Dean sniffed loudly, the young boy rubbing his wet eyes with the haggard sleeve of his hoodie. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, his right cheek cut and bleeding–a gift from his father for his mistake. Sammy was almost hurt…again. It was all his fault.
They were playing for once. It was nice. Dean was teaching Sam to play catch…They were too close to the road, Dean knows that now. He was stupid. He threw too hard, and Sam was almost hit by a car. Out of everything in the world, his baby brother was almost taken away from his very own selfishness.
Dean gripped onto the rim of the sink, his fingers trembling. He squeezed his eyes shut. He thought he was going to puke…again.
Sammy's okay. Sammy's okay.
Sammy almost died because of you! Stupid! Stupid!
Dean's eyes welled with more tears and he rubbed them again, grimacing at his own worthlessness. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from his tears, and he forcefully gulped down the strangled sobs that threatened to choke him. His dad was just outside the door, the TV blaring.
Dean slapped his cheeks, forcing himself to take the pain. He looked at his reflection again, already hating himself at ten years old.
Dean walked out the hotel bathroom with his head low, looking briefly in his dad's direction. He paused, waiting for whatever else his dad had for him. He deserved it. John sat in a crappy TV chair, a beer in hand. The hunter was extremely drunk and unpredictable. Dean was just glad that Sam was asleep.
"What're you up f'r? Get to bed," John grunted out, slamming his empty bottle down. Dean jumped and mumbled a messy "Yes sir," before running to the bedroom, locking the door behind him. He pressed his back against the door, his chest heaving and his eyes stinging again. He could hear his heart ringing in his ears.
"…ean?" Mumbled a sleepy voice and Sam's head popped up from his pillow, his short hair curly and disarray. He rubbed his eyes, blinking at his older brother in the darkness, confused. Dean immediately went to him, shushing him and pulling him tight against his chest.
"Dean…!" Sam grumbled, muffled by Dean's baggy hoodie. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, trying to control his trembling. He pressed his lips to Sam's hair, trying not to cry.
"I'm so sorry, Sammy…I'm so very sorry…" Dean could barely get the words out they hurt so much.
"S'okay, I'm okay," Sam said sleepily, gripping onto the back of Dean's hoodie with his small hands. "Didn't hurt me none." Dean could only shake his head, knowing Sam was too small to understand. He would learn one day. Learn just what a useless older brother he had, and then he would leave him behind. Just like their mom did.
"Dean?" Sam asked, softer, when Dean still didn't respond. Dean pulled away then, his eyes solemn and serious beyond their years. Sam understood that, he did.
"I promise, Sammy. I promise I'll do better." Sam nodded, blinking up at his older brother. He reached up and placed his hand against the swollen mess that was Dean's cheek.
"Ow," Sam mumbled and Dean smiled once–his first smile in hours. Dean sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at the stained carpet.
"Sleep, Sam. I'm sorry I woke you…" Dean went to hop off the bed and Sam grabbed onto his sleeve, stopping him.
"Stay," Sam said, fingers trembling. "Angry…Safer." Dean's eyes widened and he nodded his head, allowing his baby brother to pull him under the covers with him, the grimy sheets protecting them from the monsters.
Sam smiled at his brother in the darkness, tangling his fingers with Dean's own. Dean smiled back at him, his heart swelling with warmth.
Dean would protect him–nothing would take him away. His baby brother…his only light in the world. He would do better.
May these words be the first to find your ears.
the world is brighter than the sun now that you're here.