Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. I am not affiliated in any way, shape or form with anyone who does.
He still saw the fear in Sam's eyes every time they battled. The fear of dying, the fear of other people dying, the fear of other people realising that there were things the world that wanted them to die.
Sam wouldn't admit to it to him now because he was always trying to match Dean's bravado but one night he had told Dean, at just seven years old, that he was too scared to go to sleep in case something came after him.
Remembering that night still made Dean feel sick to his stomach, especially when he looked at Sam and realised that the fear still gripped him; that it had never gone away. Dean felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility, of needing to do something to help him.
"Sammy?"
"Don't call me Sammy."
"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"I get scared to."
Sam looked at him incredulously before his face darkened and he turned away, angry. Dean knew that he didn't believe him, even though it was the truth.
He glanced towards Sam and sighed. He hadn't admitted the truth when Sam had told him that night and now he was paying the price for it. The price where Sam was destroying himself trying to live up to an idyllic version of Dean, and the price where Dean knew he had missed his only chance to make things right.