Riding the Fence (A Supernatural FanFic)

Part One

(Monday)

“No, Dean. You’re staying put this trip.”

John Winchester stepped out the front door onto the wide front porch, slinging his oversized duffle over his shoulder and stopping on the top stair to wait for the argument he knew was coming.

Immediately behind John, his eldest son, Dean, hobbled through the old oak door, turning sideways to make room for the too short set of crutches he was forced to rely on.

“Dad! I’m fine. I can go.”

It was the same argument that John had heard all morning.

Three weeks prior, while on what should have been a simple salt and burn, Dean had taken a nasty spill down a long, unforgiving stair case. The end result had been a severely twisted ankle and a hairline fractured fibula.

He’d been lucky though. The break was minor, but had hurt like hell at the time. His leg and ankle were now restricted in a boot and he’d been given strict instructions to stay off his feet for at least a month. Apparently the doctor had never dealt with a Winchester.

“It’s not that bad. See, I don’t even need these fuckin’ things.”

Dean slapped the crutches together and forcibly handed them off to Sam who had been closely shadowing his brother ever since the injury. The older boy attempted to put his full weight on the injured leg, but had a terrible time hiding the grimace of pain that crossed his face. Sam was quickly at Dean’s elbow, bracing him, and didn’t flinch at all when Dean tried to shove him away.

“Sammy, give your brother his damn crutches. And you,” John barked, pointing a thick finger into Dean‘s thin chest, “had better watch your mouth around me, boy.  Twenty years isn’t too old for a taste of the Irish Spring.”

“Yessir,” Dean grumbled, accepting the crutches from Sam with a low growl.

John cast a look up and over the shoulders of his two boys to the man standing in the doorway and gave him a knowing wink.

Bobby Singer couldn’t help but smirk back. He didn’t always agree with John’s methods, but his intentions were good. John did the best he could to raise his two boys in a very turbulent and dangerous world and Bobby couldn’t begrudge the man for his somewhat harsh treatment of the boys. It was that treatment that kept them disciplined and prepared. Kept them safe.

“Sammy, take the bags down to the car, will ya, kiddo?”

John took the large duffle down from his shoulder and handed it to the lanky sixteen year old. Sam nodded, accepting the bag, and tossed a sympathetic look to his brother who could only narrow his eyes and glare back.

Trying his best to follow Sam’s sympathetic lead, John set a broad hand over each of Dean’s shoulders, squaring them to face him.

Dean angled his face away from his father, trying to hide the disappointment and hurt at being left behind. Sam was the one who got left behind, not Dean. Dean was needed. Dean was essential. Dean was…miserable and more than willing to let everyone around him share in his misery.

“Look, Son. I understand that you wanna go. I want you there too. But you’re hurt and you’re no good to me like this. You need to stay here and get healed up.  I’ll only be gone for the week, back by Saturday, I promise, and besides, I’ve got Sammy to keep me company.”

“Sam?!” Dean cried indignantly. “Dad, Sam can’t even blow his nose by himself…”

“That’s enough, Dean," John ground out, his drill instructor voice tinged with disappointment. "Your brother is more than capable of handling himself and you, more than anyone else, should know that. Hell, you trained him, so if he's not ready, that falls on you."