Unless You're Safe

"Hmm... got any jacks?"

Dean let out a disgruntled moan as he handed the card over to his little brother. Sammy's face lit up with a brilliant grin as he slapped the four matching cards onto the carpet.

"Five sets!"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get your hopes up, the game's not over yet."

"Well, any fives?"

"Ha! Go fish, Sammy!"

Dean leaned back on the threadbare yellow-brown mat beneath him, glancing over his cards in preparation for his turn. The motel room was a tiny thing, two twin sized beds with a nightstand crammed between them and the bare minimum that could qualify as a bathroom behind an aged wooden door. It was practically bare, and as clean as one could expect after having two preteen boys (and occasionally their father) living in it for a week and a half. John had said the hunt would be over that night, so Dean made sure he and his brother got everything packed away but the deck of cards and the clothes on their back. Sam might enjoy staying in one place for a while, but Dean was itching to move on. It was past Sam's bedtime- and Dean's, but he rarely adhered to it anyway- and so the boys had turned off the TV and switch to a method of entertainment that could be dropped at a moment's notice.

After handing over another card with a gripe that Sam must be cheating, Dean glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. He felt a bit uneasy; it was almost 11. Dad had said they would be on the road by 10:15. The 12-year-old shifted absently. He knew John wasn't in any real trouble, his dad was too awesome for that to be an issue. But still, he wasn't invincible, and the werewolf he had gone up against seemed a bit nasty. What if...?

The door of the motel room slammed open suddenly, causing both boys to start and snapping Dean out of his musings. John walked in, covered in sweat and dirt and grime, his eyelids falling slightly from exhaustion.

More troubling was the deep gash in his right arm, dripping blood past the shredding sleeve and falling against his boots.

"Dad," Dean said softly, jumping to his feet. "Are you okay? Is there something I can...?"

John Winchester let out a noncommittal grunt.

"'m fine, Dean. You and your brother go get ready for bed, we aren't leaving until tomorrow."

With that said, the man walked into the small bathroom and slammed the door with his good arm. A few seconds later, the sound of water pouring from the showerhead filtered into the room.

Sam gave his brother a weak smile. The concern on Dean's face wasn't masked in the slightest- even after years in this life, his big brother still couldn't bear to see any of his family hurt.

Dean tried to return the expression, then shrugged and started gathering up the cards.

Dean squirmed on the thin carpet, a scratchy blanket wrapped tight around his body and a pillow missing most of its stuffing propped under his neck. Since they were staying the night someone had to sleep on the floor, and Dean was quick to volunteer. The preteen let out a groan of annoyance, muffling the sound with his pillow. It had been a good few hours since the three went to bed, and Dean still couldn't get any sleep. It wasn't really the discomfort that kept him up, he had had to get used to sleeping in less than cozy conditions. But whenever his closed his eyes, the large wound in his father's arm popped into mind and his eyes shot open.

His father had gotten hurt before, seriously hurt. And Dean knew he shouldn't let it bother him so much, but... it did. This life was fun and exciting, yes, and Dean wouldn't trade it for anything. But whenever his family got hurt, he couldn't escape how wrong this all felt, how unfair it was for the people he loved to throw themselves in harm's way for the sake of strangers. He knew his Dad started this to find out what killed his Mom, and he hadn't lost sight of that, not by a long shot. That was still the burning thought at the forefront of his father's mind. But his actions had... expanded. Now they weren't just seeking answers, they were seeking evil, trying to stop others from going through what they went through. And that was good, Dean knew that. But more than anything he just wanted his family to be safe.

Dean pulled himself to a sitting position and glanced over at his sleeping brother. The kid looked so peaceful, with his soft blond hair falling in all directions and the tiniest pout on his chubby cheeks.

Sam would start hunting soon.

Sam knew what was out there, what their Dad did. And Dean knew his father was not one to waste time. As soon as they had a moment of downtime, his dad would start coaching him on guns and exorcisms and... and then Sammy would be out there, a perfect target for all those supernatural terrors that they hunted.

Dean pulled his legs to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, his chin resting on his knees as he gazed blearily at his younger brother. This was what his dad wanted, what he needed, what he demanded. But Dean... he just couldn't bear to think about it. Sammy was his responsibility, his kid brother- Dean would do anything in his power to protect him, and to think of the kid getting hurt... and he would get hurt. If even his dad, his invincible idol, could be roughed up that badly, what would happen to Sam? They'd all try their best to keep things safe, be cautious, but Dean knew there wasn't any hope in thinking Sam would be forever unscathed. Once he got into this life, his little brother would get beaten and torn six ways from Sunday, and there was no getting around that.

Dean groaned, flopping onto his side. Great, if he had trouble getting to sleep before, the images he unintentionally conjured of his baby brother in pain would keep him up for sure. He'd stay up 'til dawn, worried and paranoid that some monster would break in and hurt Sam. He'd never be able to fall asleep unless he knew Sam was safe.

Well...

Dragging himself to his feet with a sigh, the older Winchester sibling snatched up his pillow and left the blanket crumpled on the floor. It had been a while since he'd done this last, but... he just had to know nothing could hurt Sam without going through him first.

Dean walked over to the side of Sam's bed, making sure to pick the side opposite where his father's bed was.

"Psst. Short stuff. Move over." Dean hissed quietly, poking his brother between the shoulder blades.

"Mmmm... Dean?" Sam whispered, rolling over to face his brother, his eyes open just a crack and obviously on the brink of falling back asleep. "Wassamatter?"

"Nothing, just scooch over."

"Dean, I told you you could have the bed," Sam mumbled blearily.

"What, like I'd make my baby brother sleep on the floor? Give me a break. Just... scoot over already, there's plenty of room."

"'m not a baby," Sam protested, but did as Dean asked, moving to the edge of the bed and lifting up the covers with one hand. Dean quickly slid in, lowering the sheets from his brother's grasp and nestling in. He stretched his right arm out, so it was lying over Sammy's pillow. Sam looked at him for a moment, and for a bit Dean wondered if he was going to ask what was going on. But the younger boy shrugged and closed his eyes once again.

"'night, Dean." Sam said as he fell back onto the bed. He nuzzled his head into the crook of Dean's shoulder, and curled a fist into the thin material of his brother's shirt. In return, Dean let out a long breath and curled his arm around his brother. For now, at least, no harm could come to Sam.

"G'night, Sammy."