Title: Of Monsters And Men

Summary: The boys realize that not all monsters are of the supernatural kind. Pre-Series. Teenchesters. Hurt/Comfort. Protective!Dean.

Warnings: Rated M for implied/attempted sexual abuse and sexual innuendos. Bad language, blood loss, transfusions and implied child neglect.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

ooOoo

They were gathered around the wooden table in the kitchen of Tanner's cottage, listening to the elderly hunter talk about the latest case. "It's a chupacabra for sure. All the signs are pointing towards it. Five bloodless cow carcasses were all found in Cuero, Texas within the same week. Eye-witnesses claimed to have seen a reptilian creature in the area."

They had a fire going in the cabin. Despite it being March and having warmed up considerably since February, it was still chilly at night and during the evenings. The table was littered with take-out boxes and Sam huddled close to his brother, an English textbook on his lap as he tried to finish his homework while the others were discussing the current case.

"It's not a chupacabra." Sam peeked up from behind his bangs, meeting their dad's hunting partner's eyes across the kitchen table.

"What did you say to me, boy?" the hunter, Bill, spat out, obviously angered by the fact that the fourteen-year-old dared to defy him.

Sam held the guy's gaze and closed his textbook. "It's not a chupacabra," he repeated with a hint of defiance in his voice.

He had disliked their dad's new hunting buddy from the moment he showed up on their doorstep with that slimy grin on his lips. But it wasn't until the Bill had shaken Dean's hand and damn' near drooled all over himself, that Sam had developed a genuine hatred for the guy. The hunter had scanned Dean from head to toe, his eyes lingering on Dean's lips for far longer than was appropriate. John should have noticed, but apparently, their father had his head too far up his ass to notice what a goddamn creeper they had teamed up with.

So it was with no small level of satisfaction that Sam corrected the guy's embarrassing mistake. "The name Chupacabra comes from the Spanish 'chupar' and 'cabra' which means goatsucker in English. They are not going after random livestock. They only go after goats and drain them of their blood, both is not the case here."

Bill's throat muscles flexed. "You allow your boy to speak to everyone like that?"

John glanced from Sam to Bill and then back at his youngest. "Sam's got a point, Tanner. Feeding off of random livestock is unusual Chupacabras. It's a break in the pattern."

"Not if they're starving!" Bill shot back, clearly agitated now that he realized John wasn't on his side. "Are you seriously going to put the opinion of this brat over mine?"

"Hey, woah. It's getting late, alright? Why don't we continue this tomorrow before we all say or do something we regret?" Dean interrupted, instinctively putting himself in the line of Bill's vision and blocking his view of Sam in the process. He didn't trust Tanner, either, Sam could tell. He had stuck closer to Sam ever since Tanner had told them about the case he was working, always keeping Sam within sight while the older hunter was around.

"Dean's right," John sighed and closed his own journal. He rubbed a weary hand over his features and let out a deliberate breath. "Let's talk to the rangers tomorrow and then go look for tracks in the woods."

After a second's hesitation, Tanner grudgingly complied. "Fine. But if that thing chews up a kid instead of a damn cow tonight, I'll hold your boy there accountable."

It was the wrong thing to say. John's expression changed from exhausted and slightly annoyed to downright pissed in a span of seconds. "They're my sons, Tanner," he growled out. "I get to decide what they're being held accountable for or not."

Sam sent his dad a thankful look, but John's eyes were trained on the other hunter, his pupils dark with the unspoken tension that now hung in the air.

"Fine," Tanner spat out and lifted himself from the chair. He grabbed his jacket and the pack of cigarettes he'd been toying with ever since they had sat down, before stomping out the door and slamming the cabin's door shut in his wake.

"Sheesh," Dean whistled, once they were alone. "What crawled up his ass and died?"

"Language, Dean," scolded John, turning the chair away from the kitchen table and closing his journal, ready to call it a night. He looked at Sam before getting up, joints cracking from staying in the same position for too long. "Sammy, reign it in with the rebellion act, alright?"

"But-"

"Tanner's a good hunter, one of the best. But he's not exactly a ray of sunshine. "

"You don't say," Dean muttered, earning himself a glare from John for the trouble.

"I'm serious," John said, looking at them both intently. "I want you both to be careful around him. Try not to piss him off, okay?"

Sam had a feeling that was gonna be easier said than done.

"Get ready for bed. I need you both on top of your game tomorrow," John instructed.

Dean finished his coke and shoveled a last mouthful of cold Chinese take-away into his mouth before he dumped the empty box and can in a nearby trash can and yawned.

"I get dibs on the bed," Dean teased.

"No, you don't!" Sam automatically returned, punching Dean's shoulder just hard enough to be playful. Dean put him in a headlock for his trouble. "Sure I do, I'm the oldest," he smirked and tousled Sam's hair, much to the fourteen-year-old's dismay.

"Deaaaaan! Get off of me!"

"Sure thing, weirdo."

"You're a weirdo, weirdo!"

"And you seriously need to work on your comebacks, bitch," Dean teased.

"I'll show you where you can put your comeba-"

"Sam. Dean. If you both don't shut up right this second, you're gonna run laps until your legs fall off tomorrow morning, you understand me?" John snapped at them from across the cabin, effectively bringing their bickering to an end.

Sam swallowed and exchanged a worried look with his brother. Their usual track record in bootcamp Winchester was already enough to deal with. Sam didn't want to imagine what it would be like to run ten miles instead of his usual five, especially when John wanted them to do shooting practice and close combat afterward. Anger welled up in him at the thought of how controlling their father was, how much he treated them like soldiers rather than the teenagers they were.

But Sam didn't get to dwell on those thoughts, when Bill suddenly came back into the cabin, dragging in a waft of cold wind and a fume of nicotine from outside.

Not sparing the older hunter much attention, Dean grabbed their duffle from the floor and unzipped it, tossing a pair of clean slacks and one of Dean's old AC/DC shirts at Sam before grabbing a set of clothes for himself. He took the bag of toiletries and then shot a curious look around the cabin, doubtlessly scanning the wooden hut for a bathroom.

Bill must have noticed Dean's look because the next second the older hunter was chuckling.

"Sorry boys… this place isn't as fancy as your usual stakeouts. I got nothin' but a loo in this dump."

"You're shitting me, right?" Dean growled out, much to his father's chagrin.

"Dean," John reprimanded, his attention still half-focused on the lore books he put back into his duffle. He sent his sons a disapproving look across the cabin and then closed the book he'd been reading with a heavy thud. "We gotta make do with what we have. Just heat up some water and use a washcloth."

Sam shot their father an angry glare across the room. This wasn't normal. They were sitting in an unheated, dusty cabin in the woods - the kind of place other parents would forbid their children to set foot on- with an old creeper and no fucking bathroom, but sure, yeah, this was a hundred percent what their mom would have wanted for them.

Sometimes Sam wondered if their father even still realized how far off the reservation they'd gone, how fucked-up their lives really were.

"You got something to say, Sam?" John must have caught the looks Sam had shot him because now he stared Sam down with the kind of untouchable authority that would have had Dean bowing to the man's needs. The thought made Sam even angrier, but when Dean elbowed him in the side, wordlessly telling him to keep his mouth shut, Sam clamped his lips together and let out a measured breath.

"No, sir," he bit out with just enough fire in his tone piss their father off. Then he snatched the bag with their toiletries from Dean's grasp before walked over to the small kitchenette, filling a pot with water.

Dean appeared next to him just a second later. "Way to go, Sammy. One more word from you and Dad would've kicked your ass."

"Shut up," Sam hissed and rinsed the washcloth before pulling out of his shirt. Beside him, Dean did the same, yanking off his flannel and the simple black shirt he wore beneath, leaving him in nothing but his ripped jeans and socks.

Dean had filled out quite a lot in the past year. Dad took him on hunts regularly these days and between their father's military boot camp training and fighting monsters, Dean had developed a lean, muscular build with broad shoulders and narrow hips. It was quite irritating, to be honest, how good Dean looked without even trying when Sam still had the shape and size of and oddly twisted wireframe.

Dean came after their mom. That's what everyone told Sam, anyway. Not like he knew what their mom looked like, safe for the dog-eared, fading photographs his dad and brother kept hiding away in their wallets. But still, Dean had inherited her piercing green eyes and the high cheekbones and the full lips and the long lashes. Those features, along with the badassery and the devil-may-care attitude, seemed to do the trick with most high school girls and diner waitresses. Sometimes Sam swore all Dean had to do to get laid was fluttering with his longer-than-should-be-allowed eyelashes at the unknowing girl in question.

It annoyed the hell out of Sam, not just because his big brother was self-conscious enough as it was, thank you very much- Dean really didn't need the extra boost to his ego. But also because it made Sam seem like some sort of ugly duckling next to his brother. Dark, unkempt hair, pimples everywhere, gangly legs, skinny arms, and fucking dimples, which undoubtedly made him seem even younger than he was. None of the girls that practically flung themselves at Dean, would even spare Sam as much as a glance, ever. And no matter how much muscle Sam would put on in the next few years, there was an unspoken softness to Dean's features that made him seem almost feminine, pretty even and god, Dean would kill him if he ever found out Sam had referred to him as 'pretty'.

It wasn't something that either of them acknowledged, not their father and certainly not Sam. But it was noticed by everyone around them and it only seemed to get worse the older Dean got. It was like nobody had dared to comment on Dean's looks when he was still too young for it. But now that he'd turned nineteen, people suddenly didn't even try to hide their stolen glances and appreciative comments, anymore.

Bill was an admirer of the creepy kind. Sam had taken one look at the guy and felt a chill curse down his spine at the sight of alcohol-glazed eyes and yellow teeth. He had shaken the guy's hand and then stood back and watched as the hunter's eyes latched onto his older brother with interest. "You must be Dean, then?" he had asked, voice husky and cigarette smoke curling from the corners of his cracked lips. "Ye' grew up quite a bit, boy."

It wasn't so much the words, as the slow, deliberate way the guy scanned Dean's body from head to toe, that didn't sit well with Sam.

"Yeah, nice to meet you," Dean had smiled, trying to hide his own discomfort and making a subtle move to withdraw his hand from the older man's grasp. For all his hardass attitude, Dean was relatively withdrawn when it came to their dad's hunting buddies, always eager to prove himself to John and the hunters he worked with. That was his number one goal, after all, gaining their father's approval and the respect of whatever hunters John worked with.

But for all his stubbornness and the incredibly annoying urge to please their father, Dean wasn't stupid. He had felt Bill's look on him, burning through his skin and he had recognized it for what it really was.

John, on the other hand, had been too busy getting their gear from the car to notice.

Just like he didn't notice the way Bill stared at them from across the damn cabin now.

And seriously, what kind of father dragged his own kids out into some remote, shut-off-from-society cabin in the woods with a goddamn pedophile?

For all they knew, the guy could be a convicted child molester. Sam certainly wouldn't be surprised.

Sam hesitated before taking off his jeans. He chewed his bottom lip when his fingers lingered on the waistband. 'Get your shit together, Sam. Not like you've never undressed before other guys before,' Sam mentally urged, hating how insecure and small he felt at the prospect of undressing in front of a stranger.

Thing was, Sam didn't really like what he saw when he looked at himself in the mirror lately. Ever since his latest growth spurt, his body seemed unproportional. He looked like an awkward baby giraffe that didn't fit into its own skin, all gangly arms and lanky legs, movements uncoordinated and clumsy. Sam was self-conscious of the scars that littered his skin, of the dust of moles on his shoulder blade and the way his ribcage showed at certain movements. There wasn't much he liked about his appearance, safe for his hair, maybe. Which was why undressing in front of anyone had become more and more of a mental challenge lately. Sam didn't even like to take his shirt off in front of his family, which proved to be inevitable when you were living in one another's pockets. But doing a strip tease in front of creepy-Mac-Creep Bill Tanner? Yeah, there were about five hundred things Sam could come up with that he would rather do at the moment.

He dipped his head forward to hide his blush when Dean shuffled closer from the side, turning his body in a way that blocked Sam's body from Tanner's view. "C'mon, squirt. Get a move on," Dean said quietly, almost casually, as if he wasn't being ogled by Bill from across the room. "I don't have all day."

Sam glared at Dean because how could he pretend this was normal? How could he think that standing there and protecting Sam from the guy's stare would make things even remotely better? They shouldn't have to deal with this kind of crap.

"You should worry about yourself," Sam muttered. "It's not me he's in love with."

Despite the sarcasm, it did make Sam feel better to have Dean closeby. And it did make it easier to wash the sweat and grime from a day spent at the graveyard and in the woods off his body when it was only his brother's assertive gaze on him and not some stranger's.

Codependence was a word that had swirled around in Sam's mind ever since his psychology teacher had first mentioned it, but there were certain occasions like when you were locked in a confined space with a creeper and forced to undress in front of him, where Sam didn't mind to have an overprotective older brother.

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's smartass comment. "You're just jealous."

"Yeah, cause I'd love the get eye-fucked by a pervert," Sam growled out.

This time, Dean blinked and looked away, a flicker of vulnerability visible through the cracks of his crumbling composure. Sam instantly felt like a dick for his choice of words. He put on a clean shirt and then watched as Dean moved away again, slipping on a threadbare Henley and his favorite pair of slacks.

Sam reached out to curl his fingers around Dean's wrist. "Hey, Dean. I didn't…" He waited for Dean's green eyes to meet his own before he licked his lips. "Sorry."

Dean's gave a soft smile before he pulled out of Sam's hold and ran a hand through his hair. It was a bit longer than dad usually let him have it, curling at the ends and shining in that rich honey-golden color when the sunlight caught on the thick tufts. It made him even prettier, which was all kinds of annoying. Now that he thought about it, Sam had the rising suspicion that maybe John's reason for keeping Dean's hair so short wasn't entirely due to the liabilities of the hunt.

"C'mon squirt," Dean slung an arm around Sam's neck. "Time for bed. You're getting cranky."

It was Dean's way of pretending that everything was a-okay. That there was nothing wrong with the way the guy's eyes were practically glued onto him. Because the guy was a friend of their dad's and if dad considered him a good guy then that just had to be true. After all their father was infallible.

Seriously, Sam just wanted to throw up.

"You guys not too old to sleep in the same bed?" Bill asked when he watched Sam settle on the far right side of Dean's bed.

It wasn't an ideal situation, not by far. Sam was fourteen and he could come up with at least a hundred different scenarios on how to sleep that were more preferable than squeezed into a tiny bed with his nineteen-year-old brother. But there were only two beds and a couch in this lousy dump and Sam would prefer to sleep in the same bed with Dean a thousand times over sharing with his dad or… Bill.

"You want us to bunk with you instead?" Sam provoked in a sour voice.

"Sam, cut it out," John's angry voice joined in. "I hear one more thing from you tonight and-"

"It's alright, John," Bill interrupted, getting settled in his own bed. "Kid's got a rebellious streak in him. Maybe he's not as much of a lost cause as you think."

Sam felt the words, rather than heard them. They pierced his heart and made his eyes sting because his father didn't just let Sam know how inadequate he was as a hunter, but apparently, he also felt the need to tell others what a huge let-down his youngest was.

Great. Just fucking great.

Turning around in bed, Sam yanked the blanket over his head, wishing like hell that this nightmare was over.

ooOoo

It didn't get better.

If anything, the hunt grew exponentially worse with each passing day.

On Saturday evening, after fruitlessly trekking through the woods all day long, they decided to stop at a roadhouse diner. The owner of the joint was a woman named Rose, with a heart twice as big as her rack. They had stopped there on their way to the cabin and enjoyed her homemade stew and motherly nature before. Today was no different.

"Couldn't stay away, could you?" Rose beamed over at them as soon as they had made their entrance with wind-tousled hair and reddened cheeks from the icy air outside.

"Couldn't withstand your magnetic pull, Rosie," Dean winked at her. "Just had to see you."

Sam gave an eye roll when Rose - about three times Dean's age - blushed and laughed in that unnaturally high-pitched tone Dean seemed to magically draw out of women whenever he was near them. Then he returned his gaze to the English Assignment he had written during the car ride, proof-reading it for what seemed like the thousandth time.

"Sam, put it away," John growled, plopping down on the vinyl couch next to him, while Tanner took the seat opposite from John.

"Why? I'm a lost cause, anyway, right?" Sam retorted, eyes sparking fire at John when he glanced up from his paper to meet his father's stern gaze.

"Sam," John said with a warning edge to his tone, but there was something in his eyes, just there and gone again, a flicker of guilt maybe, that Sam took like a confirmation to what Tanner had said the night before. Their dad thought Sam was useless, that he wasn't worth his weight in salt, that he wasn't a good hunter. And even though Sam had always suspected that his father saw him as a disappointment, it still hurt to have it confirmed by an outsider.

Rose suddenly appeared with a smirking Dean in tow. She chuckled at something Sam's older brother had said and then pulled a notepad from her belt, ready to take their order.

"What can I get you boys tonight?"

"Nothing for me," Sam bit out, his appetite gone. He just wanted to go back to reading his assignment. Anything but sitting in this dump and eating dinner with his crazy family and a guy that looked like he ate babies for breakfast.

"What's going on?" Dean took the empty seat next to Tanner and kicked Sam's leg beneath the table. "Hey. You okay?"

Dean was perceptive. He could read Sam like an open book, always knew when something was wrong. He must have picked up on the residual tension that hung in the air between the two older hunters and Sam. Over the last year or so, Dean had made it a point to play referee between them. Sometimes Sam swore his older brother was so fucking busy trying to close the growing chasm between them, he barely even recognized how much John manipulated him on a day-to-day basis. How much John controlled Dean's every action.

"It's nothing," John answered for Sam, shooting his youngest a warning look over the table. "Sam, order something or I will."

"I'm not hungry," Sam gave back in a clipped tone. Their father thought he could control them like puppets, he tried to influence every decision, steer them in every possible way but there were certain things John couldn't take from them and Sam clung to those things with a ferocity that knew no boundaries.

He held his father's glare across the table, not backing down. Then he turned his head back to Rose, deliberately. "Nothing for me, thanks," he repeated slowly, intently, as if speaking to someone who was mentally retarded.

"He'll have the club sandwich with a side of fries," John said and slammed the menu shut with a finality that made Sam cringe. "Double cheeseburger for me, no bacon, please. And can you bring us some water with that?"

"Sure thing, sweetheart." Rose winked at John and took Dean's and Bill's order next.

Sam locked his jaw so hard he thought it would snap. Their father knew that Sam usually ordered something light for dinner. He liked salads and soups, nothing too greasy. But this was an act of defiance, a measure to put Sam back in place and reinstate his authority. It was a clear power move.

When their food arrived, John cut his youngest another look from the side. "You're gonna eat up, Sam, or you won't be getting anything else for the next couple hours."

Sam's mouth fell open, but it was Dean who spoke up. "Dad-"

"I'm serious."

And that was it. That was enough to shut Dean up and to make Sam eat because he knew his father would make true on his promise. Sam didn't want to spend the rest of the day starving, so he finished about half of his plate in deafening silence, the food tasting like ash on his tongue, burning sour in his guts. With every bite he took, the anger inside of him burned hotter, flared higher, consuming him whole.

When John got up to settle their bill, Tanner cleared his throat, gaining both Dean and Sam's attention. Fixing Sam with a glare that sent a shiver down Sam's spine, the hunter leaned forward with a smug little smirk. "About time your daddy taught you some respect. If I was him, I would'a taught you a lesson you wouldn't forget anytime soon."

Dean tensed at the hunter's threatening tone, at the implication behind the words and Sam could see the anger in his brother's bottle green eyes, could see the way Dean's fingers balled into fists on the table top. "Well it's good that you're not him, then, isn't it?"

Tanner chuckled at that, cutting his eyes over at Dean. "You're every bit the protective mama bear type when it comes to that disrespectful brat over there, aren't you? Tell me Dean along with your mother-like nature and those pouty lips, 'there anything else you inherited from Mary?"

"Don't talk about her," Dean hissed. "You don't know shit about our mom."

"I know that she was a wildcat," Bill grinned, lips curling into a lazy grin as his eyes took on that self-sufficient glimmer Sam had learned to hate over the past two days they'd spent together. He gave Dean a hard, long look and Sam felt the unease inside of him growing in equal measures to his anger. "I bet that's another trait you two share."

Sam's blood went cold at the words.

Bill's gaze was intense and in there was a twinkle of madness in them that had Sam forgetting all about his fight with his father and the unfinished English assignment. Suddenly all he could think about was getting as far away from the guy as physically possible.

Just then, John returned to their table, grabbing his jacket and putting it on.

"Let's roll."

ooOoo

Things eventually came to a head on Sunday, when Rose's dead body was found about fifty miles out of town. Her heart had been ripped out of her chest.

They weren't hunting a Chupacabra. They were hunting a rogue werewolf who had tried to feast off of cattle until the urge to kill eventually got the better of him.

"Sam you'll sit this one out," John had declared as they geared up to hunt the werewolf down. "It's too dangerous."

"What?" Sam exclaimed. "But I was the one who told you it wasn't a chupacabra, in the first place! And now I'm suddenly not good enough to tag along?"

"Werewolves are unpredictable and fast," John elaborated, never really looking up from the task of assembling his guns and carefully packing them into his duffle. "We haven't talked about them enough for you to know their weaknesses."

"Silver bullets slow them down but they're rarely a one-shot-one-kill like portrayed in the movies," Sam recited, causing John to stop his movements and perk his head up in surprise, one eyebrow raised in surprise. "Mercury will take them down faster. Removing the heart or the head is a surefire way to kill them if you need to make sure."

Sam didn't miss the proud little smile on Dean's lips as he watched them from afar, pretending to tinkle with his own shotgun when Sam knew Dean's whole attention was focused solely on Sam and their father. The smile all but screamed 'that's my boy' and Sam had some oddly mixed feelings about that, feeling both happy to please Dean and annoyed at his older brother for not taking Sam's stance, for not getting involved in the argument and supporting Sam's argument to tag along on the hunt.

Sam had realized quite early on that Dean wasn't all too happy to take Sam along for a hunt. It had confused and hurt him at first, to think that his brother didn't want him there. Until he realized what Dean was doing, sheltering him from any potential dangers that could harm Sam or traumatize him. In the end, Sam came to the conclusion, that Dean's undying need to protect him outweighed everything else. Always. Sam probably had a better chance of convincing their father that he was ready for the hunt than to convince his older brother.

"Impressive," John complimented Sam's knowledge about Werewolves with a glimmer of pride in his eyes and Sam pretended that it didn't send a thrill through his body. He didn't need approval from his dad, or his brother for that matter. "What do you think, Dean?"

Sam locked his jaw and sent his brother a glare across the motel room. "Dean, please. I missed two important English tests for this stupid hunt. Those were important for my-"

-GED' Sam finished the sentence in his head, biting back the words because he knew his family didn't understand the importance of education.

"They were important," he said instead, using the patented puppy-dog-eyes on his brother. "Why drag me along for the hunt if I end up sitting around in a damn motel room? I can help if you let me."

"I don't know Sammy. Werewolves are pretty messed up."

"So you don't think I'm good enough, either?" Sam's voice broke, driving home the fact that he was still a damn teenager with zero control over hormones. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dean."

Sam turned around and stomped past John and Dean to the small kitchen table in the far corner. He flung himself into one of the wooden chairs and sat hunched over one of his English books, pretending to read. If they had a bathroom in this goddamn place, he would have locked himself in there to avoid his family but privacy was a luxury reserved for 'normal' people.

Dean followed him with a stormy expression on his face. He looked torn between wanting to apologize and wanting to throttle Sam. "Quit acting up, Sam. We've got enough shit to worry about without you throwing a temper tantrum at every possible minute of the day."

"Yeah? Like what?" Sam snapped, whirling around in his seat. "How to get into the pants of the next waitress?"

Dean was bristling, pointing a warning finger at Sam. "You take that back, you little-"

"Why? It's the truth!" Sam shot back, chest heaving with anger. "All you care about is getting lucky and playing dad's good little soldier. You got your life laid out for you, Dean, what in the world could you possibly have to worry about?"

Dean was about to yell back, shoulders squared and nostrils flaring, but John stepped between them.

"Dean. Gear up and go wait in the car," he interrupted, shoving between them and holding up his hands to keep his sons from turning this into something physical.

It took some willpower for Dean to reign in his own annoyance, but he let out a cleansing breath and then followed John's orders. Grabbing his duffle and the sawed-off from his mattress, Dean paused on the threshold of the cottage, glancing back over his shoulder at Sam. Thinking about all the things that could go wrong on a hunt, all the times their dad had come home broken and bloody - Sam's stomach turned.

He had been brushing Dean's affections off a lot lately, feeling he was too old to have his hair ruffled or his chest poked or his shoulder squeezed like Dean sometimes did. But he had never outgrown the urge to give Dean a rushed, but heartfelt hug before he left for a hunt with their dad before, silently praying for his family to make it back in one piece.

This time, though, Sam bit his lower lip and broke eye contact without another word. And that was it. The next second, the heavy wooden door fell into lock behind Dean, leaving John and Sam behind in tension-filled silence.

John sighed and unfolded himself from where he had leaned against the doorway. He grabbed the back of the chair that sat opposite to Sam, propping himself up on the wood.

"How would you feel if something happened to Dean out there tonight?" John asked.

"What kind of a stupid question is that?" Sam ground out, throat closing up on him.

"Just think about it for a second," John said. "And maybe next time the two of you part ways you'll pick your words more carefully."

John slung his duffel over one shoulder, picking up the keys to his pickup on the way out. In the doorway, he stopped again, sending one last, disappointed look back over his shoulder.

"I know for a fact that there's one thing your brother cares about more than hunting and random flings, Sammy. Maybe if you think hard enough, it'll come to you, too."

Sam locked his jaw so hard he thought it might snap when John pushed through the door of the cabin and slammed the door shut. His fingers were balled up into fists and he didn't want to blink against the bite of tears in his eyes.

"Fuck you," Sam whispered brokenly as the rumble of his dad's pick-up cut through the air. There was only one person on the surface of the planet that knew how to push all of his buttons at the same time and that person was John fucking Winchester.

Their dad had mastered the art of emotional blackmail and he never missed an opportunity to use their brotherhood against them, somehow, be it in an argument and asking Dean to pick a side when he knew damn well that Dean was starving for any kind of fatherly appraisal - or be it in any other type of day-to-day situation.

"GO TO HELL, DAD!" Sam yelled, clearing the small table in the middle of the small hunting cabin with an angry growl and a furious swipe of his arms. He watched in satisfaction as the various take-out boxes and glasses were flung through the air before they hit the ground in a cacophony of clatters and broken shards of glass.

While John denied them almost every emotion other than trust and devotion, it was anger that Sam clung to the most, these days.

He hated their father. For how guilty he made Sam feel, even for such a simple thing as an argument between brothers. For how he allowed them to live in an environment where 'Dean getting hurt' was a legit option in the ballpark of possibilities. But most of all, Sam hated his father because, despite everything, John was still their dad, and Sam would never be able to hate John as much as he loved him, as much as he wanted for him to be safe.

As the adrenaline wore off and the anger slowly ebbed off into helpless frustration, Sam wiped at the tears on his cheeks and bowed down to pick up the mess he had created.

ooOoo

"SAAAAM!" His brother's voice was pitched high with fear and Sam's head snapped up from his pillow so fast it gave him whiplash. The scent of blood hit him like a slap to the face and just like that any resemblance to sleep was wiped from his brain and hunter instincts took over. Scrambling out of bed, Sam's heart was lodged somewhere in his throat as he took in the scene in front of him.

Dean was in the middle of the cabin, half-carrying, half-dragging their barely-conscious father onto one of the empty beds and leaving a trail of blood in his wake. Sam's mind switched to autopilot and before he knew it, he was moving in to take over some of their injured father's weight as they carefully positioned him on the mattress.

"What happened? Is he-"

"Go get the med kit," Dean instructed, his voice eerily calm as he made short work of their father's flannel and shirt, leaving his chest exposed to the chilled winter air. Sam's eyes widened and his heart plummeted at the sight of the grizzly looking claw marks that crisscrossed their father's chest, all torn-up skin, and twitching muscle and Sam's vision greyed out for a moment as he bowed over, feeling his stomach acid up to his gills as he rung for breath. This was bad. It was bad. There was no fucking way they could fix this with a couple of sutures. No way they could go to a hospital with their latest insurance bust happening not too long ago. He was gonna… their dad was gonna-

"-AM! SAMMY, snap out of it, you hear me?" Dean's voice brought him back to the here and now, his brother's pallid face and blown pupils swimming in and out of focus before Sam as he snapped back into reality, vision clearing.

He took a couple of measured breaths, grounding himself in his brother's touch (he hadn't realized Dean's hand had shot out to grasp the nape of his sweaty neck). "'M okay, 'M okay," Sam replied shakily, more to reassure himself than his brother.

"Go get the damn kit, Sam," Dean instructed, voice low and quiet as though not to startle their father who was barely with it enough to keep his own head upright. Sam wasn't sure he had ever seen his father in such a bad shape before.

When he hurried over to their duffle, searching their stuff for the medkit and then yanking a couple of clean towels out from the stack they kept next to the kitchen sink, there was only one thing that flashed through his mind on constant repeat like a damn broken record.

'GO TO HELL, DAD!' His earlier words came back to haunt him now and Sam was pretty sure he would never forgive himself if those were the words that had damned their father to death on a cold wintery night in bumfuck nowhere.

He was also pretty sure that this was the world's cruel way of showing him that nothing ever went unheard in the universe, that no sins ever went unpunished.

It wasn't until Sam had returned to Dean's side and watched with halted breath and tears of guilt as Dean cleaned the cuts and put a tourniquet around the gashes, that a second thought slammed into him at full force.

Werewolves.

Their dad had gotten clawed up by a goddamn werewolf.

"Did he get bitten?" Sam asked, not even recognizing his own voice. His tone now perfectly matched his baby-giraffe appearance, complete with the pubescent voice break and the cry-baby waver that could have come from a four-year-old toddler.

As horrible as the idea of their father dying might have been, the thought of having to put their own father down like a dog because he was about to shift and change into a werewolf was making Sam sick to his stomach.

"Dean," Sam whined, the tears coming freely now and Sam wanted his dad like he'd never wanted anyone before. He wanted to bury his face in John's neck and cling to the rough texture of his threadbare flannel and allow himself to bask in the scent of pine and leather that was home. He hadn't hugged his father in years. Their father had made it pretty clear that they were too old for open affection of any kind. "Dean! Did he get bitten?"

"No, okay?! He didn't get bitten!" Dean snapped, whirling around to bestow Sam with a furious look because Dean was busy holding John's guts inside his body and Sam was just being his usual annoying, whiny, useless self. 'Kid's got a rebellious streak in him. Maybe he's not as much of a lost cause as you think.' The words echoed hollowly through his skull, making him ache in ways that would never fully heal. 'Yes I am.' Sam thought, dully. 'I did this to him. I condemned him and now he'll die.'

"He probably did get bitten, if y'ask me." A third voice suddenly made both Sam and Dean's head snap toward the entrance of the cabin, where Bill stood with a sawed-off in his hands and werewolf goo all over his jacket. He had smears of blood on his face - blood that wasn't his own and Sam only spared the guy a second's glance before his gaze dropped back to John's pale, blood-smeared face on the mattress beside him. "That fucking bastard used him as a chew toy for a couple'a minutes at least. Wouldn't be surprised if that fucker took a chunk outta him at one point…"

"SHUT UP!" Dean snapped, whirling around to bestow furious eyes on the older hunter. "He did not get bitten. I checked him over myself. Now stop standing there and makin' smartass comments and help me get him fixed or-"

"Easy, there, tiger," Bill chuckled, dropping his shotgun by the coffee table and walking over to John's bedside. He crouched down and assessed Dean's handiwork, prodding at the compression dressing and eliciting a soft groan of pain from John in return. "Huh. He's lost a lot of blood. Nothin', much we can do except keepin' the wound clean and wrapped up until the slow lets up enough for us to drive him to a doctor."

Snow.

Sam frowned, his gaze wandering over to one of the dirty windows of the cabin. Outside, a thick blanket of snow had turned the woods into a fucking winter wonderland. The Impala and dad's pick-up truck were completely snowed in, no way for them to leave in a hurry.

That explained the wet footprints on the floor and the soggy strands of hair that were practically glued to Dean's forehead, a few thawed snowflakes dripping from his nose as he stood hunched over his father, worry creasing his forehead.

Wow. Sam's heart skipped a beat as the true gravity of the situation slowly sunk in. They were trapped in a damn cabin, snowed in and without a damn signal, while their dad had gotten clawed-up badly enough to require medical attention.

Call it Winchester luck or whatever, Sam had had just about enough of it.

"The werewolf?" Sam asked in a tremulous voice.

"Dead," Dean gave back. Normally he would have bragged with the kill, told Sam everything about the hunt in grizzly detail, but not today. Not if the kill came at such a high price.

"He'll need a transfusion," Tanner suggested, getting back up from his crouch even as the joints in his knees loudly protested. "You two happen to share your dad's blood type, by any chance?"

They didn't. Sam and Dean shared one, which was fitting somehow, convenient. They'd inherited it from the Campbell side of the family. One of the few things Sam had inherited from their mother.

"He's AB positive," Dean muttered somberly.

"Well, today's your lucky day," Tanner said with a smug look on his features. The older hunter rolled up the sleeve of his flannel and flexed his arm, arteries and veins popping up temptingly beneath his scarred skin. He looked up at Dean with a Cheshire-cat-like grin, teeth glinting predatorily in the relative dark of the cabin. "I'm O negative."

Sam locked his jaw and curled his fingers into fists.

It was another variation of the Winchester luck that a guy like Tanner the universal donor their father's life now dependent on.

The news that Bill's blood could be used for the transfusion should have comforted Sam, but all it did was crank his panic up another notch, stomach tied up in knots of anxiety.

He inched closer to Dean, close enough for Sam's shoulder to brush against his older brother's arm, drawing comfort from the collected calm his older brother was emanating. Dean was level-headed and determined, taking full control of the situation as Tanner's words fully hit him.

"Sammy, get the stuff from the trunk," Dean ordered gently before fixing Tanner with a hard look and nodding toward the dingy recliner next to the coffee table. "Sit down and take your flannel off. Belt, too."

The older hunter broke out into a slimy smirk, eyes taking on a dark glint as he eyed Dean with a smug expression. Sam's stomach revolted. If he hadn't already suspected for Tanner to be a freaking psycho, he'd have taken this look and the inappropriateness of his next words as an absolute confirmation. "Right here in front of your brother?" the hunter chuckled, cocking an eyebrow at the older Winchester brother. "Well, shit, Dean. If I'd known you were this kinky, I'd have-"

"Oh for the love of god," Dean snapped, cheeks flushed with anger now instead of bashfulness. "For the tourniquet, asshole. Now sit down and do as I told you. Sammy - go get the damn stuff from the car."

When Sam was still frozen in place, reluctant to leave Dean alone with the deranged hunter, Dean sent him a hard look that left no space for protest. "Now, Sammy," he said, gentling his voice as though he wanted to apologize for commanding Sam around, but still authoritative.

Sam left the door open on his way out, sending a last glare over at Bill in silent warning.

Funny, how even with their dad's life on the line, it was Dean who Sam worried about.

ooOoo

About an hour after they'd fixed John up with the blood transfusion, a couple of antibiotics and a set of new bandages, the snow was starting to let up and Sam felt confident enough that their dad was actually going to survive the night. He allowed his guard to fall.

They had been flanking John's bed on either side, Dean with his eagle eyes fixed on their father, watching for any minuscule change in his health, any indication of pain or distress and Sam on the other side, clutching their father's lax hand in his own clammy palm.

At one point he must have fallen asleep because when he became aware of his surroundings the next time, it was in the middle of the night. He roused to the sound of harsh whispers being exchanged and he could feel it straight away, even without opening his eyes. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

Dean was gone from John's side, out of reach. It freaked Sam out. The air was crackling with tension and Sam could sense that something was off, all his spidey-senses were tingling.

He had the sudden urge to sit up and make himself heard, to break up whatever was happening, but his hunter instincts took over, eyes squeezed shut as he played possum in order to gather more information on the situation first.

"Look, I don't like this either, but he needs another transfusion or he's not going to make it," Dean hissed from somewhere across the room, a pleading edge in his tone that was so unlike Dean that it physically hurt Sam to listen to.

Bill, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy this newly-gained leverage he held over their heads.

"Daddy dearest isn't doin' too well, is he now, Dean-o? Well, snow's meltin'. Give it an hour or two and we'll be on our merry way to the nearest hospital."

"He doesn't have an hour or two and you fucking know it!" Dean snapped, louder now before he seemed to remember that Sam was supposedly sleeping across the room.

His brother was at a breaking point and it wasn't pretty, watching him unravel. Sam could tell that Dean's calm composure had been more feigned for Sam's sake than anything else in the past few hours since the werewolf attack. Inside, Dean was just as scared as Sam, maybe even more. And now that Dean thought Sam wasn't watching, his strong exterior was starting to show cracks, the desperation seeping out through his tear-filled, bottle green eyes as he bestowed Bill Tanner with a heart-wrenching look - a wordless plea of help. It came as close to begging as Sam had ever seen Dean and it wasn't pretty.

"Well ain't that a bummer," Bill teased and in the shadows of the night, with only the fading glow of the dying embers lighting up the room, Sam saw Bill moving in on Dean with all the graceless pose of a predator, backing him up against the cabin walls. "And where exactly do you see me fittin' into that equation, huh? I mean I did my share of helping." The hunter's hand came up to the side of Dean's face in a mockery of affection and Dean's jaw muscle twitched in discomfort at the closeness of the other man, at the unwanted intimacy. "You can't very well expect me to open up a blood bank for your daddy without getting anything in return, now, can you, Dean?"

Sam's own blood froze to ice at the words, at the suggestive note in Bill's voice.

There was no mistaking what this was.

It was headed one way and one way only.

This whole time, Tanner had only waited for a chance to get Dean alone. He'd watched them, studied them, trying to find things that made them tick and he'd just so happened to notice that nothing ever got to Dean quicker than a threat toward his family.

Right now, all that stood between John Winchester and death? Was one Bill Tanner and whatever fucked-up extortion of sexual favors he'd cooked up in his perverted mind.

"Afraid I'm gonna have to disappoint you, pal," Dean growled, shoving Bill's hands off from where he'd started feeling Dean up and Sam had a hard time watching, heart jackhammering wildly in protest at the scene that unfolded mere meters from him. He had never wanted to shoot someone more in his life and Tanner wasn't even a damn monster. Not in the supernatural sense, anyway. "Gotta find another way to get your jollies off."

Sam felt a pang of pride in his chest at the way Dean's voice didn't even waver, at the hard glint in his own green eyes - a clear 'FUCK OFF' for anyone who knew how to read it. Sam only hoped Tanner wasn't stupid enough to ignore it.

"That so?" Tanner asked, clearly enraged by Dean's blow-off. His breathing picked up, eyes furious even in the darkness and Sam's hand involuntarily tightened around John's, willing their father to wake up, to protect them. Lightning fast, Tanner had grabbed Dean by the lapels of his leather jacket and shoved him back against the wooden wall, rattling the cottage by the sheer force of it. "You realize that you're daddy's not gonna make it without my help, right boy? I mean even without the transfusion, what are you gonna do, huh? Build a stretcher? Carry him through the snow with that scrawny-ass punk brother of yours?"

"Maybe I will," Dean hissed, hands reaching up to struggle against the forceful hold Tanner had on him. "Still sounds better than to let a pervy piece of shit like you stick his hands in my damn face."

Tanner chuckled again. The sound was cold and cruel, sending a shiver down Sam's spine. "Oh, trust me, Dean-o. There are far more creative places to stick my hands in than that."

Fucking hell. Sam grimaced, his chest coiling with disgust and helpless anger. He took stock of the situation, opening his eyes to slits to glance around, looking for a weapon he might be able to make use of if things got out of hand.

"Yeah, well. You'll have to find someone else for your kink play, man. I'm not interested," Dean snapped, voice harsher now, as he dug his fingers into the hunter's wrists, trying to shove the much larger man off. "Now get your fucking hands off me. I won't say it again."

Dean knew how to take Bill down. Sam was sure of that. Being their father's perfect little soldier, Dean spent a significant amount of hours per week in close combat training. He knew at least five ways to take Tanner down in the position they were in right now. But Dean was still holding back on the guy and Sam knew why.

As of right now, Tanner was still their only shot at keeping John alive. And no matter how sick the guy was, Dean wouldn't dare to do anything to piss the man off beyond repair out of fear for their father's life.

"Not interested, huh?" Tanner asked. "So you'll let your old man die, huh? And then what, huh? Gonna handle CPS when they come for you? Gonna let them snatch your brother away, separate you? Put him with a foster family - with a foster dad who finds Sammy's dimples and those pouty lips just about as irresistible as I find yours?"

"You're one sick fuck, you know that?" Dean pressed out through clenched teeth and his eyes were shiny now, glistening in the pale moonlight that filtered in from outside and Sam knew that deep down, this was the moment Tanner had broken through to him, crumbling his resistance, breaking down every line of defense Dean had with one solid blow.

Hook. Line. And Sinker.

"See, I'm not even asking for that much, boy. Just a crack at those cock-sucking lips a' yours, huh? How about it?"

Sam's fingers curled into fists in useless frustration, the rage inside of him was barely restrained at this point. He was shaking with it, swamped with helplessness as he waited Dean out, waited for his brother to defend himself, to take the fucker out like Sam knew he could. But Dean did nothing when Bill moved in again, thumb skirting over Dean's bottom lip.

"I knew you'd see things my way, boy." The hunter smirked, a victorious smirk at the lack of protest from the nineteen-year-old and then he leaned in, dangerously close, eyes fixated on Dean's lips as he lowered his mouth.

And Sam saw red.

He couldn't bear to stand a second more of this, didn't want a confirmation of what he already knew deep, deep inside his heart. That no sacrifice was ever going to be too big for Dean where John and Sam were concerned, that he thought of himself as worthless and expendable. That he'd throw away his own life, his pride and his goddamn virtue without a second's hesitation if needed to hold his small, fractured family together.

Shooting up from his chair, Sam made a point of rousing with a theatrical gasp. "DEAN!" he yelled, watching with satisfaction as Tanner startled and took a step back from his cornered brother. "Dean, I think dad just moved his fingers."

"What?" Dean was across the room and back at John's side in a second, eyeing their father with a mix of hope and such stark relief - such utter relief - that for a moment Sam actually hoped it was for his own damn sake and not John's. "A-are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Sam vowed and he'd never lied more enthusiastically to Dean's face than in this moment, never been so utterly sure that he was a bad person, that there was a darkness inside of him.

Because John's hand was clammy and dead still in Sam's. And if anything, he looked worse than he did before Sam had fallen asleep. But if saving their dad's life came at the cost of Dean letting this fucking bastard do god knows what to him then Sam would rather let him die. It was too high a price to pay. And Sam was sure that at last, if nothing else, John would agree with him on that.

"I'm sure, Dean," Sam repeated one more time, for good measure and looked up at Dean with enough hope to reassure his brother and make him believe that John was gonna come through, even without the extra blood.

Not waiting for Dean's response, Sam rounded the bed to be on Dean's side, suddenly craving his brother's proximity. Without a word of warning, Sam threw his lanky arms around Dean's shoulders and crushed their chests together in a tight hug. "He's gonna wake up."

Dean returned the hug somewhat hesitantly and Sam's vision blurred as he stared over at the burly hunter who's hands had wandered up to his brother's chest not even two minutes ago in a way that was so far away from just friendly that it would have gotten Bill a few years in the slammer.

"Hey." Dean carded his hair through Sam's floppy hair in a rare gesture of unabashed affection. Nowadays a lot of their love was voiced through roughhousing and calling each other names and bumping shoulders on the way to the fridge. But Dean had never failed to be Sam's number one source of comfort, his number one everything. "Why don't you go back to sleep, huh? You're beat."

"Nah, I'm awake now," Sam brushed his brother off.

He really was.

Maybe more awake than he'd ever been.

ooOoo

John did wake up not too long after. Disoriented and weak, but he was alive and that was all that mattered.

Once the snow had let up, they loaded John up in the Impala, drove their way out of the woods until they got a signal and called Pastor Jim, who gave them the address to a nearby vet who played field surgeon for hunters on weekends.

Tanner never made another move on Dean in those last few hours and Sam was never sure if it was because of John's sudden recovery or because of the way Sam had glared daggers at the guy above Dean's shoulder back at the cabin.

"I'm sorry, dad," Sam eventually said, sitting beside John on the mattress, shaggy hair falling into his eyes as he picked at a loose thread in his jeans.

"For what?" John rasped, landing a heavy hand on Sam's shoulder.

Guilt wasn't so much chewing at Sam as it was ripping him to shreds with its sharp teeth.

'For wishing hell on you' wasn't a good enough answer, so Sam shrugged his shoulders and gnawed on his bottom lip, letting the awkward silence spread between them.

Dean was off somewhere, getting coffee and Sam couldn't bear to be alone with John after everything that had happened.

"I shouldn't have picked a fight before you guys left."

John was quiet for some time and then he let out a sigh. "You won't do it again, right?"

Sam would have laughed, then, if he had still found it in himself to do so. Even on the brink of death, John was manipulating them.

The rage slammed back into him with renewed force, shooting through his veins and up into his brain like an electrical current. "No, sir. I learned my lesson."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the tiny voice could no longer keep quiet and the undying anger inside his chest reared its ugly head.

'I learned my lesson. Question is, did you?'

"Dad?" Sam asked, voice catching in his throat.

John's head snapped up at the sound, eyes intense as they met Sam's across the hospital bed. "Yeah, son?"

Sam made sure to put emphasis in his words when he spoke up again. "I want you to lose Bill Tanner's number."

Dean never spoke of Bill or of what happened that night. But Sam had never forgotten Tanner's smokey voice and how quickly just about ALL of Dean's resistance had broken at the imminent threat against Sam - at the mere implication that Sam was going to be harmed.

Dean's willingness to throw his own life away for others had always bothered Sam.

But it wasn't until Bill Tanner had made his move on Dean that night, that Sam truly realized the depths of sacrifice his brother was willing to make for family.

"Hey, squirt," Dean's voice yanked Sam out of his thoughts from where he sat huddled over in the uncomfortable plastic seat in the hospital waiting room. Their father was signing release papers and somewhere, out there, Bill Tanner was probably off harassing someone else's son, someone else's brother. Sam was glad he hadn't had a gun closeby back at the cabin cause he wasn't sure what he would have done to the fucker if given the chance of a clear shot. "How's the paper going? Need any help?"

Sam blinked at Dean for a second, still lost in thought.

Dean slapped his perfected big brother smirk on - denial in full process now. He was his usual, annoying, energetic, bundle of restlessness, bad jokes and flirty advances at the nurses included. As though he hadn't almost lost his father a few hours ago. As though he hadn't been cornered by a pervert.

"Earth to Sam?" Dean waved a hand in front of his face and Sam's gaze dropped down to where his English Essay sat finished in his lap, the ink still drying in his last paragraph.

Sam offered Dean a tremulous smirk before he shoved the bunch of papers into his backpack. "No, I'm done. Is dad ready to go?"

Dean caught Sam's wrist and their eyes met in a clash of colors and intensity. Sam's breath was caught for a moment as he met his older brother's stormy gaze. He hadn't really been able to look at Dean without tearing up since the cabin. "Hey, we good?" Dean asked, swallowing thickly. "Look, man, I know what happened at the cabin scared you, but-"

"Yeah, it did," Sam answered softly, jaw wobbling. He thought about losing their dad and CPS and a foster family that Dean wasn't part of and it all just made him want to curl up and cry. But most of all he thought about Dean and how he must feel after this hell ride and how John stood only ten feet away from them, having no goddamn clue what his eldest had gone through. "But it's okay now."

"You sure?" Dean asked, sounding skeptical. He was still trying to comfort Sam, putting his little brother's wellbeing above his own.

"I'm sure." Sam smiled, playfully shoving Dean's shoulder. "Jerk."

Dean smirked and some of the darkness lifted from the bottom of his eyes.

"Bitch," came the immediate response, just in time for their father to throw them a disapproving look as he joined them.

"You guys gotta come up with new nicknames for each other," John muttered, still grouchy from the pain meds and having to deal with the hospital staff. "That language's gotta go."

Sam didn't even spare him a glance, exchanging a private little smile with Dean instead as they followed John outside the hospital.

John had never been a good listener when it came to his boys.

But Dean understood Sam just fine and that was all that mattered.

The End.

A/N: I'd love it if you shared your thoughts with me! :) Please leave me a comment if you liked what you read!