“It’s not even that bad, Sammy. I’ve seen worse.” 
“Yeah, easy for you to say. You didn’t get slammed across the room by that spirit, Dean.” 
“Here. Put this on your lip. It’ll help.” 

Sam rolled his eyes before snatching the small bag of ice Dean was holding out. The boy gave his brother a glare and a quick pout before he gingerly put it across his bruised and cut lip, winching a little at the sting. 
“See? Not that bad.” Dean grinned, trying to be optimistic as he stood over his younger brother.
“Everyone at school is gonna think I’m a freak for showin’ up with a messed up face…” Sam grumbled out and sadly looked away. He pushed the bag of ice harder against his lip, staring down at Dad’s duffel bag that laid at the foot of the bed. It was open a little, and he could see the rusty metal of a M1911A1 pistol.
Who was he kidding? He was a freak already.

Dean’s expression fell into something sad as Sam looked away. His baby brother wasn’t a freak. It pained him a little to hear him say that. Sam was ridiculously smart and a bit of a smartass, but not a freak. 

“You’re not a freak, Sam. You’re a hero. Don’t forget that.” 

Oops. I had random Weechester feelings and look what happened. 

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