A/N: Warnings for drunk!Sam, bullying (off screen), language, vomiting. I own nothing and I'm sorry for all the grammar/spelling mistakes you will find.
"Dean..."
His brother's voice was a distorted whisper, crackling on the phone line, but he heard it loud and clear as if Sam'd been standing right beside him screaming the name into his ear.
"Sam?"
He clutched the phone tighter in his hand, making the plastic all but cave into itself. Something was wrong.
"Dean..."
There was something in his little brother's voice; something sad. Something lost. Something that send shivers down his spine.
"Gimme that, man..." was heard from somewhere in the background and he clenched his jaw, already preparing himself to strike like a snake at whoever said that.
After some rustling that broke the eerie silence another voice was heard over the phone. A voice that was certainly not his brother's.
"You Dean?"
"Who's this?"
Anger started to replace the worry and he held the phone in his hand all but crushing the damn plastic. It was a new phone too, Dad went all out with buying it, just so that it would've been easier for him to keep tab on his kids.
"Listen man, dude here's totally wasted. Like dead."
"Listen ... dude ...," he snarled, "gimme Sam back on the phone."
"Can't ... he's like zoning out, dude."
What the hell was happening? Zoning out? Wasted? What?
"Where are you?"
Even before the words left his mouth, he was sitting in the Impala with the tires eating up the asphalt like a starving man eats steak.
"Dunno. Just got here and found this nerd here on the steps clutching his phone 'n fuckin' drooling all over the place."
The party, he murmured beneath his breath. The damn party. Sam wanted to go, said he'd been invited, said he wanted to go to be normal, because didn't all normal teenagers go to parties? He wanted to make friends there, some people he'd spend however months they'd stay in this town with. And who was Dean to say no to that? He could never say no to Sam.
"Listen kid, can you stay with him?"
He wasn't angry anymore. He was full on pissed. What he didn't know was who he was pissed at. There would be plenty of time to figure that out once he'd have Sam in his line of sight. Right now, Sam was still in danger, still somewhere out there alone and fuckin' drunk - damn it, Sam – so he had more pressing matters to attend to, than figuring out who he needed to punch.
"Ain't his babysitter and the dude's like..."
That was a definite growl that came out of his mouth but he took a breath, before he'd scare the kid away which was the last thing he wanted: "Stay with him or I swear I'll kill you. Don't let anything happen to him, or you won't gonna be able to drink or smoke anything ever again."
He was seeing red. Or maybe that was just the traffic light that he ignored and sped up the car. He needed to get to Sam like an hour ago. The town was small, but still big enough for two crossroads and three traffic lights; one was red, two green and even if they'd been red, he wouldn't have had stopped, because the town was empty of traffic. At two am, it was a given.
"Alright, alright, jeez, chill dude."
The kid on the phone was starting to get on his nerves again, but he tried to calm down. Crashing the car would do no one any good and the kid said he'd stay, so points to him.
"Stay with him!" he ordered in that voice, the one his Dad would be proud of. The voice he inherited, apparently, from his Dad and that made even Sam do a double take. He hoped it would make the kid think twice about going against him too.
"'kay, fuck, chill!"
He almost threw the cell phone on the passenger seat, but stopped and cussed under his breath: "'m gonna kill him. Sammy you're a very dead, dead little brother."
He was pissed, he was worried and he just wanted to get Sam back to their motel room and beat the living shit out of him; drunk or not drunk.
Fuck Sam and fuck Sam for trying to be normal. There was no normal for them. There were no friends for them; just people they knew and met and left behind. Parties weren't Sam's thing, why ... why did the kid insist on going there? Doing this? Fuck.
"Gimme Sam on the phone and you just stay there. I'll be right there."
"Yeah, dude."
Some more shifting and rustling and the next thing he heard were Sam's breaths in his ear.
"Sam?"
There was no answer.
Crap.
"Sammy?"
"I don't," a wheezed breath, "feel so good, De-."
And that was when all anger floated out of him. He'd heard Sam breathe like that before; when Sam was either hurt on a hunt or while doing ordinary things, or when he was sick and trying to breathe through nausea.
"Sammy, listen. I'm coming to get you, 'm close. Okay?"
"Mad?" the word was a timid whisper, but he heard it just fine and it made his heart plummet down into his heels. With just that one word, Sam sounded so young.
"No man, no 'm not mad, alright? Just hang on."
"'kay."
"'m gonna hang up now, I'll be there in a sec."
"'kay."
And this '''kay'' stuff was making his gut churn. Sam wasn't just drunk. This wasn't all that. Something else must've happened. Something really, really bad. All of this wasn't Sam's fault. It was his. He never should've said yes to Sam's pleading. He should've said no. They didn't know anyone in this town, and going to a party at some stranger's house, a stranger Sam casually met in school ... what was he thinking? He was in charge when Dad was away, he should've said no.
Shit.
-:-
Stopping the car at the curb with a really nice looking house across the lawn, he could already see Sam's slumped figure on the third front step. The house was lit up like the fourth of July, no close neighbors as he could see, and some faint music coming from the open front door. Kids here were having fun, but in a volume that wouldn't disturb anyone. Huh. How nice of 'em. Parents out of town probably, so that meant booze, drugs and rock'n'roll. He wasn't that old; he could appreciate a good party. Hell, he'd been to some really wild ones in the past, but this was Sam.
Sam.
Before his mind could register, he was already out of the car and walking towards the miserable form of his baby brother. The light from the open front door was throwing a river of yellow onto the porch and on Sam's hunched back. He sighed and slowed his steps, trying to gather more information about all of this. Sam's feet were on the ground, toes turned toward each other, his head hanging down, which meant that wild mop of hair was covering his face and half of his knees.
Sam looked as if he passed out and gravity made him fall forward on his thighs.
One really drunk little brother. Check.
One seriously worried big brother. Check.
One pimply perhaps doped up beanstalk of a kid standing beside his brother. Check.
At least the kid waited. Another point for him.
"You Dean?"
He didn't feel like answering; the kid wasn't his responsibility, wasn't anyone he knew, wasn't why he was here. What he was there for, was the little ball of sunshine curved in a ball right now, and smelling of – oh man - sweat and booze. This would be a nice ride back to the motel.
"What happened?"
The kid pointed to Sam, as if Sam was a leprechaun which made his lip pull up a bit in anger. This shit hole of a town – they needed to leave it.
Soon.
"Dunno, like I said. Just got here and found him flipping his shit with the phone and like drooling all over the floor."
What?
"Well, thanks for stayin'."
"Think he's really drunk, man."
"Wow, you're a right genius, aren't you?"
The confused look he got back cemented it. The kid wasn't one of the brightest bulbs out there, but he stayed with Sam. That had to count for something.
"Leave."
He had fire in his eyes, he knew that, had heard that he looked downright murderous at times and this ... this was one of those times for sure. The kid was getting on his last nerve and all he wanted was to be with his brother. Alone. To assess the problem and to solve the problem. He needed to fix this.
The kid turned around, walked up the remaining stairs and disappeared into the house. There was laughter and muttered conversation coming from the house, but all he could hear was Sam's labored breathing.
Crouching down before his brother, he gripped Sam's biceps. His brother was skinny; bones and skin, but he was already starting to develop some muscles and when his fingers wrapped around the biceps he could feel the muscles jump under his palm. Well, at least his brother was still alive.
"Sammy?"
He whispered and his breath ruffled Sam's hair. Cleanly washed, soft and shining. His brother took a shower before going, saying that he didn't want to smell like stale food and whiskey. He teased back that yeah, chicks dig a man with good hygiene, but Sam just grimaced, scoffed and went into the bathroom.
"Sam..."
The mop of hair moved slightly in a very tiny nod, but he saw it. What he also saw was a string of saliva slowly running from Sam's mouth, down between his thighs and to the concrete step.
''Shit, Sam, the hell?''
He gripped his brother's head by the cheeks - hissing when his palms connected with cold, clammy skin - and lifted. He wasn't worried anymore, he was downright freaking out. Sam's eyes were closed, head like a limp noodle that he had to support with all his strength, and his brother's lips and chin smeared with spit.
''Sam? Sammy''?
All he got in return was a groan and Sam finally getting his throat to work, because he could feel through his palms the kid swallow down whatever came up right then. Be it spit, words or vomit, it didn't matter. His brother was obviously still capable of working that reflex, so maybe it wasn't that bad.
''Damn it, Sam.'' He whispered more to himself than Sam, reaching into his pocket that still held a bandana from the last hunt he was on. Didn't yet get a chance to throw it away, or if possible, wash it, but he didn't care right now.
''You're a mess, man.'' he chuckled as he wiped the drool off of Sam's chin and neck. There was nothing he could've done about the state of Sam's clothes right then, but there would be a trip to the laundromat in the very near future.
''Dean?''
He paused the bandana right over Sam's lips as they moved and gripped his brother's chin, raising his brother's head up.
''Yeah Sam, 's me. What do you say we go away from here, hmm?"
Another nod.
"Okay buddy,'' he scrunched up the bandana in a ball and stuffed it into his pocket, ''here we go."
He'd carry Sam if he'd have too, but Sam untangled his limbs all on his own and rose up on his two feet all on his own too. His head stayed down though, eyes on the ground, but Dean was okay with that. He'd give the kid time and from personal experience he knew that if Sam felt less nauseated like that, then he'd let it be.
"C'mon now, one foot in front of the other, c'mon."
"Dean..."
"Yeah, 's me kiddo. I gotcha, c'mon. The car ain't far."
He pulled Sam's right arm over his shoulder and gripped his brother's belt loops with his left hand, getting his fingers into the loops really tight, because there was no way he'd let his brother fall to the sidewalk. Sam was starting to lose his footing a few feet from the car; getting pliant and soft like a rag doll and Dean tightened his hold across Sam's waist and on Sam's forearm and dragged his brother the rest few feet to the Impala. If anyone saw them, they'd get a good laugh, but he was far from laughing. Sam was drunk. Really drunk; alcohol was practically seeping out of every pore on the kid's body and his breath ... ughhh ... was gross. But at least he stopped drooling.
"Dude, what did you drink?"
There was no answer and to be honest, he didn't expect one.
There would be time for Q and A, but this wasn't that time.
-:-
"Stay right there."
He closed the passenger door and rounded the car, closing his eyes for just a second to gather his thoughts. Sam was drunk like a skunk and okay, he could handle this. His dad was often drunk like that and hell, even he'd been drunk out of his mind a few times, so yes. He could deal with this.
"Alright now, let's get you back to the motel, get you to bed, how's that sound?"
He thought he wouldn't get an answer, but Sam proved him wrong when he groaned.
"You gonna puke?"
They were already at the first crossroad in the town and he turned right.
"'s mmmm'vin', 'low downnnnnhh."
He didn't expect actual words to come from Sam's mouth, so hearing them nearly made him drive right onto the sidewalk.
"Deep breaths Sam."
"Dean..."
Sam sounded like misery personified. His voice was a rasp, his breaths deep and not very controlled, his face turned to the passenger window. The right turn he'd just made, made his brother's forehead hit the glass.
"Dude, you okay?"
"'s cool."
Yeah, he supposed the glass was nice and cool on his brother's skin; maybe that would get Sam not to throw up.
"We're almost at the motel, just hold on."
"'m gonna throw up."
"No, no, no, no, you won't. Come on," he detached one hand from the steering wheel and placed his palm, fingers spread wide, on Sam's curved back, "keep breathing."
"'s all movin'…" Sam whined and he knew - could sense it in his own belly - that at that moment Sam's stomach made a really big somersault, revolting against all the alcohol in there. He knew how that was; it sucked big time.
"My hand's not moving. Can you feel it? It's not moving, just ... concentrate on that, okay? C'mon, buddy, just a minute more."
Pressing his palm harder on Sam's back, making Sam feel how steady his hand was, how heavy it was, how opposite of all the moving it was, he hoped that it would work. He really didn't want to clean the car come tomorrow, and he was sure that he wouldn't be able to give that task to Sam for at least a couple more days until his stomach would completely settle down. And his Baby couldn't have puke staining her beautiful insides for that long. He was lucky their Dad went on a hunt with Travis and the man's beast of a car and left them the Impala, damn lucky.
"Oh God Dean ..."
Sam was more coherent now than he'd been a few minutes ago and that was - maybe - a good sign. Turning into the motel's parking lot and steering the Impala slowly to room 45, he parked her right in front of the bright yellow door. He didn't need two hands to do that, his Baby obeyed him no problems even if he only had one hand on her. The other one was busy being steady on Sam's back, busy trying to keep Sam from puking all over.
He let out a breath. They were home. He got Sam here and now he just needed to get his brother into the room, get him to bed and tomorrow, he'd tease him mercilessly.
"Let's get you inside, kiddo."
-:-
Detaching Sam's forehead from the cool glass was harder than he thought, but a promise of a nice, soft, warm bed got the job done, even if when Sam finally managed to get his head up straight, his body with all his coltish limbs spilled right out of the car. If Dean hadn't been there to catch him, Sam would be a puddle on the ground. Not a nice sight right then, but in the morning, it would've been just another thing to tease Sam about. But Dean was there to catch him and he got a nice hit into his sternum with one of Sam's bony elbows for thanks.
"'kay, 'kay gotcha. Man, you're heavy. Don't look like much, but you're heavy."
They went the same tactic as before; one hand across his shoulder and his fingers in Sam's belt loops. The only difference was that now Sam did his part and moved his legs a little too. The ride must've sobered him up a bit.
He knew the feeling; his Baby sobered him up plenty of times too.
"Gotta unlock the door, hold onto me."
Sam's grip was weak, but it was just strong enough that they didn't face plant into the room when the door opened.
"Whoah, good, I gotcha, the bed's right there."
They stumbled into the room and he maneuvered them both towards Sam's bed that was all neatly done, except for some books lying scattered all over the top of the covers. He sat Sam down on his own bed, while he gathered the books and carried them to the little table in the kitchenette.
When he turned back around, Sam was already lying down on the bed, curled up on his left side, head barely up on the pillow.
Well, okay then. Sam'd just sleep this off and then in the morning, he'd be allowed to do his big brother thing - teasing. Teasing, because otherwise he'd either beat the shit out of Sam for doing something as stupid as getting drunk in a strange town with strangers or, beat himself up for allowing all of this to happen in the first place.
-:-
He walked back to their beds and stopped in the open space between them to turn off the bedside lamp that – weirdly - turned on the same time when someone turned on the main light. The motel had some electricity issues that, strange enough, didn't come from ghosts or poltergeists. Just fucked up wiring - said so on a sign behind the motel clerk. In literally those words. Made them all smile when they booked the room.
But now the fucked up wiring came in handy, because he was too tired from worry and anger, to walk back to the front door and turn off the light.
The room didn't fall into darkness; there was dim light spilling in from the parking lot lights, there were cars driving back and forth, their headlights illuminating the ceiling here and there. There were people shouting in the close by rooms, televisions turned on too loud, coughing, sneezing, doors shutting closed. Normal sounds of a normal town. When the room lost its own light and got illuminated by the outside, he didn't go to sleep right away. He sat down on Sam's bed, now sans books, and scratched his hands down his face; needing to get some blood going into his cheeks and eyes. He scrapped his scalp to stop his brain from shutting off; there was clarity of the mind needed here, he couldn't afford to get sleepy or tired.
When the call came, he'd been dozing off on the bed, just getting some shut eye before Sam'd call and ask him to come pick him up. Well, he got a call alright, just not the one he expected. Placing his elbows on his knees, he let his hands fall between his thighs. He couldn't look away from his brother. He knew it was a bit creepy, watching Sam like that, but ... he had to make sure that Sam was really with him. Back with him. The only fear now was, if Sam drank enough for his stomach needing to be pumped. He hoped not. They couldn't afford a hospital visit right now, couldn't afford to get on anyone's radar. But Sam had been somewhat coherent when he spoke and he hadn't thrown up yet, and ... Sam was just really bad at holding his liquor. The kid was only thirteen. Half a beer and he was already wasted.
Sam was drooling into the pillow and that would be one pillow Dean would never lay his head upon again.
"Fuck, Sam..." he muttered into his hands and nearly missed his brother's moan.
"Oh God, ohgodohgodohgodohshit..."
"Sam?"
Jumping up from the bed, he leaned over to place his hand on Sam's shoulder. The kid was rocking back and forth, arms wrapped around his stomach, eyes tightly shut.
"Sammy?"
"Deeeeean ... ohgodohgodohgodohgod."
"What's wrong? Sam? What's wrong?"
Sam's eyes opened and even in the dim light, Dean could see them be full of tears.
"don'twannathrowup."
Oh.
Oh. He squeezed Sam's shoulder and winced at Sam's groan. He knew it wasn't directed at him and his touch, but at Sam's stomach that was probably having the time of its life.
"Sammy, I really think you should."
"Don't wanna, Dean, don't wanna ppp-please..."
Sam rocked forward, mumbling the words in the spit soaked pillow and Dean grimaced. Drunk people were fun for a while, but then their bodies caught up and the fun turned into nasty.
"Sam, don't be stupid man. Throw up and you'll feel better, I swear. I promise."
His brother was stubborn, he knew that, but this was a whole new level of stubborn.
"Don't wanna, don't... no... ohgodohgod, Dean..."
But stubborn or not, he knew why Sam didn't want to puke, he knew what that always did to his brother, but damn it, why couldn't the kid just listen to him for once? It was just them here, no one else. There was no one else to see Sam, no one else to hear him, no one to feel embarrassed in front of. Being a teenager with all the mood swings and awkwardness – God it got exhausting sometimes, taking care of his brother.
When Sam's breathing picked up again, getting deep and fast, and when the groans turned into sounds not even a wounded animal could produce, he'd had enough.
"Sam, I swear if you don't throw up, I'll shove my finger down your throat, so help me."
"Dean, don't..."
"I know Sammy," he slid his arms under Sam's knees, "but it'll make you feel so much better," picked him up and carried him into the bathroom, "trust me."
Sam was heavy, but it was either carry him or clean the carpet later. It was a no-brainer.
Slowly putting Sam down in front of the toilet, he all but ordered: "Okay now hug the toilet and let's get this show on the road."
It was nearing three am, someone had just flushed the toilet on the other side of the wall when Dean had had enough. He grabbed Sam's head non too gently, one hand holding the back of his brother's head and the other prying the kid's mouth open. There was no going back now, and when Sam's mouth finally opened, he shoved his finger in, grimacing at the wetness and softness of Sam's tongue.
"You bite me, I'll bite back."
He didn't know if Sam heard him, but when he wiggled his finger as deep down as he could in Sam's throat, he was rewarded with a struggling cough and hot, putrid smelling liquid spilling out of Sam's mouth. There was just enough time for him to lean his brother's head forward otherwise it would all get splashed on the toilet seat.
They would never speak of it. Never. Ever. Never.
They used three towels and probably a bucket worth of cold water, but five flushing of the toilet later, Sam was starting to puke only spit and no more chunks of food and what Dean hoped was water, but knew different.
When Sam started shivering, he got him a blanket that'd been thrown over the back of the couch. When Sam was more or less falling asleep, but still puking his guts out, Dean let him lean on his chest and smear puke and spit all over his shirt. That would be a shirt Dean would never ever wear again and he'd need a thorough shower, because he could feel the wetness seep right through the fabric and onto his skin.
When Sam was starting to whine that he couldn't do this anymore, that he had nothing else to give and that he wanted all of this to stop, Dean pulled him closer and started whispering stupid stuff, promises of better days that he followed with a wet towel all over Sam's sweaty, pale face.
"Just get it all out, kiddo. 's just you and me here." he whispered into Sam's ear and held the kid's limp head above the toilet worried that Sam would lose muscle control and split his forehead apart on the toilet's seat.
Dawn was already way into early morning when Sam was more or less a limp sack of bones leaning heavily on his chest, Sam's right elbow poking into his stomach. His brother had been still for a while now, sleeping and snoring softly.
He should've taken Sam to bed some time ago, he knew that, but they'd made a cozy little nest of blankets and towels there on the floor of the bathroom and if he ignored the god awful smell, it was pretty nice. He flushed the toilet one last time - what was it? tenth? - and decided that enough was enough. He was seventeen, sure, but that didn't mean he couldn't get back problems and he was starting to feel his muscles seizing up. It felt nice to have his brother in his arms like that, didn't happen all that often anymore. The kid was growing up, didn't need to be hugged all the time or held hands when crossing the road. His brother didn't need a lot of things from him anymore and he guessed it was the sign of his baby brother growing up. Maybe this was that feeling all parents got when they saw that their kids were growing up. It sucked. Big time.
But he wasn't Sam's parent, he was his big brother. He shouldn't feel like this. He let his head hit the tiled wall behind him and he tightened his grip on Sam's left side, pulling him even close to himself. They were brothers; they'd never lose each other.
"Alright Sam, let's get you to bed." he whispered to the mop of sweaty hair, getting some into his mouth, but it was okay. It was just Sam.
"c'mon."
He got his legs under him, sighing a little when his muscles finally got into another position, and raised himself and Sam up from the floor. Training every day, sparring, boxing, some martial arts - it made him strong and he knew that all of that would make Sam strong one day too. His little brother would soon grow into his skin, grow up, get some muscles on those skinny arms, and fill out. He just hoped that when that would happen, he'd still be able to carry him like this. Probably yes, because there would be no way Sam would grow up to be taller than him.
-:-
They didn't expect their Dad to come back for another day, and when that would happen, he didn't know what he'd tell the man. The truth? Or would this be their little secret? He wondered that as he placed Sam back into bed, removed the kid's stained and wet jeans, removed Sam's shirt with oddly placed wet patches and left him in his … stained boxers.
"Shit Sam..."
He wasn't gonna touch that. He'd wait for Sam to wake up and then shove the kid into the shower. It was just piss, he was sure of that and that wouldn't hurt Sam if he wore the boxers a few more hours.
The clock on the nightstand showed 9:04 am in big green numbers and he could feel the hour in his belly. It was rumbling, begging him for food. All they had at hand was soup and cheese and some left over pizza from yesterday. Sam went out to a party and he indulged in some pizza. So sue him.
Bringing the pizza to the bed, he laid down, sighing when his achy back hit the cold wall. Sam would bitch for bringing food into his bed, but hey, the little idiot was occupying Dean's bed, so if the next few nights Sam would wake up with some bread crumbs for company, well ... bitch had it coming for making him clean vomit whole night long.
Between one pizza slice and the next, Sam had managed to turn around showing Dean his bare back. He was just about to reach over to hike up the bed cover, because they really couldn't afford Sam getting a cold on top of everything, when Sam heaved a long breath: "They invited me, Dean."
His hand stopped midair, hovering above the empty space between the beds. Sam's voice was shot to shit; sounded like rust, if rust had a sound.
Pulling back his hand, he sat as still as he could on the bed, trying not to breathe too loud, trying not to do anything that would interrupt his brother. It was rare for Sam to talk, rare to share things these days and he'd do everything to allow Sam space and time to do so.
"They said t'was just juice ... looked like juice."
He stopped breathing all together, his eyes never leaving Sam's back that was starting to shake slightly in the bright, morning light.
The pizza slice broke in half and fell onto the plate. It made a plop sound but neither of them heard it. A car drove to the parking lot next to them and a family of four got out, a girl and a boy arguing about ice cream. Mom yelling at them that ice cream wasn't breakfast.
"... tasted like juice, but..." it looked like his brother was struggling with finding the right words and that never happened with Sam. Sam was a word wizard, "... not."
There was a need burning inside of him, a need to ask Sam what that meant, what the hell happened, but he knew that if he'd say anything right now, Sam would shut down and shut up. He'd just have to be patient and wait Sam out and then go out, find those kids and kill them.
The bang of the door of the room next to theirs was loud enough to rattle a picture hanging near the window. It wouldn't fall, Dean was sure of it, but it felt as if it would make Sam stop talking.
"They said..."
It didn't.
"Sammy..."
He was starting to get an idea as to where all of this was going and he didn't want for Sam to say it. Saying it would cement it, would make the idea a reality and he didn't want that. He wanted to be wrong.
"They said I was a, a nerd and ... that they just invited me for ... for fun. Made fun of … of my shirt … my sh-shoes. How I talked, m-my hair, m-mme 'n I couldn't... 'm so sick of always being the new kid, so sick of it, Dean … I thought," Sam lowered his voice, mumbling words into the pillow, "this time would be different. But," a shudder made the next words come out as a breath, "it wasn't."
Dean sighed. Fuck. Fuck. He wanted to be wrong, but he wasn't.
Yeah, his brother was a nerdy nerd who geeked, but if anyone should make fun of that, it was him. No one else had the right to do that to Sam. Not to his brother, not to anyone. He knew his brother getting invited to a party like that was just too good to be true, but how could he say no to Sam? He could never say no to Sammy.
"Sammy..."
He wanted to go out and rip out all of those kids hearts and stomp on them just like they stomped all over Sam's.
His brother's back started to shake in honest now and the sight was so familiar to him ... familiar in a way that shouldn't ever be ... he shouldn't have seen his little brother cry as many times as he had. Sam had a good soul, an honest soul, such a beautiful, kind soul that should never know this kind of hurt. One day people would see that in his brother, one day people would beg to be Sam's friends, would line up to just be in the presence of his brother.
Assholes.
"I'm so s-s-sorry..."
The rest of the pizza slice got crushed in his fist until it finally slipped from his grasp leaving behind grease on his fingers and palm.
He managed to choke out: "We're gonna get out of this shitty town Sammy, get into a new town and you'll find friends there. I promise you." before he had to start swallowing down tears of his own.
They both knew it was all a lie. Sam would always be the new kid, new in school, new in town. Kids would always look at him and see an outcast, someone who didn't belong, new material to tease and abuse. But if there was one thing Dean knew, it was that Sam would one day grow into all the training he was doing; and then people better watch out.
"Get some sleep, alright," he got up and hiked up the blanket, covering Sam's shaking shoulder, his hand lingering for a second on top of his baby brother's nape, before he sat back on his bed, pizza forgotten, "just get some sleep, kiddo. I'll be here."
Through the sounds of sniffles, he heard: "I know."
The End