Note: "I'll just write a short one." Said me at midnight...4 hours later...six thousand plus words later...I'm a bloody liar. Hope you like it. Please comment.
They should be thinking about all the awesome presents they're getting the next day.
They should be pigging out on good food.
They should be hanging out with their families or ice-skating.
They should be having the time of their lives.
I'll tell you what they shouldn't be doing.
12 year-olds should not be laid out on a motel bed, trying not to move because of the stiches holding their stomach together.
They should not be concentrating on how to breathe slow and careful so it doesn't hurt too much.
They should not be staring with half-lidded eyes at a T.V. that doesn't even have a clear picture, because thanks to blood-loss and meds they are so fucking tired.
My 12 year old little brother should not be dealing with that kind of shit, especially not tonight.
"Here." I say softly, placing the grilled cheese on the side-table.
"Thanks." The kid whispers. Because even though he's hurting and tired, even though he'll spend the entire holiday in this shitty bed, he is still fucking grateful that I made him a stupid sandwich; he might not even be able to keep it down… but he still smiles up at me with those damn dimples.
"I'm going to help you sit-up alright?" I ask/inform Sam. Because we both know he won't be able to do it on his own, not without pulling one of his twenty-three stitches, but I still want him to feel like he has some power, some sort of control.
"Okay." He answers quietly, his body tensing in preparation for the expected pain.
"Alright buddy. Nice and easy." I slide my hands in his armpits and cautiously lift him. I feel thin fingers grasping my elbow and another hand gripping onto the bottom of my shirt.
As I pull him up right I hear Sam bite off a gasp, his hold on me tightening while I use one arm to lean him against my torso and quickly organize the pillows behind him.
"You're fine buddy. Doing great. I got you." I encourage as I slowly ease him back.
"How's that? You okay? Need some more pillows?" I ask as I settle my little brother against the headboard.
"No, I'm good." Sam tells me through slow controlled breathing that has me questioning his honesty.
Apparently he can tell I don't believe him, because the young teen adds,
"Really Dean, I'm good." And damn if he doesn't follow that with a half of a smile.
"Good." I nod, believing him.
"Here's your lunch." I say, placing the plate on his lap.
"Thanks." Sam replies, the pain lines that had been creasing his face beginning to disappear as he relaxes back against the pillows.
"You alright?" I question, as I look him over, pulling the blanket back and his shirt up, peaking at the bandaged wound to be sure there's no blood.
"I'm fine Dean." Sam insists with a sigh, because yeah…maybe I'm mother-henning a little bit, but the kid had his stomach ripped open last night by some fugly monster, so I think I've earned the right to fuss.
"Good, than eat your food." I instruct, making sure not to sound too authoritative, because I know how Sammy hates that.
"Yes sir." Sam mocks, signing a salute as he smirks up at me.
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
I ruffle the kid's hair with a smile and make my way back to the kitchenette.
"Aren't you going to eat?" Sam calls out from the bed.
I shake my head, because of course that little brat is going to think about me.
"Yeah man." I respond, grabbing my own sandwich and dropping onto the bed closest to the door.
I start in on my lunch, staring at the old black and white film playing out on the crappy television set. Out of the corner of my eye I watch as Sam ever so slowly reaches out and picks up half the grilled cheese, bringing it to his mouth and taking a tentative bite. I know that between the pain and the meds my brother probably doesn't have much of an appetite, but he's got to eat.
By them time I've finished my meal, I glance over and notice that Sam is still working on the first half of his.
I want to tell him to take bigger bites, that it shouldn't take him this long to eat a quarter of his sandwich, but I can't. Because I know that this kid is only eating for me. He is only bothering to go through the effort of chewing his food because I made it for him, and because he knows I want him to.
So I bite my tongue and take my plate back to the corner of the room that supposedly passes for a kitchen.
I've got the kitchen and all the weapons cleaned by the time Sam finishes half of his sandwich…half. I watch as he stares down at the remainder of his lunch as though just looking at it is taking too much energy.
"Sam."
The young teen looks up at me.
"Stop staring and eat." I order gently.
Sam lets out a dramatic careful sigh, his face twitching in pain as the long exhale causes a pull on his stitches. That's what you get for being a dramatic little bitch, I thought with a smirk.
"Come on Sam, just finish up man." I encouraged.
My kid brother stared over at me, peeking out from underneath his shaggy hair for a moment, before nodding and reluctantly starting in on the other half of his meal
Sam pushed the plate away, leaving a quarter of the grilled-cheese on it, but I didn't lecture him about it, because he was pale and exhausted.
"How about you get some shuteye kiddo?" I suggested casually as I picked the plate up off his legs.
"That's all I've done all day." Sam muttered miserably.
"Well you're healing, you need the rest."
"But it's Christmas Eve." He reminded me, staring up at me with sad hazel eyes.
"Yeah man I know." I said with a sigh, because damnit how was I going to make this better?
"You said we'd go see a movie."
"I know buddy, and we will. Once you're better we'll go see whatever you want."
"Not the same." Sam whined.
Logically it was the same, but I was hardly going to argue reason with the injured young boy currently sitting arms crossed pouting on the bed.
I took Sam's plate to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water.
"Here."
Sam shook his head and pushed the glass away.
"I'm not thirsty."
"Sam you haven't had anything to drink all day." I reminded him.
"I'm not thirsty." The young teen declared, turning his head away.
"Come on man, don't be a brat. You need to stay hydrated. So drink the damn water." I ordered, losing my patience.
"What part of 'I'm not thirsty' aren't you understanding?" Sam bit out, glaring up at me.
"Quit the dramatics. Drink it." I shoved the glass into the kid's hands only to have him push it away at the last second, sending it smashing to the ground."
"What the hell?!" I barked out, stepping out of the splash zone and staring in frustration at the boy on the bed.
"I told you that I wasn't thirsty!" Sam replied, his own frustration coming through loud and clear.
"So that gives you the right to act like a child? Now I have to clean up after you. I'm not your fucking maid." I muttered, more to myself than Sam, as I squatted down and began picking up the broken glass.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to break it." My brother said, his tone soft and sincere.
"I'll clean it up."
I looked up as Sam began to slide his legs over the side of the bed.
"Whoah! No way man." I said, placing a hand on his knee to push his limbs back on the bed.
"It's my mess, I can clean it." Sam insisted, wincing as he attempted to push up off the pillows.
"Cut it out man, you're going to hurt yourself."
"I'm fine I can—" Sam was half off the bed when he release a strangled cry, his body going limp as he began to fall to the floor.
"Sammy!" I hollered as I scrambled towards him, getting a grip under his arms just before he connected with the ground.
My little brother's body trembled, his breathing unsteady as I carefully lifted him back onto the bed.
Once I had him up and resting back against the pillows I looked at the young teen.
"You okay?" I asked, brushing his long hair to the side so I could get a clear view.
Sam's face was wrinkled in pain, sweat coding his skin, and eyes closed as he tried to regain his composure.
"Talk to me Sammy." I ordered softly, needing to know the kids status.
I watched as he inhaled slowly, in an attempt to steady his breathing.
"I'm fine." Sam grimaced.
"Like hell you are." I grumbled. Realizing that honesty just wasn't Sam's thing today, I decided to check for myself.
I pulled Sam's hand away from where it was protectively wrapped around his middle, and quickly tugged the kid's shirt up before he could argue.
"Shit." I cursed, seeing the slowly growing red stain on the white bandage.
I quickly grabbed the med kit from where Dad had left it after he sowed Sammy up last night.
The bandage came off smoothly, and sure enough there were three torn stitches underneath.
"Fuck." I sighed, grabbing gauze from the kid and using it to soak up the blood currently seeping from the wound.
"We got some popped stitches here man."
I heard Sam groan in displeasure.
"Don't worry, I'm going to clean this up and just do a little bit of re-stitching. Then you'll be as good as knew." I informed my brother.
"Okay." Sam croaked, his body flinching as I used the tweezers to remove the ripped thread from the wound.
"Sorry." I muttered automatically.
"Don't be, not your fault." Sam replied.
"Yeah well, you said you weren't thirsty I should have just left it." I admitted, shaking my head at myself as I picked the last piece of broken string from the cut.
"It wasn't you Dean. It was me, I was being stupid." Sam muttered.
"You weren't being stupid, just dramatic." I said, glancing up and winking at the kid.
Alright, now it was time to stitch. God I hated this part. Sliding a needle through my little brother's skin would never be okay with me. Not only was I the one causing him pain, but I was having to do it because I had failed in the first place, because he had gotten hurt, and that means I had failed to protect him. Fuck I really hated this part.
And I knew it wasn't a thrill for Sam either, and since the kid was already maxed out on pain meds, I was going to have to use another method to ease the agony…distraction.
"So what is up your butt anyway? It really isn't like you to get so offended by water." I pointed out not-unkindly, having no desire to start a fight, but wanting to get Sam thinking about something other than the sterilized needle sliding through his skin.
"It's nothing."
"Ha! It's definitely not nothing and I got a broken glass to prove it." I stated jokingly.
"It's stupid."
The statement was so quiet I almost didn't hear it, cringing at my little brother's flinch as I started the first stitch, I continued the discussion.
"I don't care if it's stupid man. Just spit it out. What's going up in that hairy noggin of yours?"
There was a moment of silence as I carefully tied off stitch number one. I was about to start up another attempt at a distraction when Sam spoke.
"I didn't want to have to pee."
I glanced over at my little brother's face, my obvious confusion apparently appearing comical upon my face as the boy smiled in response.
"You want to elaborate on that? Cause I'm not getting it man." I said, returning my attention to the injury, frowning as I wiped away the blood trickling down my kid's side.
"If I drink anything, than I'm going to have to pee."
"Yeah…that's kind of how biology works there Einstein."
Sam released a dramatic sigh, my hands tensed, his stomach rising right before I went to slide the needle into it.
"Buddy I know you're a drama-queen, but if we could keep all the sighing to a minimum that'd be great. I'm trying to keep you from looking like Frankenstien here." I explained, placing my palm on the side of the long jagged cut, as though I could keep my little brother from moving.
"Frankenstien was the doctor." Sam responded, making an effort to take a shallow breath.
"What the hell you going on about?"
"Frankenstien was the guy who created the monster, he was a doctor."
I began the second stitch during Sam's explanation.
"Then what's the monster called?" I asked distractedly.
"I don't think he has a name…just the monster I guess."
"Well that's lame." I remarked.
Sam inhaled sharply as I pulled the two sides of his skin together.
"So what's this about you not wanting to take a piss?" I asked, trying to ignore the fact that my baby brother was in pain, and I was causing it.
"I can't even get out of bed without popping stitches, how the hell am I supposed to make it to the bathroom?" He spat out bitterly.
"Well I'm sure there's some sort of jar around here you could use."
"Ewe gross, Dean, I'm not peeing in a jar." Without looking, I could see the scrunched up expression of disgust on my little brother's young face.
"You're such a prude Sammy." I insulted, starting in on the fourth and final stitch.
I was usually much faster at this, I've had a disturbing amount of practice, but these stitches were so small and tight that I took longer. I had watched Dad stitch Sam up last night, had noticed how long it was taking, and asked him why he was making them so small. The older man had glanced up at me, eyes flicking between the kid I was holding in my arms with his face pressed up against me and his eyes closed as he tried to handle the pain. The hunter's eyes had glistened with unshed tears for a moment, before he rubbed them hastily and brought his attention immediately back to the injury.
"Don't want it to scar." He had answered me gruffly as he continued his slow and careful stitching.
I saw now what my father meant, this cut was long and jagged; it would make a hell of an ugly scar. I felt the same thing I think John was feeling when he stared at the ugly wound marring my baby brother's skin; Sam didn't need to grow up staring at such a violent reminder of the night the monster got him.
"You almost finished De-?" The soft pained crack of the voice on the shortened version of my name had my heart clenching.
"Just about Sammy." I said, carefully tying off the last stitch and then wiping the area clean with the gauze.
"Just going to put a fresh bandage on it." I informed the hurting young teen.
I glanced at Sam and he nodded back at me, his bottom lip held between his teeth and his eyes moist, but face dry.
I placed a comforting hand on my brother's boney knee, squeezing it briefly before getting back to work.
I pulled Sam's shirt back down moments later, his injury re-stitched and bandaged, and he just looked exhausted and pale.
"How you doing kiddo?" I questioned, sliding that ridiculous hair off his face and resting my palm against his forehead for a moment.
"I'm good." Sam lied, dimples appearing briefly as he tried for a smile.
"Alright, this is what we are going to do. You are going to drink some water—
"Dean—
"You are going to drink some water and then get some rest.
"But De—
"And when you need to take a piss, you let me know, and I will—
"I'm not peeing in a jar." Sam declared overtop of me, I gave him an exasperated look and continued with what I was saying.
"Let me know and I will help you to the bathroom. I will turn my back while you relieve yourself because I know every girl needs her privacy." I mocked with a smirk.
Sam blushed, but smiled a little as he nodded.
"Deal?"
"Deal." He whispered.
I went to fill another glass with water, returning swiftly before the kid could change his mind.
Sam accepted the cup and drained it eagerly.
"You want more?" I asked.
"Nah, that's good." Sam said, licking his lips.
"Good, now get some rest." I ordered casually, gently helping Sam maneuver into a more comfortable position.
"This sucks." He pouted, staring up at me as I tugged the blankets over him.
"I know." I agreed, because it did. This was a shitty way to spend Christmas Eve, and I doubted that the kid's Christmas was going to be any different.
"Is Dad going to be back for tomorrow?" Sam asked tiredly, his eyes half lidded as he looked up at me.
"He said he would." I answered with a shrug. Sam nodded, we both knew by now not to place too much stalk in John Winchester's declaration of arrival.
"Dean, can you do me a favor?"
I looked questioningly at the tired teen.
"What do you need kiddo?" Cause yeah I would do fucking anything for this kid.
"Go do something fun."
"What?" I asked, because Sam had said a couple weird things tonight, but that was one of the strangest.
"It's Christmas Eve." Sam stated, as if that was an answer in and of itself.
"It's only two in the afternoon dude."
"Fine, it's Christmas Eve Day." Sam huffed in annoyance.
"What's your point?" I asked, gathering up the broken glass I had left on the bedside-table.
"The point is at least one of us should do something fun." Sam sulked.
"Like what?" I asked, eyebrows raised, because this kid was fading fast and he wasn't making a whole lot of sense.
"Go see the movie, or get pie, something." He sighed tiredly.
"How about you just get some rest." I suggested with a smile.
Sam's eyes closed, I made to move to the kitchen, pausing when I heard Sam murmur; the kid already half-asleep.
"shuldnt miss Chrismas cause of me."
Before I could ask the kid what the hell he was going on about, he was fast asleep.
I shook my head. Didn't this kid get that I didn't care about Christmas? That the only reason I ever bothered with it was because of him, because I wanted to spend time with him, because I wanted to make him happy.
Dad wasn't a fan of Christmas either. Sometimes he would fake it, other years he would be out hunting, calling if he got the chance. I never really blamed him. I think Christmas just reminded the older hunter of all he had lost. When we were younger I didn't understand, I wanted him home, especially for Sammy who put so much hope in Christmas. That was different now, although Sam missed our Dad on the special day, he no longer expected him to be there and was no longer crushed by his absence.
Because Sam and I were okay. We would exchange gifts, eat some good food, and find something fun to do. We made it work. And we would do the same thing this year, with or without John Winchester.
I had a strong feeling we wouldn't be seeing him tomorrow. I had seen his face when he had been stitching up his youngest child. I had seen him pacing around the motel room, I had watching him staring at the young teen in the bed, and had noticed the glaze over his eyes…as though he was looking at Sam, but seeing something else entirely.
I had asked him what was wrong, asked him if Sammy would be okay.
Dad confirmed that Sam would be fine, that the cut wasn't too deep and should heal in a couple weeks, and then had continued to stare hauntingly at the bed furthest from the door.
I didn't normally push my father for answers, but this could have had something to do with Sam, so I had pushed. I asked him what was wrong with him, wanted to know why he looked so concerned.
All I got in reply had been a mumble, but it was more than enough.
"He was laying there, blood…red all across his stomach…just like…like…"
He had faded off, his face crumpling into something like despair, but seconds later it switched, his expression schooled into one that was much more familiar, a stern determination.
Less than an hour later he said he had a hunt. I had reminded him Christmas was the day after tomorrow, too which he had nodded distractedly and claimed he'd be back.
I didn't know if he was on a hunt, or a bender. It didn't matter, it had been clear my Dad couldn't handle the memory that had been thrown in his face, and the man had never been good with seeing Sammy in pain. I knew the helplessness he felt, it was a feeling I was greatly accustomed to…but one that I couldn't run from. Because someone had to look after Sammy and that had been my job for a long time now, so while Dad could run to a hunt or a bar, I needed to stay with Sam, needed to watch out for my little brother. Because that was my job, and it was the only one that mattered to me.
A strong feeling came over me right then, a feeling of love for that boy laying injured on the bed, a fierce protectiveness for my little brother, and a desperate need to make my kid happy.
Hours later, when Sam woke up, I had a plan. A plan to make this Christmas Eve suck at least a little less.
The way my brother was shifting around when he woke told me that the kid needed to take a piss, which made sense because he hadn't gone all day.
I gave him a couple minutes to gain his bearings, but not long enough to have time to get embarrassed about having to be accompanied to the bathroom.
"Alright buddy, I'm going to slide you around and then help you stand up okay? You tell me if you need to stop." I smiled at my little brother's groggy nod, god this kid always looked so young when he woke up; bedhead and rubbing at his eyes making him look no older than ten.
I threw the blanket back and gently pulled my little brothers legs to the side, letting them dangle off the bed as I moved up closer to him. Sam bit down on his lip as I pulled him into a sitting position, I gave him a moment to catch his breath before proceeding.
Other than the soft gasp my little brother released when I lifted him into a standing position, everything went smoothly. I supported my little brother's weight on our slow trek to the bathroom, not stopping until we were standing directly in front of the toilet.
"Can you turn?"
I nodded, glad that Sam wasn't going to try to argue with me to leave the room, because I had no intention of doing so. Sam was holding up barely half of his body weight right now, I wasn't going to leave him to face-plant on the ground and rip open the rest of his stitches.
I faced the wall, leaving an arm wrapped across the teen's chest, keeping him vertical as he took care of his business.
"Done." Sam muttered a minute later.
I nodded, helping the kid over to the sink, because he insisted upon washing his hands. I pulled Sam in, his back against my torso, my arm around his chest as my other hand reached around and turned the tap on. Sam groaned softly as he bent over, his stitches pulling no doubt.
Once he was done being all hygienic Sam leaned his head back against me and we stood for a moment.
"You good to make it back to the bed?"
"It's only like five feet." Sam moaned in frustration with himself.
"Five feet feels like fifty when you've got twenty-three stitches in your gut." I pointed out.
"Thanks for the reminder Dean." Sam grumbled, lifting his head off of me and looking towards the bed in determination.
"Want me to just—
Sam cut me off before I could offer to carry him.
"No, I can make it." He assured me.
"I know you can." I answered, a smile playing on my lips. Because fuck was this kid amazing.
My little brother all but collapsed onto the bed when we made it within arm's reach. His body warn and the pain adding to that exhaustion.
"That's it man, nice and easy." I said, settling him in.
"I'm going to go grab your meds, it's finally time for a top up." I commented, glancing at the clock by the bed that read 5:37pm.
Sam nodded in appreciation, breathing carefully as he eased back against the pillows I propped up for him.
"Alright, here's the deal. You take these." I said, dropping a couple pills into my little brother's palm, one to stave off infection and another to manage the pain.
"And I will let you pick whatever you want for dinner."
"Anything?" Sam asked, an eyebrow raised.
"Anything." I confirmed.
Sam popped the meds into his mouth, chasing them down with the water I passed him.
"Pizza." He told me, handing the cup back.
"Alright." I nodded, placing the glass on the side-table and picking the pizza-delivery menu off the table. I began punching the phone number into my cell.
"Hawaiian?" I assumed aloud, because that was Sam's favorite.
"Meat Lovers."
I paused, the phone to my ear, sending the kid on the bed a squinted look of confusion.
Because since when did my little brother not want the girly pizza?
Sam just nodded in confidence at my inquisitive stare, and before I could say anything there was someone was on the other end of the line demanding my order.
When I asked him about his choice in pizza Sam only informed me that that was what he wanted, and because I love it, I didn't bother interrogating him about it.
A short while later we were both seated on the bed, watching some old black-and-white Christmas movie on the fuzzy television and enjoying our pizza. Sam managed a full two pieces, which was good, because they were pretty decent sized slices and the kid hadn't even been able to choke down an entire sandwich for lunch.
It wasn't until I was on my fourth slice of pizza and I saw Sam smiling at me from the corner of my eye, that I realized what the little brat had done.
Meat Lover, my favourite pizza…not Sam's. And with the kid all dimples and smiles as he watches me scarfing it all down…he ordered it for me, that little bitch.
Well, it was my turn to do something for him.
"Hey, you up for a little adventure?" I asked.
Sam's eyes went wide in surprise.
"You mean we can actually leave the room?" He asked, the excitement flowing through his tone.
"Yes, but there are two conditions."
"Okay…what?" Sam asked, curiosity written across his face.
"You have to let me carry you to the car—
"But—
"Non-negotiable Sam." Because just watching the kid travel to and from the bathroom and been stressful enough.
The young teen narrowed his gaze, examining me for a moment.
"Alright." He agreed. "What's the second one?"
"You have to tell me if it's too much. If you're in too much pain, or your tired, or whatever. Okay?" I asked clearly, needing him to understand the importance of my second condition.
"I will." Sam promised, his young hazel eyes staring directly into mine.
"Good."
I helped my brother into a sweater, one of mine, because he always seems to find some form of comfort in my clothing.
"Seriously man, what is with these icicles?" I asked, sliding socks onto his two cold feet.
"Beats me, they've always been that way." Sam shrugged.
"Yeah I know, you've been stuffing them under my legs your entire life. Jacking all my heat in the middle of the night." I muttered, feigning annoyance when actually all I was feeling was a powerful fondness for this kid.
"Alight Buddy, we are going to do this as painless as possible." I said, looking at Sam and assessing the best way to carry him out to the Impala.
The least uncomfortable way I could figure was bridal-style.
"Put your hands around my neck." I ordered gently. Sam did as instructed without hesitation. This kid had complete trust that I would do my best not to hurt him; that I would take care of him…and that…that meant everything.
I slid a hand around Sam's back and another one underneath his knees, lifting slow and careful, cringing at my little brother's sharp inhale.
"I got you." I assured him, I felt Sam nod, his head against my collarbone.
My little brother wasn't much more than skin and bones, and not a whole lot in the height department either, so carrying him to the car was a breeze, but I walked slow, careful not to jostle the injured boy.
I made to open the backdoor, but Sam stopped me, a hand tapping my chest.
"No, the front." He said.
"Come on man, the back will be way comfier, I put some pillows and blankets. It'll be cozy." I argued.
"No way." Sam declared, with an adamant shake of his head.
"Sam." I sighed in exasperation.
"That wasn't one of your conditions." He pointed out stubbornly.
I just stared at him, assessing my brother for a moment, wondering how serious he was going to be about this…and then I remembered that my little brother was one stubborn little shit.
"Fine." I relented, because it was Christmas Eve, and if Sammy wanted to sit up front, that's where he was bloody-well going to sit.
The young teen smiled in triumph and I rolled my eyes in annoyance.
"Here we go." I warned, as I set him gently on the front seat, reclining it a little so his stitches wouldn't pull.
"Thanks." Sam groaned, leaning back,
"You good?"
"Yup."
"You'll tell me if it hurts?"
"Yes Dean, I'll tell you if hurts, or itches, or if I have to sneeze, or if I yawn, or If I blink—
"I got it smart-ass."
Seriously, this kid.
I drove through town, slower than I normally would, careful to ensure I nice steady ride.
I was relieved that the pain meds seemed to be were working well, Sam didn't do much more than wince every now and then.
When we got to town I parked at the coffee shop.
"This is it? I mean I'm glad to be out of the room…but this is sort of lame Dean." Sam said, glancing between me and the store.
"I'll be right back." I said, ignoring the curious look I received and exiting the Impala.
I returned moments later, two steaming cups and a bag of fresh-baked chocolate cookies balanced in my hands as I dropped into the driver's seat.
"What'd you get?" Sam asked eagerly, before I was in the Impala.
"Coffee for me, hot-chocolate for you." I answered, handing him a cup as I started up the car.
"Oh thanks." He smiled. "What's in the bag?"
"All in good time little brother." I replied.
Sam sighed and returned his gaze out the windshield.
A few minutes later we pulled up to the centre of town, where the park was located. I parked the Impala and turned her off, leaning back in my seat.
"So…the park?" Sam asked, big hazel eyes turning to stare questioningly at me.
"Yup, the park."
We sat silently for another minute.
"Are we just going to look at it?" Sam asked, sipping at his hot chocolate.
"Just wait." I replied simply.
Sam sat, waiting, looking at me, the park, and then back again.
"So…"
"Patience Sammy." I said, trying to hide my smile at the sound of my brother's irritated huff.
Seconds later the dark space before us was flooded with light.
Every single tree lit up, all different colours of Christmas lights glowing in the dark.
"Whoah." Sam whispered, staring with wide eyes at the scene in front of us.
His gaze travelling from tree to tree, trying to take it all in.
I'm not much for scenery, but this town could sure light up a park. The lady in the motel office hadn't lied when she said they had the most beautiful holiday display. It was amazing. So many different lights, some twinkling, some flashing, some coloured, and some a pure blinding white.
I looked at Sam as he sat captivated by the Christmas decorations, and I smiled.
I reached into the paper bag and pulled out a cookie, handing it to my little brother, having to stick it under his nose to get the kid to notice.
His young face lit up with a smile that put the Christmas lights to shame.
Sam bit into the cookie, sending that brilliant grin my way before returning his attention to the colourful park.
"You like it?" I asked after a moment, sipping on my coffee, savouring the rich flavor.
"Yeah." Sam whispered, not even tearing his stare from the scenery.
We sat there until our cups were empty and the cookies were gone, we sat until Sam was leaning into my side, tired but unwilling to take his eyes off the Christmas lights.
Every time I suggest we head back Sam just shook his head, saying he wanted to soak it all in. I wasn't really sure what that meant, but it was Christmas Eve, and if my little brother wanted to stare at lights all night, than that is what we'd do.
I placed an arm over his thin shoulder, pulling the young teen into my side, being careful of the wound on his stomach as I tucked him against me.
Sam complied, snuggling into my side the way he always did as a young kid. And fitting up against me like he always had.
"Thanks Dean." He whispered softly, pulling his gaze from the front to look up at me.
Those puppy dog eyes so full of love and gratefulness that it made my chest ache.
"Merry Christmas Eve Little Brother." I said, smiling at the dimply grin I received.
Sam looked at me for another moment, adoration shiny through his eyes, before turning back to face the lights, his shaggy head resting against me.
I stared down at the kid tucked under my arm, watched as he was enamoured by the scene, his face happy and peaceful.
I smiled.
Because this kid was amazing. This kid who had his gut stitched together just last night. This kid who felt bad that I wasn't having fun on Christmas Eve. This kid who ordered my favourite pizza. This kid who wanted me to be happy. This kid who looked at me like I was fucking batman just because I took him to see some sparkling lights.
This kid who I loved.
This kid who I raised.
This kid who meant everything to me.
Sammy.
I would do anything to make him happy, anything to protect him, because he was my kid.
He was my Sammy.
He was my whole world.
Note: I really hope this made sense... Please review/comment. I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thanks so much for reading! - Sam