I do not own Supernatural or any of these characters.
Dean Winchester: How'd you get here?
Sam Winchester: I uh... stole a car.
Dean Winchester: Ha-ha-ha! That's my boy!
- Dean & Sam Winchester: Season 1
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"Sometimes words can be spoken, but their true meaning cannot be heard by others, but only by those you love." - Myself
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"That's my boy."
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Those three words always had the same effect - whether he was injured from a hunt, sick with fever, or just downright crying... but even on those happy days, the ones full of laughter, where monsters were just an imaginary thing inside your closet, and a teenager could be just that - a teenager.
The words were always there, always made him feel comforted, safe, and if nothing else... loved.
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There was nothing worst, or nightly terrifying than a hunt gone wrong. Dad hurt, Dean hurt. He always dreaded that the most.
He did get hurt, a lot. It was all apart of being a hunter his dad would say. Sometimes the injuries were bad, and sometimes not so much. But more times then not they were bad.
"Sammy, it's ok. Just keep still. I've got you." Dean told him once after a bad hunt. Thirteen-year-old Sam laid stretched out on the motels plaid quilt cover, as his brother carefully put stitch-by-stitch, closing the sickly gapping wound, after the Wendigo's claws ripped through his abdomen.
"It's alright now, Sammy. It's alright." Dean reassured as he wrapped his little brother in his strong arms. "You ok?" He asked gently, brushing his fingers through his kid brothers bangs. And felt the small nod against his chest.
"That's my boy."
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The rip roaring of the fire burned, the sickening scream deafening.
"Take your brother outside as fast as you can - don't look back. Now, Dean! Go!" John yelled to a four-year-old Dean.
He ran. Not turning back as the flames grew higher, or as the screams turned louder. He ran as their two story home was engulfed as the soaring flames licked the walls, falsely illuminating the darkness into a red, burning river.
Smoke and flames billowed from the outside as Dean held a six-month-old Sammy tightly to his chest. Firefighters fort the blaze, but lost. Lost their mom, lost their home.
"It's alright, Sammy. I'm here, I'll protect you." Dean soothed, shielding his baby brother. He glanced down as chubby little fingers twisted in the cotton material of his t-shirt, and smiled. He'd always keep that promise.
"That's my boy."
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These words were said... not like so many unsaid words. Please and thank you - were rare. I love you - often took another form. But these words were often spoken.
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Dean was seated at the front row of the pillars, with more pride than any other big brother held. Sammy had just kicked his second goal through the Soccer net, as his team mates rounded another round of high fives, and pats on the back.
Their team was winning.
3 - 2 was the score, with Sam's last goal putting his team in front.
The ending siren called, as the cheering erupted. Game over.
"That's my boy, Sammy." Dean said proudly from the bleachers.
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Fever. Cough. Sore throat. Stuffy nose. Muscle aches. Fatigue. Vomiting. These are all symptoms of the flu. And right now that's exactly what Sam Winchester had.
Three days straight.
They had arrived at the motel five nights ago, planning to stay three. But plans change.
"Open up, Sammy." Dean called softly, holding out the thermometer. He perched on the edge of their twin shared bed, brushing his little brothers bangs from his eyes.
"But Dean..." Sammy whined, miserably.
Dean won. As most big brothers do. But Dean wasn't just any big brother, he was Sam's big brother. Dean had raised him, was protective - sometimes overly protective. He was Dean's kid.
"Close your eyes, Sammy. I'll be right here when you wake." Dean soothed.
"Promise?"
"Promise." Dean replied, as Sam's eyes slowly closed.
"That's my boy." Dean whispered.
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Dean always made things right. Always knew what to say.
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"You maybe my pain in the ass little brother, Sammy. But I'll always protect you."
"You can't always protect me, Dean."
"I can and I will. That's my job, Right?"
"Sure, Dean." Sammy said, giving Dean his bitchface.
Dean smiled. "That's my boy."
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Three simple words. But made everything right.
"That's my boy."
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Bella Lilac