Chapter Text
"Why are you defending him, Dean?" Sam snapped, venom in his voice, "he's dead. You don't owe him anything. Not after the way he treated you."
"Shut up, Sam. You barely knew him. Just, fuck off."
Dean was 14 the first time it happened. The hunt hadn't been that difficult, but he had been stupid and gotten himself scratched by the werewolf. He was always being careless and getting himself or others hurt.
He had his shirt off and John was inspecting the deepest wound. "You were reckless, Dean. Pulling another stupid stunt like this could get us both killed. You could have gotten us both killed, Dean. Then who would take care of your brother?" Dean hung his head in shame, fighting back the tears that threatened to pour out of his eyes. He knew he had fucked up. He had only wanted to make his father proud of him.
He gasped in pain when the needle first pierced his skin as his father roughly began stitching him up. A hissed "man up" was the only response he got to his pain. He tried not to squirm.
When he had finished stitching the wound John's hands did not leave Dean's back. Instead they rubbed and kneaded his tense muscles. Something about his father's pushy hands on his bare skin made him very uncomfortable, but he said nothing.
"You're really growing up, Dean. So strong already." The hands on him became more demanding, seeming to go lower and dig in deeper, covering all his skin. Dean squirmed out of his grasp. John let him. Not another word was spoken about that night.
"Fuck," Dean groaned, pacing back and forth with his hands on his head. "Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck." He had failed to protect Sammy. He always failed.
"Calm down, Boy. Your brother's fine," Bobby tried to reason with the obviously upset hunter.
"No thanks to my incompetence," a very irate Dean snapped back.
"How on Earth was it your fault? You brother was an idjit and got banged up a bit. He'll survive. It's not your job to protect everyone, Dean."
Dean stopped pacing. Bobby couldn't make out the look on his face. He was either going to cry or punch something, really hard. Either way, the pain and guilt in his eyes was unmistakeable. Finally, he spoke, practically spitting out the words. "Damn good thing it isn't." and then almost inaudibly "because I fail at it." He downed another shot before continuing. "And it is my job to take care of Sammy."
Bobby felt his heart breaking in the way that it only did around the boys... his boys. "Your dad did all sortsa damage to ya, Dean." He didn't know what else to say. He didn't know what John had done to make Dean feel like he had to carry every burden on his shoulders. He didn't know if there was anything he could do. If John were still alive he'd throttle the prick.
"He made me into a man" was all that Dean said back, his voice suddenly steel.
"I'll make you into a man" John had growled, voice thick with rum the first time that he made Dean do it. Dean hadn't wanted to, but his father had said that he needed it to be focused on the hunt. He'd said he'd be too distracted without it. If Dean hadn't done it and anything went wrong on the hunt it would have been his fault even more so than usual. So he did it. It tasted awful.