Title: Smile
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: G

Disclaimer: Not my boys! No money made! Just for fun (and for a love of hurt boys)

Summary: Sam’s smiles don’t come easily.

Smile

Sam watched in horror as his father poured gasoline over the demon’s dismembered body parts and then tossed a dollar store disposable lighter at it. The whole thing went up in flames so high and hot that Sam took several involuntary steps back. “In the car, boys.”

Sam was the first at the car, the first to scramble into the back seat, the first to buckle in and get ready to leave. But he couldn’t help his curiosity. He stared out the opposite window as the flames devoured the evil thing. It wasn’t the thing that had killed his mother, but it was the same, and it had probably done the same… until it had met his dad and big brother. And him, of course. Except Sam hadn’t done much more than watch their backs in case the demon had brought a friend along. He’d been part of the fight, and he’d even gotten a blow or two in himself. But Dad and Dean had been the ones to finally kill it.

Dad cranked the music up loud and drove back to the motel they’d checked into earlier that day. Dean bobbed his head to the music and, when he caught Sam’s gaze, grinned at him. “How’d you like your first hunt, Sammy?”

Sam shrugged. They weren’t dead, so he guessed it had been fine, though that seemed like a pretty poor way to measure.

“Hey…” Dean scooted closer, staring at Sam’s lap. “You all right?”

Sam nodded a bit too enthusiastically. But when Dean reached down and took his wrist, he winced. Cradling it gently in his palm, Dean lifted Sam’s wrist and bent over a little. “Hard to tell in the dark, but it doesn’t look too bad,” Dean said.

“Shhh!” Sam shot a quick glance at their dad, checking the rear view mirror to make sure he wasn’t looking back at them. “I don’t want Dad to know I got hurt.”

Gently, Dean set Sam’s hand back down. “I’ll fix you up when we get back, okay?”

Sam nodded. He could hear sirens in the distance, racing through the night toward the fire. By the time the men arrived with their hoses, there would be nothing left of the demon. By the time the story of the fire hit the local newsfeed, the Winchesters would be long gone from town. Even though he hated living on the road, Sam could see why they needed to. He already felt the urge to put as much distance as possible between that dead demon and the Impala.

John dropped the boys off at the motel then hit the nearby bar to celebrate the win. Dean walked Sam into the room with a hand on the back of Sam’s neck, guiding him over to the bathroom. With a grunt, he picked Sam up and put him down on the closed toilet seat lid. “Give me a second…” Dean said, mostly to himself, as he rooted around for things in their first aid kit. When he had all he needed, he took Sam’s arm again.

A little disinfectant wipe, stinging but cool, made Sam inhale sharply. He didn’t really want to look down at his hand, but he did so with one eye open, ready to see the terrible, bloody gash the demon’s claw had made, slicing his hand almost in two.

Instead, what he saw was a simple little scratch. It was red and angry-looking, but it was tiny and wasn’t even bleeding now.

Dean fiddled with a wrapper then applied a Band-Aid over the scratch.  “There now. Your first battle wound’s all fixed.”

With both eyes open now, Sam raised his hand and looked at the injury. The Band-Aid eclipsed the scratch completely with its shiny black surface. On the Band-Aid were little yellow batman symbols. He smiled at it. “Thanks, Dean.”

“Wear it with pride, kiddo.”

*

Sam hadn’t smiled in days. Or eaten. Or slept. Pretty much all he’d done was sit hunched over at the big table, a thick blue blanket around his shoulders, working his way through a tall stack of books and trying not to cough up blood.

“Tea,” Dean said, walking in with the previously promised beverage in a thermos to keep it warm, because he apparently knew Sam would be taking his time with it. ”And food. Eat up.” He’d also brought a sandwich and chips that Sam had absolutely no appetite for.

“Thanks,” Sam said, setting down his current read and reaching for the tea.

Dean frowned to see Sam ignoring the sandwich, but he didn’t say anything about it. “You find anything in those books that can help us yet?”

Sam shook his head and shivered. The tea was so warm and he was so cold. It was going to take a second for his body to reach a happy middle ground. “There are some interesting parts, but nothing we can use for the trials. Yet. The Men of Letters have thousands of volumes. One of them has got to say something.” He gestured to the current page he was on. “This one, for example…” He went to flip the page back and ran his forefinger along the edge of a page at just the wrong angle.

Sam hissed as he yanked his hand back, putting his finger in his mouth. Dean wouldn’t let him out on a hunt in this condition, but he’d still managed to hurt himself.

Hopping up immediately, Dean disappeared down the hallway. He returned a few seconds later with a small tube of Neosporin and a Band-Aid. Dean applied it with care and far too much experience with wounds. When he was done, Sam took a look. Wrapped around his index finger in bright blue was a Band-Aid with small, patriotic shields on it.

“There’s a smile.” Dean thumped him on the shoulder.

It took all of what little strength Sam had to not fall forward at that hit, but he found that as long as he kept the unmissable Band-Aid within sight, it was the easiest thing in the world to keep smiling.