Here, have a scoop of fluff ftw. I guess it's approximately season 2. I DON'T NEED A REASON TO POST ADORABLENESS!

Disclaimer: Don't own SPN.

I paced a ditch in the floor, furiously working over the past and future of our current case. Sam had a washcloth pressed to his arm. He'd been a little too slow when the psycho psychic we were after started throwing knives. Another telekinetic. As if Max wasn't bad enough.

"We'll stop him," I muttered darkly to myself. "Won't be easy, but we'll do it..."

"Dean..."

"It's fine, Sam," I said curtly. I knew that tone. I didn't want him going off on his "I'm gonna be a murderer too" rant. "It's gonna be fine."

"I wish you'd stop saying that," he mumbled.

I stopped and turned fully towards him. "Come again?"

"I said, I wish you'd stop saying everything will be okay when you know it won't be."

"Why would you say that? Everything will be okay. We've dealt with guys like this before."

"The last one killed himself!" Sam snapped.

He had a point. We actually would have been screwed had Max not turned his gun on himself. But like I would ever admit to Sam being right. "Still, we've got this," I insisted.

Sam was quiet for a moment before he began hesitantly, "Dean...this is the third kid we've seen like this...I can't ignore it-"

"Dammit, Sam, what have I told you?" I said much too loudly. "You are not going to turn out like them! Those kids, they were lost and alone. You're not."

"But the demon said-"

"I don't care what that demon said!" I exploded. "You think for a second that I'm gonna let you turn out like that? I told you after we got done with Max that as long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you. You don't believe me?"

A pained smile. "Of course I do, Dean. I always believe you."

"Then what the hell's your problem?"

Sam threw down the cloth and ran a hand through his hair. "Every time you say it'll all be okay, I believe it for a little while, but then that bad feeling creeps back in. It's like a lullaby that only works until it's dark."

"Sam, would I lie to you?"

He gave me a look.

"Would I lie to you about something like this?" I amended.

"No," he sighed.

"Exactly. Tell you what: if you wanna go murder somebody, be my guest. But you'll do it over my lifeless corpse."

Sam's eyes widened. "Don't say that," he whispered.

"It's true," I said mercilessly. "We've already established that I'm always right, and I say it will be okay."

"Okay," he said unwillingly, "but what if you're wrong?"

"I'm never wrong."

"But if you are, and I do...would you stop me?"

I glared at the implications of his tone. "Don't you ever say that to me again, understand?" I growled.

"But Dean-"

"We're done talking about this."

"But-"

"Sam!"

He fell silent, but his expression was far from clear. I rolled my eyes. It seemed all my communication with Sam on the hard subjects was always too rough.

I plopped beside him and shoved his good arm. "C'mon, man, all I'm askin' for is a little faith," I said with a bit of plea. "I mean, I think I've done a pretty decent job of savin' your ass so far."

Sam finally let out a little chuckle. "Yeah, more than decent," he allowed. "Okay. I have no clue how, but it'll be okay."

"Exactly."

I got up and resumed my pacing path.