatory look – one I had never really seen from him before. I got a shock as I looked into his eyes – there was real hatred in them – and I feared for what kind of person Josh would really grow up to be…

And it occurred to me that Sam must've seen this in Josh. No one else had, but Sam had spotted it… And now he was doing something about it. I watched, mesmerized yet again, by what was taking place. In hindsight, this fight felt like years.

Sam advanced. Josh swung at Sam's right shoulder. Sam dodged it and slammed his fist into Josh's gut. Josh doubled over and roared in anger. Sam let Josh recover, staying still and silent, his demeanor professional, unemotional, and determined. Josh stood up, feinted a punch and clipped Sam's shoulder as Sam moved to block the feint by accident. Before Sam could recover, Josh nailed Sam in the back of his shoulder and shoved Sam forward. Sam twisted around and moved back to Josh. Josh tried to strike at Sam's head and that's when Sam pulled the coolest move I'd ever seen. He ducked, repositioned his foot behind one of Josh's legs as he did so, then while still crouched, landed his fist in Josh's stomach and, in the same split second, pushed his palm against Josh's doubled-over frame, right against his solar plexis and slammed him so hard that Josh gasped and flew backwards, hitting the ground literally a foot away from where he'd been standing.

"Jesus…" I breathed. The power behind Sam's hits were stunning; I hadn't seen anything like it. I watched as Sam slowly, fluidly, stood up from his crouched position and walked towards Josh on the ground. The wind had been knocked out of Josh and he was gasping, looking up at Sam in hatred. Sam's shirt was clinging to him, now; I was surprised he was still standing…

I felt a drop of something on my neck and realized it had gotten darker in the past five minutes – grim, black and dark-gray clouds were rolling over the parking lot and field; kids that had been watching from a distance gave up the spectator sport and started moving towards shelter. They hadn't come running to the fight; they knew as well as any of us that this was a real fight… None of them wanted a part in it.

By now, Shelley and Pete had sidled up alongside me, though. They were undeterred by the weather. They were watching Sam with just as much awe as I was.

As Sam approached Josh, I held my breath as I saw Sam grasp his side for a second. His back had to feel like it was on fire, but he gave no indication…

"Josh, what in the hell do you think you're doing?" Sam asked him, his voice was soft and harsh – threatening and quiet. Josh glared up at him and spat on the ground. "You've got to stop this," Sam finished.

"You little prick!" Josh growled. The drizzle started turning into full blown rain drops.

"Stop hurting people or I swear to God, I will make sure you do," Sam threatened over the sound of rain. Sam's eyes were slits of anger, his hair wet over his forehead. He watched as Josh used the wall of the school as leverage to balance him as he got up. He looked at Sam, fury still playing in his eyes.

And…Now… Now I was worried. Sam didn't look like he could go another round. I noticed he was really pale, too… Blood loss, probably…

When I saw Sam wasn't backing down – he was in this fight until Josh went down, apparently – I slipped my fingers into my pocket and took out my cell phone.

The wind had really picked up and the rain had soaked my clothes through and through by now. I don't know if it was the adrenaline or the cold that made my fingers shake as I texted Dean.

I looked up when I heard Shelley gasp right next to me. Sam and Josh had started fighting again, only this time in the rain. Sam dodged another blow and slammed his heel against the knee Josh was using to support himself in the throw of his punch. Josh let out a cry of anger and caught Sam off guard with a blunt kick to Sam's ankle after he'd hit the ground. Sam had been too close to Josh – the kick to his ankle impacted him hard. Sam stumbled back, favoring his ankle. In the rain, I could see his mask falling away for two seconds as he tried to manage the pain. Sam recovered, but this time, Josh had gotten up and was now approaching Sam. In the rain, with the wind rushing, Josh's face looked scarier – he had murder in his eyes now; he looked like he was really enjoying this. Sam didn't back down and as Josh bore down on him, I saw something glint in Josh's hand.

"SAM!" I shouted, trying to warn him of the knife. Instead, Sam interpreted it as a cry of pain and he looked my way, desperately worried, as I moved to intercede between Sam and Josh somehow. My efforts were futile, though: whatever I was planning to do was canceled full stop when I felt a strong arm grip me and thrust me back onto the wet cobbled pavement of the parking lot. My head hit the ground with a flash of white light inside my head. Dazed, I looked up, trying to see who had thrown me with such vicious force. I blinked through my haze and the heavy raindrops in order to see the grinning face of one of Josh's friends. Furious, I tried to get up. Just as I placed my hands on the gravel to sit up, I heard Sam – a clipped cry out and then silence. I tried to look around – my vision was blurry – and I realized that Josh's friends had Shelley and Pete on the ground, too, holding us back from helping Sam.

When the hell did they get here? I wondered, still dazed and scared and worried… And now freezing cold on the muddy, wet, pebbled ground.

I fought hard to clear my head. I knew I had one of Josh's goons hovering over me, watching me and the fight… I didn't move from my place – my head hurt; I was too disoriented. I fought to see what was happening beyond me, though.

Somehow, Josh had gotten the upper hand. It dawned on me that it was probably because I had distracted Sam to warn him about the knife. I cursed out loud in frustration at this realization and tried harder to see through the now heavy downpour.

I couldn't see that well, but I was still closer to the action than Pete and Shelley were. It looked like Sam had been slashed by the knife across his chest and I don't know if it had been the knife or a punch that had caused the gash across his cheek. I still saw his facial expression, though, as Josh kicked Sam and shoved him against the wall just as he had done initially with the kid whose defense Sam had come to…

More than ever, it was now that I realized Sam was so incredibly unique. Through his pain, he stared back at Josh in defiance, even as he was up against the wall, clearly losing ground… He had lost a lot of blood, he was pale, and I could tell he was simply spent; exhausted. I saw Josh lean towards Sam, saying something, and Sam's eyes flared in fury. Sam managed one last quick, powerful elbow hit to Josh's jaw. Josh kept his grip on Sam, though, and spit blood onto the ground, then pulled Sam away from the wall just a little bit. With as much force as he could muster, Josh slammed Sam's entire body against the brick wall of the school, jolting Sam's stitched back against the jagged, cement texture. Sam's whole body shuddered in pain, but Sam didn't cry out – he just grunted and grabbed at Josh's arms, which were effectively holding him up, now. I knew Sam was working hard on staying conscious – he kept the look of conviction in his eyes against Josh, even in as vulnerable a position as he was. I saw the moment – the moment wherein Josh stared into Sam's eyes and finally realized that this, this was what he hated about Sam. This look in Sam's eyes whenever he looked at him.

Flicking his knife open with flare, I saw Josh's arm weave through the air, aiming at Sam's abdomen.

For the second time in my life, and within the same time span of knowing Sam, time froze for me. I heard myself scream through the rain, but it felt hollow, like an echo, and nothing seemed to cross through the distance – the short distance – to Sam and Josh. I felt myself being held back by something – my guess was Josh's friend. All I could hear was my heart thudding, adrenaline pumping through me, and the sound of the rain completely drowned out. Tunnel vision ensued, my eyes only following the knife in Josh's hand. The knife I was positive Josh had never actually used. The knife he only ever carried to make people think he was cool and scary…

The knife glinted as rain drops hit it in the air. Josh had raised it dramatically, hoping Sam would see it… And hoping it would change Sam's expression to what he thought it should have been all along – fear. That, I knew, was what Josh wanted.

Instead, Sam glanced at it as he struggled meagerly, then looked back at Josh and whispered.

"Is this what you want to become?"

I knew this must've been enraging to Josh. I could feel it, even as far away as I was, hot fire burning up inside Josh as he swung the knife up, ready to plunge it into Sam.

I watched, horrorstruck. Is this murder? Am I about to witness an actual murder? I wondered in terror and disbelief. Through everything: my tunnel vision, my heart thudding and the sound of my hollow echoing screams… It was silent as the moment had come.

Suddenly I heard the intense sound of pounding gravel coming towards me. It was a heavy sound, but the pace of it was so fast that it seemed to breeze from right behind me to right ahead of me. Before I could even figure it out, I saw a man's body appear right in front of my line of sight to Sam and Josh. The full force of the man's running weight focused solely upon Josh's outstretched hand with the knife in it.

I heard Josh cry out in surprise, then pain, once, twice and a third time before I heard the sound of metal clattering to the ground. Josh let go of Sam and reached for his hand instinctively. Dean had slammed it over and over again against the brick wall so that he'd release his grip on the knife.

Without mercy, Dean slammed his fist into Josh's anguished face and Josh collapsed into a grotesque kneel, as Dean kept him up by way of still holding his (probably) shattered wrist. Without preamble, without any of the reluctance Sam showed in allowing an adversary recovery time, Dean slammed his boot against Josh's chest, letting go of Josh's wrist as he did so, so that Josh fell freely against the pavement, his head hitting the ground hard.

At first, I thought Josh was out cold, but I saw him slowly curl into the fetal position, grasping his wrist.

Slowly, sounds came back to me. The rain pounding down, the wind howling. I was covered in mud and sweat and tears. I, slowly, got up and looked around. Even Josh's cronies were dumbstruck, and were approaching the scene cautiously. Dean was crouching in front of Sam, but as soon as he realized we were all behind him, he swerved around, holding his barely conscious brother forward so his back was no longer against the wall.

"Jesus Christ…" I heard the guy say next to me as he looked Sam over. This was the guy that had held me back from helping Sam. I looked at him, disgusted and outraged, then realized there was genuine fear in his eyes. I couldn't help myself; I was stock silent, surprised by the guy's sudden flash of humanity.

Dean looked up at all of us for a second, then back down to his hunched-over brother.

"Call 9-1-1!" He shouted through the rain. Dean's voice, normally so self-assured, shattered my confidence: Dean was scared. His voice was desperate, and his moves were panicked as he maneuvered his brother down further to the ground and onto his side in the mud. I saw Sam's hands move gently to grasp Dean's hands, but Dean was too busy putting Sam into the right position. He lifted one of Sam's arms up so his head could lie against his shoulder, the other one tucked against his chest. He let the leg Sam had closest to the ground out and extended, and carefully bent the other at the knee so it was on the ground, closer to Sam's chest. Dean looked up again.

"Jesse!" He yelled at me, having spotted me, frozen, watching. I shuddered at Dean's voice and fumbled for the cell phone in my pocket. As I dialed 9-1-1, I heard Dean yelling directions to the others.

"Everyone else, go!" Dean shouted. Nobody moved. "NOW," Dean yelled with intensity over the downpour. Everyone, even Michelle and Pete, left, running, scared by both Dean and the scene they had just witnessed transpire between Sam and Josh.

This had been beyond high school rivalries. This had been downright terrifying.

I stood in place, feeling responsible, somehow.

"9-1-1 What is your emergency?" The call had clicked through almost immediately and I was startled by the voice in my ear. Oh yeah, I realized. I just called 9-1-1.

"There… There was a fight…" I stumbled over my words, surprised I couldn't get much more out.

"What is your location?"

"I… I…" I got distracted as I saw Dean gesturing to me – to the phone. I handed the phone to him.

"Falls Isle High – Southwest quadrant of the field – the parking lot out back. Two injured persons, one's suffering from loss of blood and shock, possibly critical, the other multiple wrist and hand breaks," and with that, Dean hung up the phone and threw it at me.

The phone flew past me and onto the ground as I moved to Sam and Dean. Dean completely

ignored me as he leaned over his brother. Sam was shaking uncontrollably on the ground, pale as all hell. He looked dead to me… And I suddenly got a flashback to that night at Pete's house…

"Sam? Sammy?" Dean yelled in deep concern. Sam's eyes slid open for Dean.

"Hey…" Sam replied, as if nothing had happened. Dean took it in stride.

"Sammy you got to stay awake for me, okay? You gotta stay with me," Dean's voice trembled a little bit. I didn't really realize why until I saw what Dean was looking at: he had pulled Sam's shirt up to take a look at Sam's stitches.

Blood covered Sam's back; it was hard to tell where the whip lashes had existed in the first place. I heard my breath catching at the sight, and Sam gave a soft moan. Dean's eyes were nearly frantic; I watched as he brought Sam's shirt back down and took off his leather jacket, throwing it at me. Luckily, I caught it and held it as Dean unbuttoned his overshirt and folded it to completely cover Sam's back… He reached out for his jacket without looking at me and I immediately gave it back to him.

"C'mon Sammy I'm just going to put this around you, okay, I gotta lift you up, man," he spoke over the rain. Sam groaned again as he felt himself getting lifted, bodily, off the ground by his brother, and having the worn leather jacket wrapped around him tightly.

"Ah, Ah!" Sam squirmed in pain at the pressure Dean applied to his back with the jacket, but Dean shushed him as he pulled Sam up against his chest.

"Shouldn't you keep him on the ground?" I asked, worried. I knew the procedure; Dean had had him in the right position on the ground before he picked him up.

"Did Sam sustain injury to any part of his spine!" Dean boomed in scary authority.

"I… No!" I shouted back to him over the rain.

"He's lost too much blood and he's losing body heat from the rain. If he hasn't sustained a spinal injury, heat and stopping his bleeding is what he needs most right now!" Dean responded to me, yelling at me, over the rain and wind.

"Okay!" I replied over the storm. I sat there, trembling, close to Sam and Dean. Sam had been wriggling under Dean's hand, but not to get away. Dean just held him tight against him and I could see Dean breathing heat against the back of Sam's neck as he spoke to him. Sam held onto Dean's hands, which were against his chest, and Dean eventually repositioned his hands so that his palms were covering Sam's wrists. I noticed Sam's fingers – his hands - were trembling even after Dean had clutched his wrists tight. Sam looked incredibly frail in his brother's embrace.

Sam had his eyes closed, but he responded to Dean's words. I couldn't tell what exactly they were talking about, but two seconds later there was actually a moment between them where Dean chuckled and Sam's lips seemed to break into a minute smile for a millisecond. The next thing I knew, I could hear Sam briefly swear.

"Shit…Ah…" Sam reacted to something really painful shoot through his back. I could tell because he arched against Dean and grabbed awkwardly out, eventually grasping Dean's knees, which were bent on both sides of him, for leverage as he managed through the pain.

"Easy, easy…" Dean coached, holding Sam's chest. Dean glanced up at me, his eyes wide with fear and desperation, then back to his little brother. He held his little brother and Sam held onto him in return.

"You still with me?" I heard Dean ask as Sam seemed to calm down a little bit.

"Yeah, yeah Dean, I'm still with you," Sam breathed, still grasping Dean's knees. Dean had Sam's head leaning back against his neck as Sam's chest heaved in and out, heavily, under Dean's hands. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world when Dean brushed his face against Sam and kissed him on the temple.

"Good, stay with me, Sammy, stay with me," he replied, and Sam inhaled deeply and nodded his head, trembling with effort.

On this note, I jumped up and heard my feet crash into the gravel as I ran out of the parking lot and into the empty, slicked-wet street to wave down the ambulance that would surely come soon. Everything on me was sopping wet and I felt my own involuntary shivers stream through my limbs. Before I could get to the cross street, I heard sirens.

Chapter 10

Ordinary People

Chapter 10

The paramedics ran onto the scene. Dean had backed away for them as they reached for Sam to lie him down on the backboard. He answered their simple questions with simple answers - it was like he was already on their team; like he knew how paramedics worked & knew how to be the perfect responder alongside them.

A couple of times in my life I'd been present when an ambulance comes – the arrival of paramedics seem to freak people out more: their equipment and their questions sink into the bystanders and make them realize things were really serious for their friend or family member…

Dean was the opposite, though. I had seen fear in his eyes when the paramedics weren't there; when we were in the pouring rain and Sam was nearly unconscious, taking ragged breaths and managing his pain while sitting up against his brother. But now, I couldn't see that in Dean's eyes. All at once, when the paramedics came, Dean was back to level. Someone put a blanket around me – I saw them do the same for Dean. As Dean watched his brother get hoisted into the ambulance, he was serious and calm. He moved smoothly, bumping into no one and nothing, as he slid into the ambulance quietly and without need of the hand one of the paramedics had stretched out to him from inside. Before the doors closed, I saw Dean get settled, shrug off the blanket, and, as if it were simply standard protocol, reach over Sam hold his little brother's hand. The doors shut, a paramedic slapped the back door twice, then ran to the passenger seat. The siren went off, making me jump a little in the rain, and turned out of the parking lot, into the bleak, dark-gray street. I watched it turn out onto the cross-street and disappear; its siren becoming more and more distant.

I noticed the light from an ambulance was still flashing against the black top when I looked down. Only then did I realize there was a second ambulance behind me, tending to Josh. I didn't want to look, but I did anyway, and saw that Josh was huddled inside the ambulance as well, on a stretcher. I thought of Sam and didn't really smile when I thought of that old joke: "But you should've seen the other guy."

"Hey… Hey…" A paramedic broke me out of my weird reverie. I looked straight at him and his eyes met me. "You okay?" I gave fast nods and took off the blanket.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Here…" I handed it to him.

"Where are you going?"

"Home – I… I live like a block away."

"You sure you okay? You might be in shock…" The paramedic asked seriously. I could tell, from his voice, that he'd been doing this for ages. The tone of his voice was reproachful; like an adult that knows you're making the wrong decision when you downplay an injury. If I had felt worse, I would've given into his care. But I just felt sad… And cold and wet. I just wanted to walk… And take a warm shower. So I stayed resistant to the man.

"No, really, I'm fine. I just want to get home."

Before the man could disagree, I pushed the blanket into his arms, went to grab my soaking wet backpack, and took off.

Before I could get out of the parking lot, another man stopped me.

"Excuse me, excuse me, miss?"

"Yeah?" I asked, frustrated. I turned around and saw a police officer. When had the cops come?

"Let me take you home, come on," he replied kindly. He opened the door and I stood in indecision, considering. "I won't take no for an answer," the man said calmly, a hint of a smile in his expression. I sighed and nodded, giving in. I stepped into the back seat and felt the soft pressure of the cop's hand on my head. I tried to shrug away from it, but before I did, the cop had removed his hand as I had seated myself in the back. He pushed the door closed and got into the front seat.

"Okay what's your name?"

"Jesse."

"Jesse - ?"

"Jesse Waters."

I saw the cop type in my name and my address popped up on his screen. He pointed, knowing I was looking over into the front seat.

"That you?"

"Yeah."

The cop started the car and started maneuvering it out of the parking lot.

"I'm Officer Abaza."

"Okay. Hi," I replied, not exactly knowing how to respond. He already knew my name.

"Jesse," Abaza said my name in a really soft, understanding way… "Can you tell me what happened?"

…

I got to the hospital an hour or so later. I had taken a shower, changed, and drove straight to St. Catherine's Hospital. I honestly wasn't expecting Dean to answer my text asking about where Sam had been admitted, but he was quite prompt. I moved through the glass revolving door, searching for any sign of Dean out in the ER waiting room. He was leaning against a wall, arms folded tightly against him, staring daggers at the two officers flanking him on either side.

Dean's eyes twitched towards the doors and caught sight of me just as I stepped into the waiting room. He repositioned his posture, standing up straight, and looking more uncomfortable than he already was as he glanced back at the cops. He spoke in a low voice and the two officers turned around to look at me as I approached them.

"Hi…" I said, my expression clearly confused and looking for answers. Dean stayed silent, game face on when I looked at him. The taller police officer spoke first.

"Hi I'm officer Ryan, this is Officer Preen," he stated matter-of-factly, both of them extending their hands out to me while he spoke.

"Where's officer Abaza?"

"Not here- Listen," Officer Preen spoke fast, then stepped a little closer to me, and I saw Dean's eyes narrow. I stepped back a little at Preen's proximity and looked at him, doubtful I would like anything he said next. He spoke with a silky voice; it felt like he thought he was always pulling secrets out of you while you spoke to him: his voice and demeanor just felt manipulative. "We would really like to talk to you about what happened today," he said in an undertone, as if Dean should've already been out of the conversation.

I looked back to Dean, who finally stepped up and spoke. Dean's voice was stronger, steadfast, and loud compared to Preen's.

"Jesse will you go ahead and talk to the officers? Tell them everything, I don't really care." My eyes were wide and I just nodded, then looked up at the officers. I gestured to Dean.

"Dean wouldn't really be able to tell you much – he only got there like 5 minutes before you guys."

At this, the officers turned their backs on Dean and I saw a small wave of relief flicker through his expression. He lowered his head, rubbed his face in exhaustion, sighed heavily, and moved past the two officers and I, over to the nurse's station, as the officers started peppering me with questions.

Watching Dean and overhearing the questions, I was too distracted to answer.

"Ah..mm… Let's sit down…" I mumbled, and moved over to a spot with three free seats. The officers followed. I noticed Preen kept an eye on Dean, as if he suspected Dean of some wrong-doing. Ryan looked at me as he held his notepad patiently.

…

I sat in the lobby, watching Dean. The police officers had left and Dean was just coming back from the nurse's station again. He was tired and irritated. His clothes were still damp and muddy. He sat down heavily against the plastic chair next to me. I heard the hinges strain as he stretched his back.

"Sam's still under sedation; they're still stitching him up," he informed me without emotion. I nodded silently, thinking. Finally, I came up with something productive to say.

"You want me to get you some clothes? If you have the key to the motel room, I can get it and be back in 5… 10 minutes," I offered evenly. I looked to Dean as I said this, not sure whether he was really listening or not. Still looking up, he replied.

"No I want you here," he said authoritatively. He didn't say it like he needed moral support or anything. Just that he thought my presence was required here in the hospital. I felt flattered, but confused about the sentiment. He sighed and leaned forward.

"I can't reach our dad."

It took a two second beat for me to register what this really meant.

"Seriously?" I blurted out. Dean, slower to react, leaned his head back against the wall, rolled his eyes, and looked at me.

"Seriously," he responded, acknowledging and repeating my sophomoric term.

If either of us had been in any mood, that would have been a funny exchange. Instead, Dean closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He sighed and looked at me.

"But it's okay, right? You're 18 – you can just be his legal guardian, right?" I asked, my words spilling out faster and faster.

"Yeah," Dean replied. He still sounded really stressed. I didn't get it. He tilted his head a little to look at me.

"Those stitches on Sam's back – they weren't done at a hospital. They were done by me."

Again, a two second beat was necessary for me to understand.

Gross, I thought, but I held my best poker face – even though I'm pretty sure my confusion came through quite clearly.

"-And, now…" Dean looked meaningfully at me, leaning towards me. "- Now I'm going to have to explain them."

Dean was dropping revelation after revelation on me and I struggled to understand the ramifications of this statement; I was still trying to get the image of Dean stitching Sam's skin together in that nasty motel room out of my head. I forced that image out and tried to figure out why Dean thought this was so bad…

"Wait, what? Dean how are you going to do that?" I whispered in concern. "You can't say it was a ghost that whipped Sam mid-air in Pete's living roo-"

"Jesus Jesse shut up," Dean shot back at me and looked around. I followed his gaze and saw a woman coming straight towards us, fast. "Shit," Dean breathed as he watched her hit her mark right in front of us and extend her hand.

"Hi, are you Dean Wesson?" She said lightly, but her voice was relatively deep. Dean stood up and shook her hand.

"Yeah hi."

"Hi my name is Sandra Clauson, CPS."

"Hi, how are you?" Dean answered kindly. I hadn't heard him speak so politely before… Ever. And he enunciated. He sounded downright dignified.

"I'm good, I-" She started, but then stopped as Dean turned away from her for a second and indicated to me.

"This is Jesse Waters, a friend of Sam's from school," Dean stated. I looked up, alert, and took the woman's proffered hand. She had bright blue eyes, but quite a lot of wrinkles given the 30-something age I put her at.

"Hi, Jesse, nice to meet you. Could you stick around a little longer so that I could talk to you, too, after I speak with Dean?" She asked. She seemed nice. When Dean looked at me, I was surprised by the encouraging expression and slight, hopeful nod he gave me – it was meant to be something between a look of approval and a hope that I'd respond in the affirmative. Taking Dean's lead, I nodded.

"Yes, yes, sure…" I replied, kind of confused but willing to help Dean in any way I could.

"Great, thanks Jesse. Dean, can we talk?"

"Of course," he responded reverently, and gestured for her to go first and lead him to wherever she deemed appropriate. I saw them leave the waiting room together down a side hallway.

CPS, CPS… I repeated in my head as they disappeared from sight… Oh shit…I felt a pit in my stomach: Child Protective Services?

And then the full impact of Dean's words came through. I was thinking Dean was worried about explaining the ghost-whipped-Sam's-back story to the doctors, whom I assumed would need that information to properly care for Sam.

It didn't occur to me that Dean was worried the doctors would see Sam's injuries on his back and suspect that it could've been inflicted at home…

I felt like I needed to do something, but not much could be done right then and there, I knew. I wanted my turn with the woman … Sandra Clauson, in order to vouch for Dean. If I did, I felt like it was a sure thing that Dean wouldn't be interfered with in taking Sam back once he was ready for release from the hospital. I hoped.

My worry increased as I thought of all the details surrounding Dean's reputation and Sam's random injuries. I probably wasn't the only one who'd noticed them. But I was the only one that knew how well Dean took care of Sam… I was literally the only one who knew that.

It occurred to me that this was probably why Dean had texted me the location of the hospital so fast, why he said I needed to stay there with him at the hospital. Dean didn't ever seem like the person to include a virtual stranger into family emergencies – It was obvious how often he played things close to the chest. But now that he had no backup from his father and his guardianship of Sam, he knew, would be questioned – he needed someone, me, to be there to go on the record that he wasn't abusive.

And to think, I was the one who thought Dean was being abusive first.

I really really hoped Sam was going to be okay… He needed to wake up soon.

Chapter 11

Ordinary People

Chapter 11

I walked into the room cautiously, but my watch scraped against the doorframe and I saw Sam move feebly in reaction and try to twist around. His back was to the door; he was facing the wall and the window curtains were closed. I made an effort to move around to face him.

"Hey it's just me." Sam looked up and saw me.

"Oh, okay, hey," he responded, tired, and settled.

"Hey," I replied solemnly as I sat down. I could tell Sam didn't appreciate being unable to see who walked in and out of the room.

"Do you-" I stood up and grasped the arms of the chair. Sam looked confused.

"What're you doing?"

"Do… I can move the chair around so you can face the door…" It was a logistical question and Sam was a little drugged, so it might've not been the best question to ask him at that moment. I saw the wheels turning in his eyes, though, as he grasped what I was asking.

"Um, yeah…" He murmured. I got up and scraped the chair around to the other side of the bed. Sam started moving, repositioning himself on his stomach, then turning to the side facing the room. I looked up after repositioning the chair and moved over to him to help, if it was possible. I caught a wire above Sam's head before it hit him. Sam took it in stride, stopped as I moved the wire up away from the head of the bed, then he continued to turn. With a sigh, he settled down and I sat back down.

"Better?" I asked, sheepishly. It seemed like a dumb adjustment, in hindsight.

"Yeah," Sam breathed. The move had taken a toll. There were a couple beats of silence and I stared at my hands a lot.

"Where's Dean?"

"Took off about 20 minutes ago."

"To find Dad?"

"Yeah to find your Dad."

Sam scrunched his eyes closed and opened them again.

"That's not normal. He'd stay here."

I understood what Sam meant. Ordinarily, Dean would've blown his dad off in order to be there for Sam when he woke up.

"Yeah. That's… A few things've happened since you've been out of it."

"What happened?"

Sam sounded groggy, but not really fragile. He seemed competent; ready to hear the news.

"Dean's been ordered against seeing you until legal guardianship is established."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"CPS," he whispered.

"Yeah," I replied delicately.

"Who's the case manager?"

"A woman named Sandra. Sandra Clauson," I replied. I started to get the distinct impression that this had happened before.

"Okay will you go get her for me?" Sam asked, sitting himself up a little bit more and reaching for the glass of water. He took a sip. I watched him, slightly alarmed.

"Wait, what, no…"

Sam set the water back down and looked at me, not understanding my reaction.

"What?"

"You're just getting of heavy sedatives and you've been… really… hurt…" I said, trying to come up with a gentler way to say beaten to a bloody pulp.

"I'm fine, Jesse," Sam replied, looking at me like I was coddling him or something. I opened my mouth to speak back, but nothing came out. Sam's expression was calm and honest. "Seriously, I'm okay. I'm at least okay enough to tell Sandra Clauson that Dean didn't do this."

I didn't really know what to do… In my head I wondered what Dean would do.

"You're sure-?" I asked. Sam nodded and smiled a little.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Okay…" I said, and proceeded to get up. Within the time I'd spent talking to Sam, he'd gotten a lot more cogent. Quick recoverer, I thought. But I already knew that.

As I moved to the door, I heard Sam's voice ring out in curiosity.

"Hey, Jesse…"

I stopped and turned around.

"Yeah?"

"Did you talk to Clauson?"

I took a second to figure out what I was going to say.

"Yeah, I-" I moved back to Sam, "I did."

Sam looked expectant and I spoke before he could prompt.

"I don't think I did a really good job…"

"What do you mean?"

"I couldn't really explain your injuries… I just swore that it wasn't Dean."

"Okaay," Sam trailed his voice, knowing there was more to my guilt than that.

"I told her that you and Dean lived in a motel room… And that your Dad was barely ever around…" My heart was thumping as I admitted this to Sam. I was so mortified that I had given them more rope to hang Dean on… I hadn't meant it – everything I had said was that Dean was great and that he took care of his little brother. But somehow I mentioned those other details in the midst of these statements and Sandra had picked up on them immediately. As the interview went on, I felt her fleshing out an image that I knew was painting Dean in the worst light… And I couldn't stop it. I felt helpless as she took inventory of Sam's quality of life and, even to me, it came out wanting.

…

"Where do they do their laundry?"

"I guess the laundromat on Carmon street…"

"What food do they have stocked in the room?"

"Um, parishables… Coffee," I added, knowing Dean had offered me coffee. I didn't mention the beer.

"How does Sam get to school?"

"Dean picks him up and drops him off with the black car, um, the Impala."

"Do they talk in school?"

"No, they talk outside of school."

"Where?"

"Home… Sam talks to Dean at home."

"And you know this?"

"Yeah Dean… Told me," I said, deflating a little bit.

"If something were to happen, is Dean Sam's only emergency contact?"

"I… Dean is the only person Sam would need…" I replied, confused.

"What about their father?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Where does Sam go to be alone, do you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"Where does Sam find privacy?"

"Um. I don't know. He hangs out in the library a lot."

"The library's 5 miles out from their motel. Sam would need a ride from his brother."

"Yeah," I shrugged, then looked up at her.

"Yeah," Sandra Clauson repeated softly back as she jotted something else down. I tried to look, but I couldn't read upside down.

"Oh he goes for runs!" I added.

"Mhmm… On weekends, do you see him often?" Sandra replied, not really caring about the running thing.

"Um, not really… We do homework together sometimes."

"At the public library," Sandra supplied.

"Yeah."

"You don't go see movies or go out to eat or anything?"

"Um… No Sam doesn't really come with us to those things…" I answered honestly. What did Sam do on the weekends?

"Does Sam ever talk about his brother?" Sandra asked quickly, changing tack.

"Sure," I said offhandedly, kind of lying.

"What kinds of things does he say?"

"He hates his taste in music," I replied with a smile. Sandra smiled in return.

"What else?"

I tried to think of other things Sam had shared with me about Dean. I knew Sam only ever drank around Dean… That Dean knew how to neutralize tensions in his family, what with their father being kind of strict as an ex-marine… And I knew that Sam was quite used to trusting Dean with his life, which seemed to become endangered more often than was normal… But I couldn't really say any of these things to Sandra…

Thankfully, Sandra changed the question.

"Does Dean go out on dates?"

"Uh, yeah…" I replied, thinking that was coming out of left field.

"And who can Sam turn to if something were to happen to him? Or Dean?"

"Sam's 14 years old… It's not like he needs to be baby-sat," I replied, indignant. I was 14, too. Sandra nodded, a little too understandingly. It felt condescending.

"I'll rephrase, sorry. If something were to happen to Dean, who would be able to contact Sam?"

"I… I…" It was an easy question, but it occurred to me that their dad wouldn't really hold weight, since Dean still hadn't gotten a hold of him even though he'd left close to a billion voice mails.

"Things… Don't… Happen to Dean," I replied haltingly, knowing it sounded ridiculous. By then, I had gotten kind of fed up with these questions.

"I don't understand this. Dean's 18. 18-year-olds are totally in their right to be legal guardians-"

Before I could continue, Sandra Clauson set her clipboard down and leaned forward towards me sharply.

"Listen, Jesse," she commanded as she interrupted me. She looked me straight in the eye and I closed my mouth to listen. "Dean is well within his right to obtain legal guadianship, but he is not Sam's legal guardian. Sam's father is his legal guardian. And he's not here. Sam has endured some really, and I can't stress this enough, really serious injuries – and they're not from today."

She leaned back a little, now. "…And his legal guardian," she paused for emphasis, and I heard just the slightest hint of irritation as she spent her time saying the last word. "…His legal guardian is not present." She sighed and looked at me. Almost as an afterthought to her monologue, she said sadly: "And his current guardian can't explain those injuries."

"It wasn't Dean! I swear it!" I promised in urgency. Really, this was what it came down to: these injuries. Sandra just shook her head.

"Jesse, my hands are tied."

…

Sam looked at me like I knew he would, but quickly recovered his expression.

"Hey… Hey it's okay, Jesse," he said as he tried to alleviate the guilt written over my face. I swallowed.

"Listen, just get the case manager in here, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," I replied and turned around.

Sam's reaction had been far and away better than Dean's. As I walked back into the hallway to get Sandra, my hands shook a little at the memory of Dean's reaction. Sandra had brought Dean back to the cubicle space she'd interviewed me in… And I kind of angled myself in the waiting room to be able to see down the hallway. I didn't know they would tell Dean he couldn't see Sam anymore.

I saw Sandra lean forward towards Dean – her facial expression was apologetic. I could only see Dean's back. It looked like Sandra was doing most of the talking, and slowly Dean seemed to tense up until his hands were braced against the arms of the chair he was in. Finally, he stood up and shook her hand formally… I figured things must've gone well… Until I saw him turn around and start walking down the hall.

A extremely disgusted, furious look overcame him, transforming his bearing into something… else. He was lost in thought while he walked, the change in demeanor a completely unconscious move on his part. His eyes seemed black and his hands clenched… His lips were peeled back and pressed together in repressed anger. The lights in the hallway only served to exaggerate the lines in his face, creating sharp edges and deep shadows under his eyes and cheeks. He looked dangerous.

He walked out and the bright fluorescent light of the waiting room did nothing to change my impression of him. He looked right past me as he moved straight towards the exit.

"Dean-" I spoke, feeling small. Dean did a double-take and I inhaled deeply, surprised and worried about what he would do as he immediately changed directions and bore down on me. He walked right up to me, his expression livid, and I stumbled back a little bit, my thigh hitting the edge of a plastic waiting chair. I had to look down for a second to adjust, but looked up again in near-panic. I held my ground (trembling, as it were) and looked into his eyes in fear. He spoke with pursed lips, holding back.

"Stay here," he growled slowly. I nodded fast, and with that, Dean left. I stood there, kind of stunned, and heard the Impala screech around the parking lot. I started breathing again as it left the parking lot. Loud car, I thought shakily.

Sandra Clauson filled me in on what had happened about 2 minutes later when she came out into the waiting room. She seemed unaware of Dean's mood, but my heart was still beating… Jesus, he's a good actor, I had thought.

…

I went to go get Sandra in the area she had taken me to – the small cubicle space. Not an office, but it was quiet. She was hovering over a few folders she was working on and looked up, taking off her glasses.

"Sam… Sam's awake. He wants to talk to you," I said softly.

Sandra smiled at me and I couldn't help but return it.

"That's really good to hear. I'll be by in a moment, okay?"

"Okay I'll go tell him," I replied and turned.

"Hey- Jesse-"

I turned around back to Sandra.

"Jesse you're okay, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine," I said in a fake, bright voice and forced a smile. Before Sandra could continue, I turned on my heel and walked quickly down the hallway to get to Sam's room. No! I'm NOT fine. I'm 14 years old and trying to stop child protective services from separating two brothers who would clearly die for each other and the scariest one is furious with me right now! How the hell did I get here?

I slammed the swinging door with as much force as I could muster as I headed into another hallway. The door didn't go back all the way, though, and suddenly I heard a sharp yell of pain. The door flipped back at me and I stopped it before it hit my face. I opened the door more gently this time and looked around to find a janitor whose cleaning supply cart had just been slammed into him.

"Shit, sorry! Sorry sorry-" I said, trying to pick up the supplies that had fallen off the cart for the janitor. He just looked at me with irritation and nodded.

"It's okay…"

"S-sorry again," I said, uncertainly, as I placed the 409 on top of the cart carefully and backed away. I turned around for Sam's room.

I walked in and Sam looked up at me.

"She coming?"

I nodded and moved to sit down and sighed heavily.

"Relax, Jess, it's okay," Sam coaxed gently. I looked at Sam.

"Yeah. It is," I replied, newfound confidence in my voice. Sam nodded and smiled a bit; mostly for my benefit, and I returned the smile – mostly for his benefit.

"I'll get Dean back to you," I blurted out after a few minutes' silence. Sam's eyes crinkled in a genuine smile this time. He sighed.

"No you won't."

"No?"

"No. I'll get him back." Sam said casually, quite self-assured.

Okay, I thought. I'll just work out a plan B, though…

Chapter 12

Chapter Notes

I think this is the shortest chapter I've ever written. Apologies to all - I just had to tie up the loose end of Chapter 11.

Ordinary People

Chapter 12

My plan B never had to happen. I didn't even have enough time to come up with one. Sandra Clauson went into Sam's room and came out satisfied with whatever she'd heard. Later that night, Dean and their father returned to the hospital.

Their father was exactly as I thought he'd be: scarier than Dean. But, hey, I was getting a little used to it by now. Despite his worn, ragged appearance, concern shone through his eyes as he approached the desk, Dean a few inches behind him. He enquired about Sam's room and moved past me without so much as a glance. Dean stopped in front of me, put his hand on my shoulder. He looked like he was about to cry, and I felt a sinking feeling as I realized I looked the same way. After all of this, we were both exhausted. And, yeah, I know Dean was 18, but he was still only 18. I gulped and nodded as he squeezed my shoulder; just about the only gesture of appreciation I felt he was capable of giving. A tear broke from my eye and trailed down my cheek and Dean gave me a smile. It was more of a wince than anything. I finally looked down, and the comforting pressure on my shoulder was gone. I felt Dean move past me and leave me alone in the hall. Before he was out of ear shot, I turned around abruptly.

"Dean!"

Dean turned around.

"I… Can I…?"

"Yeah, Jesse. Go home. Get some sleep," Dean replied softly, kindly. I gulped again, emotionally spent, nodded and turned around towards the waiting room exit. I sorely grabbed my bag from the seat it had been on, and pushed out into the windy night, away from the harsh fluorescent lighting and the sound of crying children, scared patients, anxious loved ones...

I hate hospitals.

Chapter 13

Ordinary People

Epilogue

"Is it bleeding through?" Sam asked through gritted teeth to his brother. He was lying on his right side, head slightly angled to be able to see over his shoulder to his brother, who was closely inspecting the bandages around his back. Dean gave a reassuring squeeze to Sam's left shoulder, the one he was holding steady so he could turn Sam more.

"No you're good," Dean replied, and let go. Sam repositioned himself to be more comfortable in the bed. Dean knew Sam was in tremendous pain; he wouldn't have thought his back was bleeding through the bandages if he wasn't.

"Okay," Sam breathed as he settled down again on his right side: ever so slightly he was angling himself more and more to lie on his back, though. It stung, but he didn't appreciate his scope of sight being so limited.

"Don't do that, just lie on your stomach," Dean said plainly, moving around and sitting in the chair Jesse had turned around for Sam. Sam acknowledged Dean with a doubtful gaze.

"This is comfortable-" Sam replied, trying to lie to his brother.

"Sam, I'm right here," Dean established patiently. There were a lot of meanings behind that statement that passed between the brothers.Don't worry. I'll make sure you're safe. Nothing bad will happen to you as long as I'm here.…

None of this needed to be said out loud. Sam just softened.

"C'mon lie on your stomach," Dean moved, acting like he was going to help Sam turn, but Sam had already given in.

"Nah, I got it- Leave me alone!" Sam laughed feebly as he batted away his brother's hands as he turned onto his stomach.

Smiling, Dean sat back down in his seat. Sam's neck was twisted to the left against the small hospital pillow to look at Dean. He sighed.

"Better?" Dean asked honestly.

"Yeah," Sam breathed softly, tired.

"You should get some sleep."

"I'm sorry I jumped the gun with Josh," Sam stated, ignoring Dean's comment about sleep. Dean sighed and leaned forward to look at his brother.

"What happened there? I thought you'd wait until I was around-"

"I know-"

"You were injured to begin with – you needed me to back you up. You knew that."

"Yeahh," Sam replied with a level of resignation. "Josh was beating up some kid and I couldn't just stand by and watch."

"It was stupid."

"I know it was." There was a pause. Dean chewed the inside of his cheek.

"Sam, you- you could've been really hurt, man…"

Sam looked into his brother's eyes. The concern in them was obvious. Dean had really been frightened.

"He had a knife – he was going to swing," Dean clarified.

"He would've stopped at one swing," Sam said firmly, trying to diffuse the fear and worry in Dean's expression. In all truth, though, Sam wasn't sure if this was accurate – he had seen the look in Josh's eyes.

"You can't know that. And sometimes it only takes one swing, especially with the blood loss you already had," Dean replied. His logic was sound. Dean was right, and Sam couldn't say anything to rebuff it. Sam's heart clenched a little bit in stress as Dean's words sunk in. He really had come close… Too close…

"I'm really sorry, Dean," Sam said. Sam's eyes were a little watery… He was still exhausted, on light sedatives, and Dean had just successfully convinced Sam to be scared of how close he had come to real danger... To death.

"It's okay. Calm down," Dean answered gently, noticing Sam's change in demeanor. Normally, he would've continued to light into Sam, yelling at him like there was no tomorrow… Because that's what happened when Dean hit a certain threshold of fear: he got pissed.

But he couldn't do that now, not while Sam was still recovering. John had already made Sam cry last night in the hospital room as he had yelled in frantic whispers a foot away from Sam's face… How he had disgraced his family, threatened their identities, brought CPS complications into the mix, cost them hospital bills and the possibility of getting caught for committing fraud, risking Dean's life by forcing him to go find John in the town that held the creature he was hunting… Everything.

Everything except what Dean was most freaked out about: Sam's health and the poor decisions he had made regarding himself. But John hadn't been there to see it; John only knew what was going on now, and the mess that existed right then and there. To be fair, the first thing John had done was to make sure Sam was all right – speaking with all the doctors, the nurses, getting their names and establishing that Sam was in full recovery mode. He had asked Sam to explain himself, and Sam was good enough to portray the events properly. Once all of thathad been finished… That was when John had solemnly moved the chair up closely to Sam, and started in on him…

"Sam. Calm down," Dean repeated, worried Sam was replaying the John's words from last night and using Dean's words to keep the ball rolling on the guilt John had already instilled into him. Dean didn't want that: those feelings were useless.

Moments passed in silence as Sam did as he was told.

"How- How did you know where I was?" Sam started the conversation again.

"Jesse."

"Jesse?" Sam replied in surprise.

"She texted me," Dean replied heavily. There was a notch of irritation in this statement; Dean was bothered that Jesse, an outsider, had to contact him in order for him to get to Sam in time. And it was barely in time.

"Where is she?"

"Took off – went home."

"She was really stressed out. Thought she was at fault for Clauson barring you from seeing me."

Dean looked at Sam as if he was nuts.

"Really? Why?"

"I don't know. D'you say anything to her?"

"No," Dean reacted, "she's the only reason I got there in time before you got stabbed."

Dean's last word hung in the air.

"Told her not to worry about it," Sam offered, "But I'm not sure if that helped."

"Huh," Dean grunted in thought, his hand to his lips, thinking. "We should get her a basket of fruit or something," Dean said. He met Sam's eyes and they both smiled.

Just then, Dean saw Sam's eyes flicker to something behind him and Dean turned around to see John walking into the room.

"Hey," John said lightly to his boys as he entered and sidled up to the end of Sam's bed. The boys both responded said 'hey,' back to him. John grasped the railing of Sam's bed and Dean noticed with annoyance that Sam had moved back to lean more heavily against his back so he could see his father.

"Sam how you doing?" John asked: first things first. Sam nodded.

"Yeah, good," Sam lied. John nodded and looked at Dean's expectant gaze.

"Everything's set. We're good to go as soon as Sam's recovered."

"Go? You mean… Go go?" Dean, clarifying.

"Yeah. Found another hunt over in Jersey. We'll head there - soon as I settle everything here with you, Sam…"

"What do you mean?"

"Ah, you know," John replied seriously, but casually, "Gotta let the school know I'm taking you out – you gotta recover. We have to make a meeting with a family therapist so the state's certain we're good…"

There was no hint of negativity coming from their father at the mention of the family therapist. The one good thing about John was that once he had ripped into you about something, any aftermath was simply meant to be dealt with on a rational level. No one in their family held grudges: John had said everything he'd felt last night, and that was it. Sam didn't have to worry about any follow-up battles… He had said he was sorry to his father (multiple times over) last night; he had said it would never happen again. In the end, that was all his father wanted to hear.

Dean nodded to his father in response to his words and looked at Sam to see if Sam was okay. Sam looked slightly embarrassed about the therapist thing, but he was okay.

"Okay," Dean said, a glint of hope in his voice. Things would start to look up, very very soon... John heard it in Dean's voice and bobbed his head seriously, looking at Sam.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, good. Okay," Sam responded honestly.

"Okay m'going to grab some coffee and breakfast for you guys… This hospital food is terrible," John added, unwittingly quoting Sam verbatim when Dean had asked Sam why he hadn't eaten earlier. Sam gave a small smile.

"Bear claws?" Dean grunted in juvenile delight to John, leaning back and stretching in his chair, relaxing now. John gave a slight twitched smile.

"Coffee, bear claws," he pointed to Dean, then pointed to Sam in inquiry as he moved slowly towards the door. Sam smiled a little more widely now.

"Waffles."

"Waffles… Of course…" John repeated as he got Sam's order and left the room.

Smiling, Dean turned back to Sam. Sam had a slight smile on his face as well.

"So, family therapist…" Dean's eyes glinted, and he rubbed his hands together.

"What?" Sam's expression turned to confusion; he didn't understand Dean's excitement.

"Think she'll be hot?" He asked with a grin.

Afterword

End Notes

Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment/review if you can spare the time! ~ Alex

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