The Not So Convenient Store.

Teenchester. Dean 16, Sam 12.

Sam's been getting under foot, and fun though little brother hero-worship is, Dean really wants some alone time. Sending the kid out on a wild goose chase seemed like a good idea at the time…

Limp/Hurt/Heartbroken Sam, Guilty/Worried/Angsty/Protective Dean.

Worried/Angry John.

Warning: Very mild implied sexual content. But it's perfectly natural for a teenage boy. Even John thinks so, though I'm not sure Sammy's old enough to understand the innuendoes... or is he?

Author's notes:

Sam is real sweet, innocent and gullible in this story, but please try to see it from Dean's angle. He didn't mean any harm.

Someone gave me a plot bunny similar to this, ages ago.

So sorry I can't remember who you are, but rest assured, this shows I have been thinking about it!

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"Sam?"

His little brother bounced on the edge of the bed. He'd obviously been waiting for this moment, and was determined to do the best job ever.

Again.

"Yuhuh? You want me to clean your weapons again, Dean? I don't mind, honest!"

Dean sighed inwardly.

"No. You cleaned them last night…"

"How 'bout I fix you some toast?"

"Not hungry…"

"I can run you a bath!"

"Sam!"

The kid fell silent, eyes wide, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip.

Probably wondering what else he can help me with, Dean fumed with frustration,

This had to stop.

A week ago, Dean had saved his little brother's life.

Ok, that was maybe an exaggeration.

He saved him from a dog.

It was only a Chihuahua after all, and Dean figured something that small wasn't much of a threat. One chew and he could've eaten it for breakfast. Besides, it was Sam's fault the damn thing got free in the first place.

How hard did it have to be?

Sam, guard the kitchen door.

Yes Dean.

No one comes in or out.

No Dean.

But Sam could hardly have been blamed for reacting when he heard his big brother scream in pain, followed by some impressive expletives... which, embarrassingly enough, had actually been a result of Dean banging his elbow on the corner of a shelving unit, rather than being thrown about by the poltergeist.

Admittedly, that would've been cooler.

Fearing the worst, Sam had barrelled through the kitchen door, only to find the room had its own brand of guard.

As in, guard dog.

Which launched at head height from the kitchen counter, aiming for Sam's unprotected face and jugular.

Except, Fido didn't make it.

The dog was naturally rather surprised when a large boot swiftly jammed up its backside, knocked it off course, and threw it head first into the kitchen waste bin.

Dean, leg still raised at shoulder height, in quite possibly his best ever Jean Claude Van Damme manoeuvre, swivelled gracefully on one foot, and used his heel to slam the lid of the bin shut.

He lowered his foot, turned, bowed and grinned widely, whereupon Sammy applauded loudly.

Dean basked in the glow of success whilst Sam extolled his big brother's skills and quick reactions.

"Dude! That was so cool! Will you teach me how to do that?"

"When you're a little older and a little taller, squirt…"

In the background the waste bin was rocking to and fro, and muffled, angry doggy growls could easily be translated as someone's in for an ass-chewing when I get out of here!

"Please Dean?" Sam was gazing up at his big brother, eyes shining with love and gratitude.

How could he refuse? Not with being puppy-dogged and all.

"Boys? You ok back there?" their father's muffled voice came from the cellar, followed by a loud crash and a "Ha! Got the bitch!"

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Much to John's amusement, the brothers spent an entire weekend watching and learning from Van Damme movies, and rough housing on the lounge carpet.

Dean had to admit, as he pulled his kid brother into a gentle headlock…

Sammy sure learns fast.

…and laughed when his brother slipped out and got the upper hand.

It looked like ballet class for the violent and insane when Dean later began teaching his little brother the leg manoeuvre that saved Sam from having his face chewed off. The two boys stood side by side, balanced on one foot, legs extended, then swung…

The first time, Sam's foot caught a reading lamp and nearly ended up braining himself on the coffee table.

But Dean's grin was just a little more than proud, when the kid completed the move perfectly on the second try.

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Cool movies and brotherly moments aside, from that moment on Sam had been a living hell to, well, live with.

The hero worship had been fun, even cute at first, and if Dean were honest, it had been there all along, ever since the day Sammy came home from the hospital. Wrapped in soft blankets, and sleepy from the ride home, the newborn had reached out to Dean and wrapped a tiny hand round his big brother's index finger. In that instant, Dean had been pretty much smitten with his baby bro, and spent all his time eagerly learning how to care for Sammy, with Mary and John Winchester watching on in fond amusement.

Sam followed Dean around from the first moment he learned to crawl, and though he would never admit it aloud, it was kinda cool having his little brother's absolute trust and adoration.

But this was something new...

Dean had breakfast in bed every morning, his boots were gleaming, leather jacket always hung up neatly on the back of the door, and fresh coffee was available whenever he needed it.

But it was starting to grate on his nerves. Sam wouldn't leave him alone.

At any time.

The kid constantly bugged him, even hanging out in the bathroom whether Dean was in the shower, or taking a pissfor Christ sake!

No place was safe, no place was private.

But Dean was determined.

"You mind running across to the convenience store?" Dean kept his tone innocent. It was really getting too much and something had to be done before he went crazy.

Sam was all smiles, happiness and eager to please. If he were a puppy, he'd have been a Labrador, panting excitedly, tail wagging so hard he'd trip himself up, licking his master's hand furiously… the image almost made Dean laugh.

"Sure, Dean," Sam's wide eyes gazed innocently up at his big brother, filled with blatant awe and admiration. "What dya need?"

Dean was starting to feel a little guilty and nearly caved. But he was a growing boy with raging hormones, and God he needed some alone time.

"Here squirt," Dean handed over some notes. "See if you can get me four feet of fallopian tube, and some umbilical cord." He added when Sam frowned, "Gonna need it for maintenance when Dad gets back with the car." Dean added, proudly, his chest puffed up "gonna be mine someday, Sammy. Dad said so. And one day I'll teach ya ta drive her..."

Dean watched his brother closely, waiting to see if he bought it.

Sam was thinking hard. He knew of such things in Biology, knew the female reproduction system pretty well from science class, but were those terms also applied in motor mechanics? He had no idea. Sam once overheard his father talk about male and female electrical connectors so may be…

He shrugged.

Dean said he'd teach him to drive one day...

"You sure they'll have that sorta thing over there?" Sam's smile dipped into worry, and he bit his lip when Dean looked a little hurt.

"Look, Sam, if you don't wanna go…"

"No!" Sam shook his head frantically. "No, of course I'll go, I just, ya know, wondered if it was that kind of store?"

"Well, it's a big place, Sam, so make sure you look everywhere, ok?" Dean felt like a truly horrible person when the kid nodded enthusiastically, and handed him an extra five dollar bill to ease his conscience. "Sammy? Treat yaself to some candy over there, huh?"

And was rewarded with a brilliant smile, just as Sam slid off the bed and scampered out the door.

After all, it was just across the road. What could possibly go wrong?

Dean headed to the bathroom with a stolen copy of Busty Asian Beauties, sighed in satisfaction before closing the door, and locked it with a deeply smug grin.

Alone time.

Ohhh Yeeeaaahhh…

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Sam wandered slowly up and down each aisle, growing more and more despondent with his search. It was actually his second trip, because after the first trip yielded no fallopian tube or umbilical cord, he'd gone to ask for help from the store owner.

The guy – short, beefy, mid-sixties, name tag read 'Jack Molloy of Molloy's Convenience'- had laughed good naturedly, said he wasn't sure if he still had those items in stock, but told Sam he could search for as long as he wanted, just in case he was wrong.

He even offered Sam a free candy bar.

"In case you get hungry, kid," his eyes twinkled kindly. "You got a big search ahead of ya, so ya could be a while."

Sam had no idea what he was laughing at, but the owner seemed nice enough, so Sam took him up on his offer.

Chewing on the candy bar, Sam glanced at his watch and gasped.

He'd been searching for a half hour already, and it was tempting to give in and return to his brother. But the thought of letting Dean down when he needed him, needed Sam to come through for him for once, left Sam's gut feeling distinctly unsettled. He couldn't do it.

He'd stay there all day if he had to.

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Jack was still chuckling to himself a while later, as he went over the books. The poor kid had obviously been sent here to give his older brother a break. Having been raised in a household of six screaming hellions for sisters, he could certainly identify with that.

Jack let the kid roam around safely, figuring he'd soon get bored and wander home.

Turning a page, jabbing at a small calculator that had seen better days, Jack didn't realise he had a customer, until a shadow loomed over him.

Glancing up, his face froze at the sight of a black ski mask, and more importantly, what appeared to be a large calibre handgun.

"Keep your hands where I can see them…" the gunman's voice was gruff, determined, and above all, desperate.

Jack knew pissing him off was a bad idea, and somehow got the feeling it wouldn't take much.

So when a blur of movement caught his eye, he couldn't help screaming out.

"No! Run kid, RUN!"

But the child did nothing of the kind.

The gunman, caught unawares, swung round, only to be met with the business end of a small sneaker. The gun went flying off into an aisle, and the kid went to town on the masked intruder with some pretty impressive martial arts moves Jack had only ever seen in the movies.

With the gunman down, and whimpering on the floor, Jack reached for the phone when a loud shot rang out.

The youngster cried out in pain, and collapsed unmoving on the floor, blood pooling around his upper body.

If Jack had a hard time trying to wrap his mind around the idea of one gunman, then having two on the loose was giving him a headache. Heart pounding with dread for the injured kid, and crouching down behind the counter, he dialled 911, and left the line open, not daring to speak in case the other gunman heard and came after him.

Praying the dispatcher would get the message and send help, he didn't have time to reach for his granddaddy's old shotgun hidden on the lowest shelf, because someone was yelling, swearing and demanding to know "where's Sammy? Sammy where are you?"

Scuffling, more swearing and more gun fire, a harsh thud, like a heavy body hitting the floor, then silence.

Jack poked his head tentatively up from behind the counter, at the same time the owner of the voice came into view.

A tall, good looking boy, moving like a predator, stalked the aisles, still shouting frantically. "Sammy? You ok little brother? Answer me!"

Jack's heart sank.

This must be the big brother who sent the kid out on a fool's errand.

Before Jack could move and attract his attention, the older brother's green gaze frantically swept the store again, and widened with fear when he rounded into the next aisle.

"Sammy!"

He scrambled over, slid to his knees uncaring of the blood, and cradled the injured boy in his arms.

Jack, heart breaking, picked up the receiver once more, and spoke with emergency services.

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It was a scene that would stay with him for many years, imprinted in his mind like a terrible Polaroid he could never tear up or burn.

Sam lay on his back, head lolled to the left, right arm draped across his chest, left arm stretched out. Dean fervently hoped his unconscious state was down to shock, and the wound only looked worse than it was because Sam was wearing a white Tee-shirt.

Somehow, he didn't think so.

Somehow, Winchester luck always had its way.

Sam was pale and still on the floor. Dean gently gathered him up, holding the kid's head against his shoulder in support, and clamping down on the chest wound to stem the bleeding.

"Sam? Sammy?" Dean started the frantic questioning straight off, voice shaking with fear, the words all coming out in a rush. "C'mon kiddo, wake up for me. Please? Please Sammy? Sam?"

He didn't give a shit about the dead gunman lying over in the next aisle, or the other gunman lying bruised and battered by the counter. The whole world could have gone to hell for all Dean cared, because Sam was struggling to breathe. Short, shallow breaths wheezed in and out and Dean could feel the youngster's body quivering with the effort.

"Probably punctured a lung," Dean muttered, fearfully. "What in hell was I thinking, sending you out here alone?"

But it was one of those small, quiet towns, where nothing ever happens; the only violence erupted at the local bar on a Saturday night, and that only amounted to a few black eyes between friends. Theft consisted of a few apples scrumped from the nearby orchards each summer.

But that was no excuse. Gazing down at his injured brother, Dean reasoned there were no excuses in the world to account for this.

I shoulda known better!

"C'mon baby bro, open your eyes," Dean resisted the urge to rock him, far too worried about causing the kid any more pain.

Sam's brows drew down, and a small, helpless whimper escaped his mouth.

"That's it, Sammy, you can do it." Dean watched anxiously as the boy's lids fluttered open to reveal glassy blue-green eyes, filled with pain. He could see Sam was struggling to focus, the kid blinking heavily and frowning in confusion.

"Good boy, now stay awake for me, ok?" Dean murmured softly, tugging him closer when the boy shivered harshly. Sam was practically swaddled in his own personal Dean-blanket, complete with big-brother-leather-comforter.

A quick glance up at the store owner confirmed the guy was asking for police and ambulance crews.

"Helps on the way, Sammy, just stay still and relax, kiddo." Dean gave him a shaky smile, and brushed a few strands of hair out of the youngster's eyes.

Sam's mouth fell open, and a strangled noise made its way up from the back of his throat. Sam was trying to speak.

Blue tinged lips formed one soundless word, just as red bubbles spilled over his chin.

Dean.

"Shhhh, don't try to talk Sammy. There'll be plenty of time for that later, when we get you all fixed up, ok?" Dean panicked when Sam's eyes slid shut again. "Oh no you don't! You stay awake! You hearing me? Sam? Sammy? Sammy!"

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"Dean? What's wrong?"

"Dad..."

"Talk to me Dean! Is everything ok?"

"No. Nothing's ok. Sam… Sammy's been sh-shot. I-I don't know what to do, b-but I-I think he's…"

"What the hell happened?"

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Dean approached the damn desk about four dozen times.

And each time he got the same damn answer.

"We'll call you when we know something. Please take a seat, sir."

Dean didn't want a damn seat.

He wanted some damn news on his baby brother.

His last sighting hadn't been encouraging. Sam was turning a mottled grey, the wound still leaking blood like a burst dam. His face was mostly obscured by an oxygen mask, and some kind soul was assisting Sam's breathing by squeezing a plastic bag.

Dean wasn't sure how that was supposed to help, and could only assume all emergency staff trained as milk maids before going to college. The endless squeezing of cows udders…

Dean shook his head, and wondered if it was worry or lack of food turning him crazy.

Cows udders?

Probably both.

Whatever. He couldn't bring himself to eat, and the worry wasn't letting up until he had good news of Sam.

And the surgery was taking too damn long. That couldn't be good news.

They'd sure prepped the kid fast enough. T

he part that made Dean wince, aside from the nasty, life-threatening bullet hole, had to be when the doctor inserted a tube into Sam's chest.

He didn't ask. Didn't wanna know.

So long as Sam got the help he needed.

The ER staff seemed to concur with that idea, because the next thing Dean knew, his little brother was whisked away behind the doors of the OR.

And so here he was, hours later, awaiting news, going slightly crazy, his father hadn't yet shown his face, his stomach was growling, and as for the coffee…

Don't even get me started!

Of course, the real meat of the matter hadn't really got going yet.

Dean's guilt was just sitting calmly, certainly more calmly than Dean himself, waiting for the chance to strike. Waiting for the big brother to crack completely, then it would go in for the kill.

It didn't have long to wait for the trigger.

Because the trigger came in the form of a tired, uptight and extremely worried John Winchester.

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John's glare said it all.

"I'm not even getting into it," he growled, and Dean just nodded forlornly.

There really was no need to answer that. He'd told John what happened over the phone, and his dad merely uttered a furious "I'm on my way", then hung up.

Dean was well and truly in the shit, and he deserved everything his father threw at him.

So much so, he wasn't surprised to find himself yanked up out of his seat by the shirt collar, and pinned to the waiting room wall.

"Dad, I-I'm s-sorry... I should've kept him with me... I heard the gunshot... but when I got there..."

John got right up close, almost menacing.

"Take that look off your face!" he hissed, and Dean flinched.

Yep. The train to Guiltsville left the platform, with a dramatic gust of steam, and its coal fire burning brightly.

"Mr Winchester? Sam's father, I presume?"

Father and eldest son turned to face Sam's doctor, hearts filled with dread.

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Heaving a sigh of relief, John and Dean simultaneously sank down into the waiting room seats.

Sam came through the surgery, and was lying unconscious in Recovery. His right lung, though badly damaged, would fully heal provided Sam took it easy. He'd be stiff, in a lot of pain for a while, and probably need physical therapy.

But he could breathe. He was alive.

The bullet had been taken by the police as evidence, presumably to send to Ballistics for examination. They'd also taken Dean's statement, as well as Jack Molloy's, the store owner. One robber was confirmed dead, killed by his own gun after Dean wrestled it from him; the other was in custody making a full confession.

John had tried hard not to lose it.

Both his son's had made some foolish decisions that day. What the hell Sam thought he was doing, taking on an armed robber, he'd never figure out. The boy was twelve years old for Christ sake, but apparently, according to Jack, he thought he was the next damn karate kid!

Though Jack had praised Sam's courage and skill, hoping to personally thank the kid for saving his life, John wanted to strangle his baby boy. Sure, he felt proud as hell, but... God!

Sam got shot!

And Dean... he goes and does the exact same damn thing!

What the hell was wrong with his kids?

John ran a hand through his hair in fearful frustration.

Seems they've got an even bigger death wish than their old man!

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Sam's eyes wouldn't open. He felt fairly certain he was awake, if woozy, but not one part of his body was cooperating with his insistent desire to prove his wakefulness.

The smell of the room – antiseptic– and the soft, clean smelling bed linen, told Sam he was in a hospital, but it didn't tell him why.

There was something attached to one of his fingers; it felt like some kind of clip. Although uncomfortable, it barely held a candle to the pain in his chest. Sharp, pulsing with each heart beat and generally making him miserable, he wondered if this was the price he paid for accepting that free candy bar. After all, he had the money to pay for it; his brother had given it to him before he left the motel room...

Why was he so tired? What happened exactly?

Sam was having a significant struggle remembering anything after entering the store and talking to the owner. And anything he did remember made no sense whatsoever.

Something to do with umbilical cord…and Dean said he wanted some fallopian tube…?

Ok, that just confused him all the more.

He knew his older brother had been with him at some point, but that memory was a little hazy, warped and twisted in knots by terrible pain. Dean's worried, no, try terrified face swam in and out of Sam's head.

Sam couldn't imagine why Dean would be terrified, 'cause as far as he knew, his big brother wasn't afraid of anything.

Maybe I was dreaming...

A door opened nearby, and feet padded softly towards him. Sam could sense their presence, but already he was beginning the unstoppable slide back into a deep sleep.

"Sammy? You awake?"

Sam had just enough awareness to know that voice. And when the owner gently grasped one of his hands, Sam managed a light squeeze and a soft moan of frustration before slipping away again, his brother's voice following him down.

"Just relax kiddo. I gotcha."

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"So... what you gonna do about it, Dean?" John raised an inquiring eyebrow.

Now he'd calmed down, narrowly avoided a heart attack, and managed to pry his hands loose from Dean's neck, John was feeling marginally better. Now he faced the insurmountable task of making sure his oldest son didn't beat himself to death over it.

Sam was asleep, alive and recovering. On reflection, John felt things could have been much worse.

Dean had a fair idea where he was going with this, and his dad didn't sound mad at him anymore. But that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

"I'm gonna explain and apologize, Dad. Soon as he wakes up."

"Sure about that?" John smoothed down Sam's blankets, then settled in his seat, content with gently stroking the boy's pale cheek. "That could hurt him."

"He has a right to know…" Dean paused before forcing the rest of the words out, "…why he got shot. It was down to me..."

"No, son, listen to me, ok?" John was full of surprises. Sure, he didn't sound mad, but that didn't mean to say he still wasn't. "It was a stupid joke. One we've all played on someone at one stage or other..."

"He's a just a kid, Dad! How could I do that to him? I lied to him, laughed at him behind his back, broke his trust... and he nearly died!" Leaning forward in his own seat, the older brother ran shaky fingers through the younger boy's hair, brushing it gently behind Sam's ears. "I'm a terrible brother. Don't know how he puts up with me."

"'Cause Sammy loves you, Dean," his father replied, softly. "And like it or not, you're still a kid yaself. I was a teenager once, ya know. You need your own time and space, and with the life we lead, it ain't always possible to provide for that. What happened to Sam was just damn bad luck, though what he thought he was doing tackling a gunman..." he finished looking pointedly at Dean, who nodded. Yeah, that was a dig at Dean's own heroics for sure. But John knew his oldest son well, and suspected the kid would do it all over again if it meant saving Sammy's life.

Dean was surprised to say the least. It sounded like his father actually felt sympathetic to his cause. He expected yelling, cursing, angry glares, anything but John's understanding.

Dean sighed way too heavily for someone of sixteen.

"Wrong time, wrong place, huh?"

John nodded. "That's about the size of it."

The three Winchesters were silent for a long while, two of them awake, the third and youngest sleeping the sleep of the happily stoned.

"Dya think he'll be mad at me? I mean, remember when I hid his science project last year?" Dean shook his head, puffing out a small brittle sounding snort. "He missed the deadline and got an F. Kid didn't speak to me for a week."

John tipped his head to one side as he considered that.

"Hmm. Well, I guess you'll find out when he wakes up." He smiled a little. "Maybe next time, you should just tell him the truth. Sam's a smart kid; he might understand."

"Yeah." Glancing over at his father, Dean frowned. "Ya know, only reason I did it was to protect him, Dad. I didn't want him to think he was nothing but a burden, constantly hanging around me, not leaving me in any peace. Sam's way too sensitive for that; I didn't feel I had a choice. So I got rid of him the only way I could... I sent him to the store for nothing..."

John chuckled. "Was a good one though, Dean. Fallopian tube and umbilical cord? Where'd ya get that from?"

The door clicked open, revealing the harried face of Sam's physician, Doc Rozel.

"Sorry to interrupt gentleman, but could I have a word about Sam's treatment? It's quite important."

Casting Sam a sad smile, Dean and John got to their feet and followed the doctor out into the hallway.

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Sam awoke to the sound of soft voices. Swimming through the grogginess was quite the challenge, but he soon figured out who the voices belonged to... and then he concentrated on what they were saying.

...was nothing but a burden, constantly hanging around me, not leaving me in any peace. Sam's way too sensitive… I didn't feel I had a choice. So I got rid of him the only way I could... I sent him to the store for nothing...

Sam froze, then heard his father's soft laugh.

Was a good one though, Dean. Fallopian tube and umbilical cord? Where'd ya get that from?

Sam was saved from any further emotional pain when his family were called away.

Swallowing hard, Sam's eyes cracked open, releasing large teardrops that streamed silently down his face.

He'd never felt so humiliated in his life.

His brother had made a complete and utter fool out of him.

And now his dad was laughing at him.

Sam sniffed and rolled his head to the side.

Burden... always hanging around, huh?

I can soon fix that.

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Almost a week later saw Dean and John once again in deep discussion outside Sam's room.

"Make sure he keeps his arm in the sling," Doc Rozel prattled on, fierce eyes darting from one Winchester to the other. "He'll need all the support he can get. I want to see him back here for regular weekly checkups. Also, and I can't emphasize this enough, the child needs plenty of bed rest. In fact, I don't want him on his feet for at least two weeks after his release. Can't risk him taking a fall and bursting those stitches."

"You got it, Doc." John responded at once, and clapped a hand on his oldest son's back. "That right, sport?"

"Damn straight." Dean nodded enthusiastically, looking forward to having his kid brother back home where he could keep an eye on the boy. This time, his hero of a little brother would have breakfast in bed, with Dean gladly doing all his chores. Last time he checked in on Sam, the kid looked worryingly pale, cheeks sunken and mouth almost bloodless. It was going to take time, but Dean was determined Sam would bounce back from this, which meant making sure the kid rested properly, as per doctor's orders.

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Sam was eerily quiet. He wouldn't look John or Dean in the eye, and whenever they tried to include him in conversations, he feigned tiredness and they left him alone. Dean hovered, checking the sling was tight enough, plumping his pillows, offering juice and water, barely receiving a muted 'thanks' in return. Sam had been in hospital a week, and that week of silence was taking its toll. At least he was eating, if only the bare minimum.

Dean assumed Sam was still hurting, in post-trauma shock, and just needed lots of care and patience.

John, however, eyed both his sons warily. He knew something was going on, but wasn't sure what.

"Hey Sam? Dean and I are just gonna head for the canteen, see if we can't rustle up some decent coffee." John smiled worriedly down at the kid. "You be ok here by yaself for a little while?"

Sam bit his lip, as though holding back an angry retort, then just nodded.

As soon as his dad and brother left the room, Sam pushed back the covers, and gingerly climbed out of bed. He knew where his clothes were kept, having puppy-dogged the nurses, but that wasn't the problem.

Getting dressed was hard going, especially with the sling getting in the way. He had to stop and rest several times, partly from exhaustion, but mostly because the pain threatened to drag him down. The biggest challenge came in trying to slip on his sneakers, which took way too long for his liking and the stretchpull on his stitches made him feel queasy. A quick search turned up pen and paper; a quick scribble here and a hastily signed Sam there, he was set to go.

Grunting in pain, and eyeing the door in case his family returned prematurely, Sam did up the laces, crept over to his only means of escape, and pressed his ear against the wood. When he was satisfied there was no one out there to spot his departure, he quietly slipped from the room.

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"Dean, I want you to try and talk to Sam," John sipped his coffee, and managed to hold back a grimace of disgust. "Something's goin' on with him."

The senior Winchesters stood outside in the hospital gardens, breathing in fresh air, and talking quietly.

Dean blew out a breath and shrugged helplessly.

"I already tried, Dad. He says he's fine, just tired," he smiled weakly at his father. "Yeah, not sure I buy it either."

John sighed.

"Of all the damn things to go wrong on a hunt, weapons jam, bad Intel, vengeful spirits... and Sam gets taken down in a convenience store robbery." He sighed again, and scratched the back of his head in bewilderment. "I guess sometimes I forget not all evil is supernatural."

Dean smirked his agreement.

"This is Sam we're talking about, Dad. If there's trouble, he'll find it."

"Don't you mean, trouble finds him?" his Dad retorted with a half smile.

"Exactly," Dean's smile began to fade. Though in this case, I guess you could say I sent him into its path.

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Sam made it out of the hospital without running into any nurses, doctors and orderlies that knew him. More importantly, he hadn't run into his Dad and brother. Setting out in earnest, with the intention of putting as much distance behind him as possible, Sam lifted his chin and strode proudly away.

Trudging along the roadside a little while later, the smell of the local diner's lunchtime offerings wafted under his nostrils, and his stomach growled hungrily. Unfortunately, his pockets were empty.

But, Sam had a plan.

Ok, he had no money, but he still had a plan so he was halfway to his goal. That made him feel a little better.

Ya know, aside from the crippling ache in his chest, the dizziness, fatigue, and now, of all things, loneliness. His chest and shoulder were still badly bruised from the bullet's impact, and Sam was now grateful for the dark blue sling that kept his arm immobile. He had no idea how he far he would have gotten without it.

The smell from the diner was beginning to tantalize, and Sam's mouth watered. His weary gazed picked out dumpsters huddled in the side alley of the diner.

Anything will do. Day old burgers, I don't care. Maybe once I've eaten, I'll hitch a ride to Uncle Bobby's. He won't turn me away... I hope.

It meant crossing the road. Not that Sam particularly minded, but the world was beginning to swim in and out of focus, and his eyes were having trouble staying open. Not the best way to make a safe crossing on a busy road.

Food. Once I have some food inside me I'll soon feel better. Just gotta be extra careful.

Sam carefully checked both ways, almost keeling over as he moved his head from left to right. After waiting for a decent break in the traffic, he stepped out onto the road.

A few stumbling steps and he reached the halfway point. His legs felt like lead weights, and the ever increasing need to sleep was fast catching him up.

So far so good...

A screech of brakes and the loud blaring of someone's car horn was Sam's undoing. Startled by the noise, his body instinctively jerked round, and a burst of pain erupted in his chest. His vision darkened surprisingly fast, and Sam passed out...

... right in the middle of the road.

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Life was good. The car radio was blasting out something actually worth listening to for once- Honkytonk Woman, a classic Stones track, easily one of their best claimed the enthusiastic DJ - the sun was shining, and not a single cloud smudged the perfect blue of the sky.

Jack Molloy was on his way to visit the young boy who'd saved his life over a week ago. A stack of Spiderman comics and candy sat on the passenger seat, along with a cute stuffed Labrador pup he'd seen in the window of his neighbour's toy store. Kid was probably too old for cuddly toys, but Jack couldn't resist it. It reminded him of Sam Winchester, the brave child with the soft eyes, who nearly died on behalf of a complete stranger just beginning the twilight years of his life.

Jack always paid considerable attention behind the wheel, and never more so today. So when a remarkably familiar figure staggered out in front of the car, he reacted quickly. Slamming on the brakes and hitting the horn, his white Toyota Tundra screeched to a halt just inches from a dazed and sick looking Sam Winchester.

The kid blinked once, and promptly fainted, body falling limp on the tarmac.

Jack was out the car in a flash, screaming for someone to call an ambulance.

Kneeling down beside him, he noticed a faint shiver run through the boy's body, and began shrugging out of his jacket.

"Sam? Sam Winchester? Can you hear me, kid?" Covering the small body with the jacket, and keeping an ear listening closely for wailing sirens, Jack carried on gently talking to the youngster, hoping to bring him round. "What you doing out here? You should be in the hospital! Where's your family, huh? They round here someplace? C'mon kid, wake up for me..."

Sam shivered again, but still didn't rouse.

Not even the ambulance sirens brought him back.

Several doors opened and slammed shut, and two EMTs appeared carrying a collapsible gurney and heavy looking med kits.

"Jack? You hit him?" A burly EMT in his late thirties gazed at Jack, eyebrows raised.

It was a horrible thing to ask, but he had no choice.

"No, Frank, he just walked out in front of me, and passed out on the road..."

Frank nodded, accepting his answer without further question. He'd known the older guy since he first scraped his knees on the sidewalk outside Jack's store over thirty years ago. Jack had taken him in, given him a soda and tended his wounds, all the while talking gently and telling him what a brave boy he was. They'd been firm friends ever since, and it was partly the reason why Frank became a medic. Jack even attended Frank's graduation, cheering away like a proud parent, tears of joy rolling down his face.

Giving the old guy a reassuring nod, Frank got to work.

Jack watched on in despair when the EMTs examined the kid, only to find blood had soaked through the front of his shirt.

"Looks like the kid had some kind of surgery recently..."

Jack stepped forward.

"Frank, I was on my way to see him in the hospital. His name is Sam Winchester." Jack eyed their movements, feeling all kinds of protective over his charge. "Kid was shot by a masked gunman trying to rob my store last week."

A loud murmur of shock went up behind him, and Jack turned to find quite a crowd gathered at the edge of the road. Diner customers and road users alike were watching on in distress, and in some cases – because voyeurism is one of the least attractive human traits – outright gleeful curiosity.

"Gunshot?" A member of the gathering glanced at Sam in mock disbelief, and practically sneered "but he's just a kid..."

"A kid who saved my life!" Jack growled angrily, wondering how in hell he'd put up with living in such a backwards community for so long, then turned back to the EMTs.

Frank nodded. "Whole town's still talkin' 'bout it. Kid's a damn hero. But what he's doing out here?"

The younger EMT, barely out of college by the looks of him, checked his patient's wound again.

"The stitches are all burst, and it's showing early signs of infection," he glanced up at his colleague. "We should get him on oxygen before his BP starts to plummet."

"Our stores getting robbed, young kids getting shot..." Frank shook his head, sadly, checking the kid was comfortable. "Guess the outside world is finally catching up with us, huh? C'mon. Let's get him to the ER." He glanced at Jack. "You know his family?"

Jack nodded, hesitantly. "Sorta. I'll get Sam's doctor to contact them..."

He watched and waited while the EMTs prepared Sam for the journey. Blankets, IVs, monitors, and the reappearance of the dreaded oxygen mask served to remind Jack of the first time he'd seen this kid hurt.

As he climbed back into the Tundra, and began to follow the ambulance through the traffic, earlier questions came back to taunt him.

What was he doing out here?

Where were his family?

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Where the hell is he?

And what the hell's he doing outta bed?

Dean was first back to Sam's room, his father having adjourned to answer the call of nature. They'd both been gone much longer than planned and Dean was desperate to talk to his little brother. But the bed was empty, sheets and blankets rumpled, and an open drawer informed the older brother that Sam's clothes were missing.

"Sam?" Dean's anxious gaze roamed the room. Since Sam's injury, and consequent hospitalization, his Big Brother instincts were on high alert and right then? They were screaming at him. "Sammy?" Dean's voice rose along with his panic levels.

A slip of paper caught his eye from the nightstand. Dean approached, cautiously, as though dreading whatever message it might carry. As the words took shape and came into focus, Sam's shaky handwriting was revealed.

Don't wanna be a burden. I'll stay away from now on.

Sam.

Dean blinked, and his frozen brain tried to figure out what the hell had gone wrong. Then he knew; a snippet from a conversation whispered over his sleeping little brother's head…

Oh God, Sammy! You were awake, weren't you?

The note paper crumpled in his fingers, just as Dean raced out of the room.

Heavy boots pounded the tiles, and skidded to a halt when John Winchester stepped out in front, eyes wide with concern.

"Dean, what's wrong?"

"Sammy's gone… he must've heard what we said… remember?" Dean panted and shoved Sam's note at his father, tears of sadness spilling over and rolling down his face. "I said… I said…"

John didn't need to hear it. He'd already figured it out from the note. The eldest Winchester closed his eyes briefly, heart aching for his youngest child.

"C'mon." John grabbed Dean's shoulder and pulled him along the corridor. "We need to talk to Sam's doctor, get a search underway…"

"There's no need," Dr Rozel called out from his office door, shrugging into his white coat. "Your son's on his way here by ambulance. Jack Molloy had me paged just now. Apparently, Sam collapsed in the middle of the road right in front of Jack's car, about two miles from here."

Dean felt the blood drain away from his head and John just gaped.

A burst of activity ahead caught their attention, and they gasped when Sam was wheeled in, followed by a tired and worried looking Jack.

Dean could just make out Sam's face under the oxygen mask, and he didn't like what he saw. His brother looked terrible, ghostly pale, a fine sheen of perspiration glistened across his brow, body assaulted by terrible shivering. Blood soaked through the fresh bandages across his chest, and there was no sign of the sling.

The urgent movements and sharply barked orders from Dr Rozel only added to their worries.

"Oh my God!" Dean heard his father whisper in fear. "Sammy…"

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Hours passed by the time Dr Rozel put in an appearance, though for Dean it seemed like a week.

The two older Winchesters waited with barely concealed impatience as the tired doctor approached. It was hard not to snap, but the poor doc had been on duty now for some thirty six hours and John figured the guy was owed a break or two. It wasn't unusual for the medical staff to pull long shifts in such a small community hospital. The workload was so small that decent rest periods were possible using the small recliner beds in the staff room. But Doc Rozel had been concerned enough to stay up with Sam throughout the night.

Fortunately, tired though he might have been, the Doc didn't mince words.

"Sam's wound developed a mild infection which we could have cleared up with antibiotics in no time at all, if he'd stayed in bed," Dr Rozel wasn't outright suggesting it was all their fault, but the message that he held them partly responsible was received loud and clear; Dean couldn't find it within his heart to blame the guy. "However, the incident on the road has taken its toll. He bust every one of his stitches, which of course made matters worse, blood loss etc. On top of that, the boy's exhausted." The Doc unsuccessfully stifled a yawn, then continued. "I strongly suggest you have a talk with Sam, once he's awake. He really can't afford to complicate his injuries any further."

"Oh, we intend to." John muttered, already planning the one-sided conversation in his head.

"Will he be ok?" Dean burst out, desperate to know.

"I think so, but I make no promises. That infection's become quite nasty." The Doc unwrapped the stethoscope from around his neck and stuffed it in his pocket. "He's on some heavy duty antibiotics for the moment. But I'm hopeful."

For the first time since they met him, Doc Rozel smiled suddenly.

It wasn't a bright or beaming smile, more a soft smile of understanding, before taking off for his next rest period.

The Winchester's got the feeling that somehow they'd been let off the hook, and were able to breathe a little easier. Dean approached the isolation window, pressed one hand against the glass, and watched his sleeping brother. The kid looked a damn sight more comfortable than the last time Dean saw him. He was still hooked up to various IVs and his small face was obscured by the mask.

Dean wasn't taking anything for granted. Once Sam was awake, then the older boy would begin to truly relax. Fact was, the thought of losing Sam terrified him.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean whispered, fearfully. "You can make it, little brother."

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Two days later Sam was still on oxygen, but reduced to a nasal canular, which wasn't much better. He lay back against his pillows feeling sad and depressed, still unable to face a family that no longer wanted him.

As soon as he woke up, the Doc had him moved out of isolation and into a private room.

It hadn't been an easy decision for Sam, asking that his father and brother be kept away from him, and though the nurses and Doc Rozel tried to reassure him, Sam just wouldn't believe they truly cared.

Little did he know that just outside the room, his angry and scared older brother paced anxiously, occasionally throwing mournful glances at the closed door.

Dean had promised the doc he would respect Sam's wishes, but he was so tempted to just barge in. However, John had pointed out a move like that would only solidify Sam's mistrust, not to mention stress the kid out, and that was the last thing Dean wanted.

He suddenly stopped and leaned against the door, one hand brushing lightly over the surface as though trying to reach his little brother through the wood.

"Please Sammy," he whispered sadly, "I won't let you down again, I promise. Just let me in…"

"Son? Why don't you let me talk to him?" A voice spoke up from behind.

Dean whirled round, wiping at his eyes and sniffing, pretending he hadn't been caught in the act of actually crying.

"Wh-what?" he stuttered out, then got a good look at the newcomer. "Oh, it's you Mr Molloy. Uh… thanks for acting so quickly, helping my brother…"

"It's no trouble, I assure you," Jack interrupted kindly. "But I meant what I said. I might be able to help." He hefted a plastic bag full of comics and grinned. "I brought candy too. Think it'll work?"

Dean grinned back, in spite of himself. "Sam don't bribe easy." To his own shock, Dean shrugged and added "sure, why not? Can't hurt."

Jack handed him a soft toy. "Maybe when he's ready to talk, you could give him this."

Dean stroked the toy puppy's ears and nodded sadly. He stepped back and turned away from the door, worried that Sam might freak out if he knew just how close by his family really was. Doc Rozel had blatantly lied to the kid, told him John and Dean had been sent to the staff canteen until Sam was ready to see them.

Dean heard Jack knock on the door.

"Sam? It's Jack Molloy. Can I come in? I got something for ya."

A soft murmur and the guy opened the door, gently closing it behind him.

Dean let out a sigh, leaned against the wall, and slid down, settling in for a long wait.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Hi there Sam." Jack smiled and crossed the room to stand by the bed. "Don't suppose you remember much about me, huh?"

The kid squinted tiredly and nodded. "Yeah, I do. You own that store…" his voice trailed off, left hand fiddling nervously with the strap on his sling.

Jack bit his lip, then motioned to the seat next to the night stand. "May I?"

"Sure." Sam tried to muster a smile, but failed miserably.

"I brought you some of those candy bars, and Spiderman comics," Jack placed the bag on the roll away table, and took out the top copy. "I wasn't sure what you like to read…"

"Thanks," Sam answered in a small voice. "I like Spiderman."

An awkward silence stretched out between them, and they both shifted uncomfortably.

"He's out there now, isn't he?" Sam suddenly spoke up. "My brother I mean?"

Jack sat back in his seat and nodded.

"Yeah, he is."

The kid chewed on his lip worriedly.

"He… uh… is me mad at me?"

Jack must have looked as shocked as he felt, because the kid's eyes widened fearfully.

"No! Of course not! At least, not with you." Jack had caught a few of the conversations between Doc Rozel and Sam's family, and had a rough idea what had gone on, knew why the kid ran off. "He's mad as hell at himself, though. Last thing he wanted was his little brother getting hurt again. Already blames himself for you getting shot in the first place."

"That's…" Sam considered that for a long moment, then finished what he wanted to say. "That's just dumb."

In no way, in no stretch of the imagination did he blame his brother for that. Sure, if it hadn't been for the humiliating prank Sam wouldn't have been in the store to start with, but it could have happened anywhere, and at anytime. There were plenty of opportunities for disaster to strike, especially given their line of work. And it was Sam's own choice to leave the hospital before he was ready, therefore his own fault for getting sick.

"Yeah," Jack nodded his agreement. "But ya know? Big brothers always blame themselves when their younger siblings get hurt. Comes with the territory. It's kinda Dean's job to take care of you, and it's one he's very proud of."

"Really?" Sam regarded Jack with wide eyes.

"Yeah," Jack grinned smugly. "Had four younger sisters when I was growing up. It ain't an easy job, but it's sure worth it. But do you know what your job is, Sam?"

The boy frowned, then shook his head.

"Your job is to stick around, and be the little brother," answered Jack. "Dean loves taking care of you, but he's human and gonna make mistakes. When he does or says something that hurts you, or makes you mad, tell him. Give him the chance to make it right again."

Sam nodded slowly in understanding. "And let him know when he's doing a great job?" he asked, tentatively.

Jack grinned again. "Yeah, but not too much or it'll go to his head!"

Sam snorted lightly.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean glanced at his watch several times, hummed some long forgotten rock tune under his breath, and glanced at his watch again. Dad was still out getting food and supplies, and wouldn't be back for at least another half hour.

He'd spent some of his time thinking up ways to talk to Sam, how to apologize and explain without it sounding like some shitty way to excuse his behaviour.

The more he thought about it the more worried he became, the more anxious that he'd lost his best friend and little brother over a stupid prank. So deep in depression and despair, Dean didn't realise the door had opened until Jack squeezed his shoulder. Blinking up at the old guy, he swallowed hard, gaze fixed and worried.

Jack smiled and nodded. "Go on in. I think he's a little worried about you."

Dean was on his feet so fast, Jack nearly staggered back in surprise.

All Jack heard, as the door closed behind the older brother, was a softly spoken "Sammy? You ok buddy?"

Jack shook his head, laughing softly. Sibling misunderstandings and rivalry were probably the basic plots of some of the most successful TV shows on the planet. But maybe they could all learn a thing or two about brotherly love, just by knowing Sam and Dean for five minutes.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Sam gazed up at his big brother, eyes shining with tears.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I shouldn't have run away like that."

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed, and studied Sam's flushed face, the remains of the fever still messing with his little brother. The kid looked way too small and vulnerable in the large hospital bed, and Dean felt a sudden bolt of panic that may be, just maybe, one day, he wouldn't always be able to protect him.

"No. You shouldn't."

Honesty was the best policy here, and though Dean didn't want to take Sam to task over something that wasn't really his fault, it was important to point out how badly it could have ended.

"Sammy, you could have been killed. When the Doc told us you collapsed in the middle of the road…" he shook his head "have you any idea what went through our minds? The images? You could have been crushed under a bus, or a truck. You were damn lucky Jack was there!"

Sam dipped his head and sniffed. "I'm sorry," he whispered again. "I didn't know what else to do. I thought you didn't want me around no more… an… and Dad was laughing… at me…"

To his surprise, Sam found himself gently enfolded in his big brother's arms, a large hand moving up to brush away his tears. His sling-wrapped arm was carefully supported as though he were made of china.

"Aw Sammy, s'not your fault little dude," Dean lightly rested his chin on the top of Sam's head. "You woke up halfway through a conversation never meant for your ears, and it freaked you out. I was gonna talk to you about it another time, when you were feeling better."

"About what?" Sam snuffled into the nasal canular, wishing he could remove the horrible thing.

"Well, for a start," Dean pulled away so he could look Sam in the eye. "You know I'd never do anything to intentionally hurt you, right?" When Sam nodded straight away, he asked another question. "So you trust me, right?"

Another furious bout of wide eyed nodding nearly had Dean chuckling. But this was serious..

"What I did was wrong. But it was just prank Sammy, and it wasn't meant to hurt you, and God knows it wasn't meant to end in you getting shot. That's another thing we're gonna talk about later, by the way, little brothers taking on masked gunmen? Dude! So not right!" Dean raised an eyebrow in part annoyance and part pride, and Sam lowered his head.

"Was jus' doing what you taught me…" the kid mumbled petulantly.

"As I said, we'll talk about that later." Dean ruffled his hair affectionately. "And for the record, Dad wasn't really laughing at you, Sam; he was laughing at the joke. Dad was scared shitless when you went missing."

A small silence reigned whilst the younger brother digested that info.

"So…" Sam shrugged suddenly, and looked away, as though unsure whether or not to ask, then made up his mind to just get it out. "Why dya do it? Send me to the store for nothing, I mean?"

Dean sighed. Here we go.

"Sam, just know that I love spending time with you, ok? Don't ever think otherwise, 'cause for a little brother? Ya pretty cool." He suppressed another chuckle when a small smile tugged at Sam's mouth. "But sometimes, a guy needs time alone, ya know? To think about where we're going, what we're gonna do next, to just... be ourselves. Do you understand me, Sam?"

Sam nodded slowly, thinking that one through.

Yeah, he was starting to get it. Lately Sam had been feeling kinda weird. He knew what it was; like some of his classmates, Sam was about to hit puberty, but knowing didn't make dealing with it any easier.

Sex as a concept wasn't a problem for Sam, his analytical young mind able to acknowledge the evolutionary advantages of reproduction. But it was the very thought of putting it into practice that sent shivers down his spine, and just lately, those shivers were becoming kinda nice. It was scary, but Sam was beginning to understand a few things about his big brother, and putting two and two together was proving easier than he thought.

"Sooo... is that what all those magazines are for?" Sam asked innocently, wondering at the sudden sharp look his brother sent him. "The ones hidden in the bottom of your duffle, with the pretty ladies on the cover?"

"Uh... Sammy?" Dean shifted, the expression on his face suggesting an anxiety attack wasn't entirely out of the question.

" They never seem to be wearing clothes! Won't they catch cold?"

"Uh..." Dean appeared to be struggling, his eyebrows performing away like demented trapeze artists.

"What magazines?" came a deeper voice from the other side of the room.

The look of sheer panic that crossed Dean's face when he looked up to find his father standing in the doorway, nearly had Sam snorting out loud.

"Uh... um... uh..." That seemed to be all the older brother could manage, as he clung desperately to the last of his composure, before it could slide down the drain along with all his street cred and self-respect.

John slyly winked at Sam, earning a big grin in exchange.

"So all those times I thought you were practicing exorcisms and cleansing rites in the bathroom mirror," his father gazed down at Dean, expression stern. "You were actually practicing an entirely different kind of ritual."

Dean squirmed uncomfortably as he thought it through. He couldn't believe he was having this conversation with his dad, especially in front of his twelve year old brother! It started off as a small tingling in his ears, which soon turned into an outright burning sensation when the blush caught hold, and spread like wildfire.

"Dude, are you blushing?" John, unable to hold on to his mirth any longer, let out a loud guffaw that surprised both his sons. "My God! Dean, I witnessed your first steps, first words, and your first morning shave, but this... I've never seen you embarrassed before now. This is incredible!"

Dean scowled when his little brother smirked and broke out into a fit of giggling.

"Shaddup Sam!"

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Sam didn't mind the wheelchair. Sure, he stood out like a sore thumb, and the seat itself wasn't all that comfortable, but he was enjoying the ride. He squealed with delight when Dean hit the wheelchair ramp, and the two of them almost took off into the skies.

Sam tried to cover it up but his brother still noticed the grimace of pain when the chair crashed back down. Displaying a commendable amount of tact, Dean didn't say a word, just squeezed his good shoulder in apology. But that was their first and last attempt at achieving pilot status. Instead, Dean started making some pretty convincing Impala engine noises, Sam laughing along, as he pushed the chair round the hospital gardens at top speed, cutting up the other patients and nearly flooring one poor guy on crutches.

"Sorry!" Dean called back, and winced when the patient swore a blue streak and made some pretty interesting hand signals.

The two brothers, laughing and joking, one in the wheelchair, arm in a sling, and the other firmly gripping the chair handles as though he never wanted to let go, made their way across to the ice cream stand in the park opposite.

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John smiled softly, as he watched his tearaway sons in action.

He was waiting in Doc Rozel's office for Sam's prescription medication, but Jack Molloy had sent the boys, and around twenty dollars, on their merry way to seek out and investigate the Italian ice cream merchant in the park across from the hospital.

Even from a distance, and through the office windows, John could see the glow of adoration on Dean's face whenever he glanced at Sam, and the corresponding puppy dog eyes of awe and hero worship on the younger boy. It reassured him; whatever had broken between the brothers was now fixed, and stronger than ever before.

All John needed to do now, was to make sure the laundry was taken care of that evening. Because the sun was hot, the ice cream was bound to melt…

…and his sons rarely passed up the chance to get mischievous with their old man.

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Author's Notes:

So there you are. Nothing special. Just a blatant excuse for a gunshot and distressed Sammy, with a hefty dose of his guilt ridden big brother.

Cheers my darlings.

Kind regards,

ST xxx