ohsam | THE HUDDLE - Chapter 3/6

Title: THE HUDDLE

Author: Leigh Ann Wallace
Rating: PG-13
Genre/pairing: Gen
Characters: Sam & Dean Winchester, John Winchester
Word count: 2074
Summary: I loathe summaries. Suffice it to say that Sam gets on the wrong side of the local football hero and things go bad.
Spoilers: (if applicable) No spoilers. Pre-series

Warnings: (if applicable) Some Language and violence
Disclaimer: Pretty clear I don't own anything to do with Supernatural. Written out of love and passionate obsession.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Tightly clutching his brother's limp hand, Dean sat as close to Sam as he could get.

The operation had gone well. No complications.

After being moved from recovery to a private room, Sam had roused just long enough to smile faintly at his older brother before he fell back asleep.

That had been late last night. It was almost 9am now and he hadn't stirred yet.

Dean sighed, rubbing between his eyes. A few hours more on that football field - it could have ended very differently.

The damage to Sam's spleen had been severe enough that Dr. Creedy had had to remove a small portion of it, but it had not been bad enough to have to remove the whole thing.

Which as Dean understood it, was good, as the doc had explained that the spleen had a lot to do with the body's ability to fight infection.

With the target on his back that Sam seemed to carry, Dean was thankful the spleen had survived - his little brother was definitely going to need the little sucker.

Dean stared into Sam's face, noting the dark bruised circles under his eyes, the pale skin, the mottled bruises he could see peeking out from under the hospital gown.

It was bad, yeah, but there was no fever. Dean had checked on that first thing. No thermometer, but then, he didn't need one. He'd been checking his brother's temperature with his mom's method of lips against forehead for years. Sam was going to be just fine.

Okay, sure, he'd be stiff and sore for days. There's be no hunts, no training, probably no school. And they were definitely not going to be able to get back on the road with their dad any time soon, which would probably tick John off pretty good.

Dean shrugged that thought aside. Nothing to be done. He'd take care of what he could.

He heard the door squeak open behind him but didn't turn, figuring it was the nurse come to check Sam's vitals again. He jumped when a large hand dropped onto his shoulder and looked up to see his father staring down at him, smiling.

"Dad!" He started to rise, but his father pressed him back down onto the chair.

"I just talked to the doctor," John Winchester said in a low voice, looking over at his youngest son. "She brought me up to speed; she said he's going to be okay."

Dean nodded, steeling himself for what he knew would come next.

"What happened, Dean? What the hell happened?"

Ashamed, Dean shook his head. "I don't know, Dad. Sam left a voicemail on my cell while I was at work, saying he was going to be tutoring some kid after school. When he didn't come home for supper, I went out looking for him." He lowered his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Dad. Sam's my responsibility. I've got no excuse."

John shook his head. "The doctor said someone beat him." There was a question in his voice, and pain.

Silent, careful not to wake his sleeping brother, Dean stood up and lifted the blanket off of Sam. He pulled the hospital gown aside, showed his father the bruises on Sam's arms and legs, the damaged knuckles, the dark bruises on the abdomen not covered by bandages.

John's eyes darkened with rage. "Someone had him on the ground and put their boots to him."

Dean nodded bitterly, lips tight.

"Do we know who did this?" John asked softly, dangerously.

Dean shook his head. "The cops wouldn't tell me anything. They probably thought I'd go out and kick somebody's ass."

John nodded. "And they would've been right."

Dean shifted under his father's gaze, covered Sam back up again, gently.

"Not until Sammy's better." Then he said harshly, "But yeah, they'd be right. Those guys are dead men walking. They just don't know it yet."

Grab him!

Sam stirred in his sleep, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

Jesus Christ, Denny, he's just one freaking guy!

"Don't," he mumbled. "Don't."

Get him!

Sam jerked awake and tried to sit up, sinking back with a deep hissing breath at the stab of pain in his abdomen.

"Hey, Sammy, take it easy." Familiar hands pressed him gently back onto his pillow, comforted him. "You're okay. Stay still."

Little by little, the pain slipped back to manageable levels. Sam opened his eyes and looked up at his brother, and then past him.

"Dad!"

John leaned over him, brushed a finger lightly over his cheek, pushed long dark hair back from his face. "Son. It's good to see you awake. We've been worried."

"How you feeling, Sam?" Dean asked, eyes concerned.

Sam thought about it, gave an infinitesimal shrug. "I've been better."

"The doctor said you're gonna be fine," Dean said. "Damage wasn't as bad as she thought. They only had to remove a little bit of your spleen. No problem. She says you can come home in a couple of days." Dean grinned. "Lucky punk! You should see the night nurse!"

Sam groaned. "Oh, dude, don't make me laugh!"

"Oh, yeah, listen, see this?" Dean pointed to a button on the bedside rail. It was attached to a line which led to a medication drip.

"It's morphine. Nurse said if it gets bad, just click the button and it'll let out enough dope to smooth out the edges."

"Only if you need it, Sam," John interjected.

Sam was quiet for a minute. Then he shook his head.

"I don't need it. I'm good."

"How about some water?"

He nodded and Dean held the glass as Sam drank thirstily.

"That's better. Thanks, Dean."

"No problem, Sammy." He tried not to grin at this new bit of news, but man, it was hard. "You're not going to be using the john for a few hours, dude. Catheter."

"I wondered. It feels weird down there."

Dean grimaced. "I bet."

"Dean." Impatient, John interrupted their byplay.

Dean glanced at his father. "Yes, sir?"

"I want you to wait outside while I talk to your brother."

Dean turned to face him. "Excuse me, sir, but if you're going to be asking Sam what happened, I'm staying."

John eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"If you make me leave now, I'll just wait until you leave and then I'll come back in here and make Sammy tell me what he told you," Dean said frankly, not wanting to piss his father off, but wanting to leave his brother even less. "May as well save him the effort of telling it twice."

John huffed out an angry breath, but, after a moment, turned back to Sam.

"What happened, son?" he asked gently.

Get him!

Sam turned his face away.

"Sam." John took his son's hand, squeezed it. "Come on."

Sam looked back at them stubbornly.

"It was just a fight."

Dammit, he did not want to talk about this!

His brother and father waited.

Hold him down! Hold him down, dammit!

Sam took a breath. "The principal asked me to tutor a guy on the football team," he said finally. "Algebra."

"Yeah, that's what you said on the voicemail you left me," Dean said. "What kind of tutoring involves leaving you with a ruptured spleen?"

"Dean," John looked at him warningly.

Dean subsided.

"Go ahead, Sam."

"This guy - he's been hinting around that he wants me to do his homework for him." He scowled. "I don't know how he figured that's going to help him pass the course, I can't take his stupid tests for him; I guess Randy's not a big thinker."

Ah. Dean thought with satisfaction. Randy. Number one on my hit parade.

"Today he came flat out and asked me," Sam went on. "He said he'd pay me. I told him no. He didn't like that."

John nodded. "He did this to you?"

"Him and six or seven other guys," Sam said grimly. "

Dean shifted, lowered his gaze to the floor, eyes hot with rage.

"They ambushed me on the way home. I was cutting through the football field." He stared at the ceiling. "Three or four I could have managed, maybe five. They're not trained like we are." He lifted his hands, looked at his bruised knuckles. "I messed them up some. But once they had me down on the ground - that was pretty much it."

Sam didn't want dinner and Dean had no taste for hospital food, but John was starving. Dean waited with Sam while their father went down to the cafeteria to grab something to eat.

Once John got back to Sam's room, he looked at Dean's tired eyes and pale face with appraising eyes.

"Go home and get something to eat. And sleep," John instructed him. "I don't want to see you back here until tomorrow morning."

Delighted, green eyes gleaming, Dean gave his father a wolfish grin.

"Sure, Dad, whatever you say." He rubbed a rough hand over his Sam's shaggy hair. "See you in the morning, kid."

"Dean . . . "

"What?"

"Don't."

"Don't what?" He looked down into Sam's shuttered face.

"Just - don't."

Sam waited until his brother shrugged.

"Fine." Looking toward the door, Dean lowered his voice. "Don't forget about Gretchen."

Confused, Sam stared at him.

"Dude!" Dean shook his head pityingly. "Night nurse, remember?"

Once Dean was gone, Sam shifted uneasily in bed. He was exhausted, he was aching for sleep, but he couldn't get comfortable. Every way he turned, something hurt; something burned or ached. He sighed.

"You need to sleep, Sam," his father said with sympathy. "Do you want some morphine?"

Sam shook his head, restless. "I'm okay."

John didn't believe him, but didn't want to push the strong opiate on his son unless it was really necessary. He cast around for another topic of conversation.

"I spoke to the police when I went down to the cafeteria. I told them what you said about Randy. He's going to arrest him in the morning. He'll get the names of the other boys responsible from him."

"Oh, crap."

John was surprised and showed it. "Is there some special reason you don't want their asses in jail?"

"Because I'm not his freaking victim!" Sam burst out. "I'll take care of him. I don't need the cops, or Dean, or you to take care of this for me!"

John considered him. "You'll be out of the hospital in a couple of days, but you're going to be flat on your back for a month."

"I can wait a month," Sam insisted.

"I can't, Sam. I've got to be in Virginia in a few days and I can't leave with this unresolved."

Incredulous, Sam stared at him, then laughed bitterly. "Guess I should have seen that coming!"

"Don't do that, Sam," John said sternly, forcing down his own vague feelings of guilt. "Don't feel sorry for yourself. Things happen. You deal with it, then move on. That's it."

Sam looked angrily away from his father, then turned back suddenly, raising himself up on his elbows, ignoring the scream of protest from his abdomen. "Why the hell is this crap always happening to me?"

His dad started to answer and Sam cut him off. "Not just the hunting, I get that. I'm not stupid! Why am I always the one that ends up flat on my back in some damned hospital?"

"You don't," he raged. "Dean doesn't. Neither of you are ever hurt enough or sick enough to see a doctor unless it's because some monster laid you open. What is it? Am I just a freaking weakling?" He tried to push himself further up, absolutely furious, and then fell back, pain draining what little color he had left in his face.

John leaned over him. "Sam?" He reached for the morphine drip but Sam grabbed his arm. "No," he gritted.

"Sam, that's what it's for," John protested. "What's the point of you being in pain when you don't have to be?"

"The point is, I don't need it." He held onto his father's arm until the older man nodded reluctantly.

"I am so tired of this." Sam closed his eyes, exhausted. His voice dropped even lower. "No one is ever going to do that to me again."

John sat back down, watching as his son lay tight-lipped, silent and in pain. Eventually Sam fell asleep, leaving his father worried, confused, and without the slightest clue what to do.