Title: Reader's Special: First Edition - One Shot Reward Fic Collection
Author: Disasteriffic Kaz
Info: A collection of One Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: First Edition. Features many seasons, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby See each chapter for specific info for each one shot reward fic.
Author's Note: The Reader's Special: First Edition was such brilliant fun thanks to all the wonderful people who prompted the story for each chapter that I offered each prompter a One Shot Reward fic of their choice. None of the chapters contained in this Fic are connected. Each one is a stand-alone one shot per the Prompters request. Thank you to all of you who prompted the Reader's Special! You were fantastic!
Chapter Info: For Leahelisabeth: Sam 2 and Dean 6 where Sam gets kidnapped from a motel room and John is completely at his wit's end and has to call in Bobby to help him find him. I also want Dean to have a hand in the rescue so we get some traumatized and hurt Sammy clinging to his big brother. Bobby snuggling the two of them on his lap in the back of the Impala while John rushes to the hospital after
Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P
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"Dean, dammit. Stop irritating your brother." John Winchester said in a long suffering voice as his two year old chased his six year old around the small motel room, crying and trying to recover the toy that had been stolen.
Dean smirked, holding the little Hot Wheels car above his head and finally lowered his hand so his baby brother could reach it. "Sorry, Sammy." Dean groaned and made a grab for the little brat when he stuck his tongue out at him.
"My Mustang." Sam told his big brother, sticking his bottom lip out defiantly and took the car back to his pile of little cars, plopping happily down beside them. To his father it looked like a mess of cars in haphazard piles on the floor but to Sam, he was doing his best to faithfully recreate their Uncle Bobby's yard. He nudged the milk carton that was standing in for the house into better position and hummed to himself.
"Dean." John waited for him and then tugged him up into his lap. "I have to go to work tonight."
"But…we going to Uncle Bobby's tomorrow?" Dean asked and John nodded, smiling.
"We are but I have to do this tonight, son." John sighed. "I need you to…"
"Take care o' Sammy." Dean nodded firmly and John smiled sadly.
"That's right, Dean." He ruffled his eldest's spiky hair affectionately. "It's only for a few hours, I promise. Stay in the room, don't open the door for anyone, don't answer the phone." He went over all the safety precautions, smiling proudly as Dean parroted them back at him perfectly. He wondered what Mary would think of their life now, if she'd hate him for what he was doing or if she would understand the responsibility he was heaping on their oldest son and why.
"We'll be ok, Dad." Dean smiled and slid off his father's lap. He snagged a comic book from his bag and sat on the couch above his little brother where he could watch him.
John sighed and stood. He took the straps of his duffel bag and went to the door, giving his boys a last look before he left and closed the door.
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John strode silently through the dark graveyard; the cool autumn breeze blew his leather jacket out around him as he shined his flashlight among the graves. A nasty ghost had taken exception to renovations at a nearby hotel and two people had been tossed down the elevator shaft. It hadn't taken him long to figure out it was an old manager of the Hotel from eighty years ago or where he was buried. He smiled when he found the headstone and set his duffel down, hefting his shovel.
"Ok, Mr. Greenway. Fun time's over." John dug the shovel into the hard packed earth with grim determination, keeping alert for any sign the grave's owner was paying attention.
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Dean peeked out the curtains of their motel room as the housekeeping cart squeaked past their window again. He hated that cart. The squeaky wheel made him nervous as did the creepy guy pushing it. He jumped and clenched the curtains together when the guy in his rumpled housekeeping uniform suddenly turned his head to meet Dean's eyes.
"Freak." Dean grumbled. He slid off the bed and checked the lock on the door, shrugging tension out of his small shoulders. "Never seen anyone spend so much time cleaning rooms." He muttered and went to stand over his little brother. Sam was lying on the floor in the middle of his Hot Wheels junkyard scooting a car that resembled their Dad's Impala in between the rows and making vroom-vroom noises that made him smile. "Hey, Sammy. You hungry yet?"
"Uh uh." Sam shook his head and shot a smile up at Dean. "Wanna play?"
Dean shook his head. "Not right now, midget." He went to the little fridge at the back of the room and pulled out the tv dinners their Dad had left there and opened one, popping it in the microwave. He knew his little brother and five minutes from now he'd change his mind and want food.
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John drove the blade of the shovel into the soft wood of the top of the coffin and took a moment to wipe the cold sweat from his brow. In spite of the cool weather, he'd worked up a hell of a sweat digging out the grave. The wind picked up, whipping over him as he cracked the coffin lid apart and bent to pull the long slats of wood out of the way. Beneath them were the yellowed bones of David Greenway.
He pulled himself up out of the grave after collecting all the bones, piling them together so he wouldn't miss any and went to his duffel for the salt. As John bent over a cold breath ghosted across his face and he reared back, narrowly avoiding his own shovel as it slammed down where his head had been.
"Son of a bitch!" John dove back to his duffel and pulled out the salt and an iron fireplace poker he'd brought just for this. He stood and turned to find Greenway's irate ghost standing behind him and brought the poker around in a wide sweep. As the iron passed through the apparition, Greenway gave a howl of anger and dissipated.
"Why is it never easy?" John panted and went to the side of the grave, hastily pouring salt down on the piled bones. He dug a bottle of lighter fluid out of his jacket pocket and squirted that down into the grave, saturating the bones. He grunted in surprise as he was struck high across the back and shoved into the grave. He fell with a short cry and groaned, rolling himself off the bones. He carefully wiped spattered lighter fluid off his face and saw his own shovel lying across him. "Oh you bastard." John growled. He jumped to his feet and scrambled out of the grave again. He threw the iron poker into the ghost waiting for him at the top as he rolled out onto the grass and pulled a zippo from his pocket. It took him three tries to get it lit in the strong wind but finally the flame caught as the ghost reappeared and John tossed it down into the grave with a satisfied grin. Flames burst up from the darkened hole into the night and David Greenway screamed as he was engulfed and vanished in a burst of light. "Rest in peace you asshole." John gasped and flopped onto his back for a moment, giving in to the exhaustion and the pain burning across his shoulder blades from the shovel hit.
"Get up Winchester." John told himself and rolled to his knees. He looked around and then threw his arms up in frustration. "Dammit!" The shovel was down in the grave with the now cheerfully burning flames. "Great." He looked around and sighed in relief, spotting a caretaker's shack back in the trees. John stood, trying to roll the ache out of his shoulders and set off at a jog for the shack. He wanted to get the grave filled in and get back to his boys.
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Dean lay stretched out on the far bed with Sam in his lap, using his chest as a headboard. His little brother was sound asleep with his head rolled under Dean's chin, little Mustang car clutched in his hand. Dean sighed and let his head drop back to the wall, too sleepy to shift Sam and get more comfortable. He looked over at the clock and frowned. Dad had been gone for four hours and he wanted him to come home before he fell asleep. Dean's body had other ideas and his eyes began to droop, taking longer and longer to open. He tried to fight sleep but Sam's warm body pressed against him and the hum of the heater under the window worked against him and Dean lost the fight, rolling his cheek into his baby brother's shaggy hair as a soft squeak sounded outside their room.
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John pulled up in front of their motel, shutting off the Impala's engine and sighed. He was more than ready to fall into bed. He'd meant to be home an hour ago but filling in a grave with bruises across his shoulders had proven slower going than he wanted. He climbed out stiffly and pulled his duffel with him, shut the door and then stopped, staring as a cold sensation crawled up his spine and into the pit of his stomach. The motel room door was cracked open. John let his duffel fall with a thump and drew the gun from the small of his back. He knew there was no way Dean would ever leave the door open like that. He was as protective of Sam as John was.
John eased around the car to the side of the door. He nudged it further open with his toe seeing light filter out. The lights were still on in the room. He swung into the room in one fluid movement, gun ready and gasped as the bottom fell out of his world. Sam was nowhere to be seen but Dean lay sprawled on his stomach in the middle of the room, blood seeping from a wound on the back of his head. Every instinct made him want to run to his son but he swallowed the panic and cleared the room first. He found nothing, no sign of Sam or whatever had attacked them.
"Dean." John put his gun up and dropped beside his boy, rolling Dean's limp form carefully into his arms and cradled his face. "Dean? Son, wake up." He sniffed, smelling something out of place and looked down to see a white cloth on the floor beside them. He picked it up and sniffed it, quickly moving it away from his face as the smell of Chloroform burned his nose. He dropped the cloth and bent over Dean. He wrinkled his nose, detecting traces of the chemical on Dean's face. "Oh god." John cradled Dean against his chest and stared around the room, momentarily frozen with indecision and fear. He dropped his head into Dean's hair and forced his breathing to calm from the frantic breaths; using the strong sure heartbeat he could feel beneath his hand from his son to settle him further. "Ok. Ok."
He stood and carried Dean to the nearest bed, laying him down gently and then dragged the phone over from the bedside stand. He quickly dialed Bobby Singer's number and prayed the man wouldn't sleep through the call. "Please pick up." John said softly as it rang in his hear. "Pick up, Bobby."
"What?" Bobby Singer's gruff voice, heavy with sleep greeted him and John closed his eyes for a moment.
"Bobby, its John Winchester." John took a deep breath, feeling panic claw at him. "Someone broke into our motel room. Bobby, Dean's hurt and Sam…god, Bobby Sammy's gone. He's gone."
"What!" Bobby shouted and John could hear him moving, his breathing heavy but the voice that came back to him was calm. "Keep it together, Winchester. Where are you?" John told him and heard Bobby opening and closing doors in a hurry. "Stay put. I'm coming to you. Be there in…two hours. Less." John nodded as the line went dead and hung up the phone. He pulled Dean back into his arms, too unsteady to not have his son where he could hold him.
"Dean?" John used a corner of the bedspread to wipe blood from the side of his son's face and tilted the small head so he could see where it was coming from. The cut was small, much to his relief and the blood already clotting. "Dean, I need you to wake up." John tapped lightly at Dean's cheeks. "Come on buddy. Time to come back." He was doing his best to speak calmly and surely but couldn't quite hide the waver in his voice. He kept looking around the small room as if expecting Sam to crawl out from behind the little couch or stumble out of the bathroom. His eyes latched on to the carefully arranged cars in front of the television as tears stung his eyes. "Hang on, Sammy. I'm gonna find you."
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Bobby whipped his truck into a spot beside the Winchester's distinctive muscle car and slammed out, all but running to the motel room door and pounded on it. "John!" He hadn't known the little family long but it hadn't taken him more than five minutes to become besotted with the two boys. Dean with his quick wit and snarky tongue; little Sammy who could look up at Bobby with those big liquid eyes and turn the cranky Hunter into a pussycat. The two hour drive had taken him only an hour and a half. He took a deep breath as the motel room door swung open to reveal a haggard John Winchester.
"Bobby." John's voice was thin with strain and he quickly waved the older man in, shutting the door behind him.
Bobby took the room in quickly, eyes settling on Dean where he was propped up in one of the beds with a bandage around his head and a miserable look on his face. "Hey, Dean." Bobby smiled for the boy and got a weak smile in return. He walked further in and stopped, looking down at the collection of cars in front of the television. Bobby stared for a moment, something familiar about them before shaking his head and turning back to the distraught family. "Ok. What do we know?"
"Dean woke up a little while ago." John started and went to sit by his son. "Dean, tell Bobby what you told me."
Dean nodded and looked up at his Uncle. "It was that creepy housekeeper guy with the squeaky cart." Dean trembled lightly and John wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "I…" He glanced up at his Dad nervously. "I was asleep. I fell asleep." He said it with such misery Bobby's heart broke a little for the kid. He went and sat on the other side of the bed, resting a big hand on the back of the boys head.
"It's ok, Dean." Bobby soothed. "Just relax."
Dean nodded again. "I woke up when…when he grabbed Sam. He was sleepin' on me and I woke up when he moved him." Dean's voice was rising with agitation. "I tried to stop him Dad I swear I did. I kicked him and…and I tried to get to the gun but…"
"Shh, boy. Calm down." Bobby pulled Dean into his arms when John stood and started pacing the room. "This isn't your fault."
"I found the damn cart." John said suddenly, kicking the dresser to relieve some of his tension. "It's around the back of the motel." He reached into his pocket and pulled out something Bobby couldn't see, looking at it as though it were the most important thing in the world. "He dumped my baby in the damn cart like dirty laundry." John said voice dangerously low and turned his hand so Bobby could see he held a little black Mustang. "We gotta find him, Bobby."
"We will. I made a few calls on my way here." Bobby squeezed Dean's shoulders a little tighter when the boy turned into him. "This motel's got a history of kids goin' missing." Bobby scowled; his face darkening as he remembered the disregard with which the cop he'd spoken too had treated the disappearances, as though people passing through didn't matter as much to him. He set Dean back against the headboard with a little smile, patting his shoulder. "I'm gonna go wake up the manager, see what I can find out about our creepy housekeeper. You did good, Dean." He said before he stood. "Stay here." Bobby told John, absolving him of feeling as though he should come. He left the room as John ran both hands through his hair, tugging it into spikes and shook his head.
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Bobby let himself back in the Winchester's room with a quick knock. John turned from where he'd been packing weapons into a bag and gave him an almost pleading look. "Ok, manager wasn't too happy about being woken up but we had a little chat." Bobby rubbed his knuckles. He'd had to…impress upon the sleazeball how important it was that he talk. "The housekeeper's name is Gary Steves. Worked here for about twenty years." Bobby went over to the little couch where Dean was now sitting and dropped a hand on the narrow shoulder before looking back to John. "I've got his address. It's not far."
"You sure he's our guy?" John asked. "I can't afford to go haring off after the wrong person."
"It's him, Dad." Dean said suddenly and stood. He squared his shoulders, standing taller than his six years. "I'm going. You're not leavin' me here." Dean crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his father because he knew his Dad was going to find some way to leave him out of it but there was no way he wasn't going to be there for his little brother. "I gotta be there, Dad. I gotta."
Bobby opened his mouth but John waved a hand. "Ok, son." John ignored the instant glare from Bobby and went to Dean, kneeling in front of him. "You do what we say, whatever we say." Dean nodded but John continued. "If we tell you to stay back and wait you don't argue. Understood?"
Dean considered for a moment and then nodded, silently promising to do whatever it took to save Sammy no matter what his Dad said. "Yes, Sir." Dean said.
"Ok, let's go get your brother." John stood and grabbed his duffel. "I'm driving. Bobby?"
"Yeah I'll ride with ya." Bobby watched Dean dart over to his bed and pull a small pistol from under the pillow before following his father out the door. Bobby looked back down at the little cars at his feet and his eyes widened in sudden recognition. He was looking at a scale model of his junkyard in matchbox cars. He knelt to pick up the little milkbox that had to be his house and felt tears sting his eyes. Sam had drawn a porch on the front and scratched in four stick figures; his family. Bobby looked at the little ballcap on the stick figure representing him and wiped his eyes after setting it carefully back in its proper place. "We're comin' kid."
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John drove like a man possessed, screaming down the dark back road, eyes set firmly ahead until Bobby pointed to a tree-lined gravel drive. He turned onto it with a quick glance at the pale, scared face of his oldest son in the backseat. It had been hours; hours that his son had been in the hands of some sicko and the knowledge of what he might find when they found him was tying his stomach in knots and making his skin crawl. He worked so hard to protect his boys from the supernatural monsters he'd somehow screwed up protecting them from the human monsters.
"There's the house." Bobby told him and John turned off the headlights, easing behind a stand of trees to park. Both men and Dean climbed quickly out of the car. They checked their weapons, Bobby giving a sidelong look at John. He had a feeling he was going to have to stop him short of committing murder and wasn't sure he'd want too if anything had happened to Sam. John dropped a hand onto Dean's shoulder and then gave a quick look to Bobby before moving toward the house.
It was old; the white paint had long ago weathered to cracked and flaking grey. Most of the windows on both floors were shuttered; some of them hanging at odd angles and the front porch was overgrown with ivy. John pointed to his chest and the front of the house and Bobby nodded, breaking away at a jog heading for the back. He couldn't see anything in the windows as he passed them, moving quietly toward the rear of the house. Bobby ducked under them anyway, just in case someone was looking. He reached the rear of the house and looked out into the tree lined backyard as he eased along the wall. His jaw dropped as he processed what he was seeing. The backyard was covered with small, rectangular flower beds. He quickly counted, finding thirteen and he decided maybe he wouldn't try too hard to stop John from killing the bastard. Standing in the center of each plot of flowers was a ghost. Thirteen ghosts, all small boys; each one staring fearfully at the house from their graves as if afraid to move.
"Son of a bitch." Bobby breathed and promised to make sure every one of those poor kids would be laid to rest properly.
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Dean followed closely at his father's back. He had his gun out, held along his leg and pressed into his thigh to stop his hand shaking. He wanted to hurry, move faster. He wanted to be inside and find his little brother but he swallowed it all back and took a deep breath, letting it out slow like his Dad taught him and waited.
John bent to the lock on the front door, giving the knob a turn and smiled dangerously when it opened, unlocked. Obviously, Gary wasn't worried about anyone stumbling in on him. He pushed the door open and turned to signal Dean to wait. His son gave him a slightly mutinous look but stayed back. John eased inside and moved quickly through the room. He listened intently and heard the sound of music playing softly from upstairs. His gun jerked up at movement in the kitchen but lowered it again when he saw Bobby. The older Hunter had an odd look on his face and John raised a brow, questioning but Bobby just shook his head and raised his chin to the stairs.
John nodded and stepped up, startling when he suddenly felt Dean at his back again. He looked down, ready to order him back outside when he saw the fierce look on the six year old face below the bandage and sighed. He turned back to the stairs, careful to place his feet near the wall to avoid making noise as he went swiftly up to the second floor. The hall branched to either side. Bobby turned left while John took the right, heading toward the music he could still hear.
Dean was torn between which man to follow when he heard a faint sound that could only be his brother. Dean turned to the left and sprinted past Bobby, heedless of the quiet plea for him to come back. Dean slid to a stop at the end of the hall and threw open the door there. Inside, the creepy housekeeper was bent over a small bed with his brother upon it and a needle in his hand. Dean didn't think; didn't even raise his gun as the man slid the needle into his brothers' arm. Dean rushed the much larger man and bowled headlong into him as he turned in surprise.
"GET OFF HIM!" Dean screamed and threw a punch with the gun in his hand into the man's groin, crumpling him with a short cry. A moment later his father and Bobby burst into the door and Dean climbed up onto the bed with his brother while they wrestled Gary into submission.
"Sammy." Dean was crying, tears dripping off his nose and he didn't care. He crawled up beside Sam and pulled his little brother into his arms. He was so pale and cold and had been stripped to only his underwear. "Sammy?" He cried harder when Sam weakly turned his head toward Dean's voice, eyes open only slits to see him.
"D…Dean?" Sam sobbed and tried to put his arms up but they felt so heavy and something was hurting his arm.
John turned from Gary Steves with difficulty. Seeing his son on the bed, drugged and near naked…it was almost more willpower than he had not killing the man on the spot. He sat on the side of the bed and took Sam's thin arm in his own, carefully removing the needle and syringe still stuck there. He threw them to the floor and gathered both his sons into his arms.
"John. John is he ok?" Bobby asked hoarsely from where he knelt with a knee in the back of the bastard who'd taken Sam.
"I dunno." John sniffed back tears that had already wet his face and loosened his grip on the boys enough to see Sam's face. "Sammy?" There were bruises on his arms and legs as though he'd been tied up and John looked to see four sets of handcuffs at the corners of the bed. Rage blew through him and he looked over at Gary's white face, watching as the man squealed in sudden fear, dropping his head to the floor and begged them not to kill him.
"Dad." Sam's voice was soft, thin and weak and his eyes fluttered as John watched, falling closed.
"Baby, open your eyes." John begged and gave him a gentle shake. "Sammy?" There was no response and Sam went limp in his and Dean's arms.
"Dad?" Dean looked up at him. "He's gonna be ok, right?" John nodded and pulled them in close again.
Bobby, pushed beyond his breaking point at the state Sam was in grabbed a handful of Gary's greasy hair, raised his head and slammed his face viciously into the floor, knocking him unconscious. He stood; wiping his hands as if trying to wipe something vile off them and went to the window to look out in the backyard.
All thirteen ghosts were still there, still standing on their flowery graves but now they all looked up to the window Bobby stood at. He watched as one by one they winked out with a little nod and he felt tears leak down his face. The monster had been stopped and they were free. He looked over to watch as John shrugged out of his leather jacket and Dean helped him wrap it around Sam. Bobby went to a nightstand by the door and the phone sitting there. He called the police and was happy when he got the idiot he'd spoken to earlier in the night, telling him if he wanted to nail a child murderer and find thirteen victims that he should get over there and gave the address. He hung up and went to the bed.
"We need to get him to a hospital." Bobby told John and brushed a hand through the damp hair on Sam's head. John nodded and let Bobby pull his son from his arms.
"I'll drive." He stood and looked down at Gary Steves, hand on his gun and fought the urge to put two in him where he lay, defenseless.
"John!" Bobby yelled, snapping him out of it and John tucked the weapon away, grabbing Dean up in his arms and followed Bobby.
"Dean, thought I told you to wait for us." John said softly to his eldest as they went down the stairs. Seeing Dean take off and run and vanish into that room had about stopped John's heart where he stood. His only thought was that he wouldn't survive losing both his sons. He squeezed him tightly now, letting his cheek rest in Dean's hair for a second.
"Sorry, Sir." Dean said but he didn't mean it.
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John drove at breakneck speed down the highway again. He smiled grimly when a line of police cruisers passed them going the other way and silently cursed them for letting Gary Steves hurt so many children. Bobby had quietly told him what he'd found in the backyard and John had nearly gone back upstairs to kill him. He glanced in the rearview and let the image of his boys, both his boys, calm the hate inside him.
Bobby cradled Sam in one arm, the dark head tucked under his chin and still not quite conscious. He was shivering beneath his father's coat. He held Dean in his other arm when the older boy wouldn't allow himself to be separated from his brother and wiggled his way onto Bobby's lap, gathering Sam against his chest. He held both of Sam's hands in his own, rubbing them and talking softly about nothing, watching Sam's face for any sign he was listening. Bobby hugged them both closer and felt his world settle back into focus. He met John's eyes in the mirror and saw the same feeling there.
Sam knew he was safe again because he could smell leather and gun oil; his father and feel hands rubbing hard at his; Dean and feel the stubbly scratch of a beard in his hair; Uncle Bobby. He couldn't make his eyes open all the way or break out of the feeling that he was floating but he knew he was safe from the scary man and he sighed and let himself fall into sleep.
John screeched into the Hospital parking lot and parked in front of the Emergency Doors, not caring if someone wanted his car there or not. He slammed out of the driver's seat, opened the back door and pulled Sam out as Bobby handed him over. Dean moaned a protest at being separated but Bobby just picked him up and made sure to stay beside John as they strode into the ER and John started shouting for a Doctor.
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Hours later, John sat on the side of his son's hospital bed. Sam had been drugged and dehydrated. IV's ran from his little arm stretched out on the ridiculous teddy bear sheets of the pediatric ward. Dean was in the bed as well, having bulled his way there as soon as the Nurses had backed off. He lay with Sam wrapped in his arms, sound asleep but Dean was awake and peered anxiously at every new face that walked in the door, watching through narrowed eyes and not relaxing until they had left again. Bobby had yet to leave and was snoring in a chair on the other side of the bed, his head resting on the safety bar. John just watched his sons, loathe to leave them even for a second despite how much he wanted a cup of coffee. He'd had to answer questions from the police since it was obvious his youngest had been restrained. Bobby had advised him to just tell the truth this time and he had. They'd made noise about coming back in a day or so for a statement from Sam and John was determined as soon as he was stable, they were leaving. Sam didn't need strangers making him relive what had happened to him. John knew some of it from mutterings while Sam was sleeping fitfully and he said a silent apology to Mary for failing to protect their baby.
"Go to sleep Dean." John said softly. "I'm right here."
Dean only shook his head slightly, tightening his grip around Sam as he snuggled harder into his big brother's chest. John sighed, wondering if Dean was going to let his brother out of his sight ever again. He sat forward and rested a hand on Sam's leg under the blanket, his other hand in Dean's hair and closed his eyes, finally letting relief flow through him now that his boys were safe again and thought that tomorrow he would start training Dean in unarmed combat. Dean would like that, he thought as he looked at the boy holding his baby brother so protectively and smiled. Bobby would give him hell, he was sure and he smiled at that too.
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The End.