Home
Dean can't sleep…again. He shifts uncomfortably, thinking that this is usually Sammy's deal. Usually, Dean's asleep as soon as he hits the bed and Sam's the one that's left to toss and turn all night. He rolls onto his side with an annoyed sigh, flipping his pillow to the cool side as he does. He steals a look at his little brother, whose slumbering peacefully a few feet away. It's funny, Sammy might be 25 now, but to Dean he's still 4. He's still that snot nosed little kid stealing his toys and crawling into bed with him after having another bad dream. Dean knows that's never going to change. Sammy despises the fact that it won't, but to Dean, it's the only normalcy he's ever had in his life. In some weird way, he's never really let Sammy go after he carried him out that front door all those years ago. Before his dad even had to tell him, Dean knew it was his job to keep Sam safe and Dean needed that responsibility. Because that responsibility defined him, it gave him a reason to get out of bed every morning. Though, he'd never tell anyone any of this because that would mean being vulnerable and Dean can't have people thinking he's going soft. But deep down, he knows that protecting Sam is who he is. Because as long as they're together, Dean's alright. Dean stares at the ceiling of the dingy motel they checked into after another endless drive. He lets his mind wander back to the younger days. Like Sammy's first grade Christmas pageant. He remembers helping Sam rehearse his lines for days before the big show. Sam had grabbed his hand right before they were supposed to go on.
"I'm scared, Dean." Sam's puppy dog eyes were on the verge of tears. Dean knelt down and looked him right in the eyes.
"You'll do great, Sammy. Just do your best, alright?" And Sam had nodded before he was ushered onstage. Of course Sam forgot half the words, but it didn't matter, because Dean was there. He remembers Sam trying to do everything just like him. Sammy still idolized him and Dean knew it. Because that was just how they worked. Dean couldn't imagine a world without his brother. He shudders slightly at the thought and pushes it out of his mind. He drifts back to the first time he laid eyes on his brother. His dad had sat him in the armchair in the corner of the hospital room. Dean didn't like the smell, or the way his shoes squeaked on the white linoleum floor, but he forgot about all that the second his dad gently lowered Sam into his tiny arms. He was small and pink and he smelled like powder, but Dean automatically knew that Sam was the best gift his parents could ever give him.
"Hi Sammy." He remembers saying as Sam's tiny fingers wrap around his own.
"Welcome home."
Dean laid there, a tired smile stretched across his exhausted face. He knows that no matter if they find their father, no matter what monsters they came across, no matter what, as long as Dean has Sammy, he's home.