Summary: No matter what, Dean is still Sam's older brother and older brothers look out for younger brothers. Period.

A/N: I needed something with brotherly love and thus this little baby was born. Set directly after ITGPSW, spoilers for that episode and a tiny bit of 'Metamorphosis'. Rated for language and violence.

Brothers, Always

If there's one thing that hasn't really changed over the years, it's Sam's dislike of bars. He hates the smell of them, the look of them and the way his shoes stick to the drying beer on the floor. Sam knows bars are a necessary evil of the hunting life, especially when it comes to obtaining money, but they were just something that he had ever gotten comfortable with. He remembers being sixteen and curling his lip up every time he entered a new small town bar with his brother, his head rebelling against the alcohol and cigarette fumes as he ignores the leering looks from the creepy people scattered in the room. The feeling had never really faded in the ten years since but his thought process had been changed drastically after Dean went to hell. After Dean died, bars became something of a second home. Part of it was because he needed cash and hustling was the easiest way to get it. Another part was because the pain in his chest hurt so bad that alcohol was the only thing he had to dull it and even with that precious liquid, the pain wasn't even close to being tolerable. The biggest part was because bars reminded him of Dean. They reminded him of his brother's swank confidence, his smirk, his smell, the way he'd say "don't worry, Sammy, I got your back" every time they entered one of the shady places. It was one of the few ways besides the Impala that he could feel just a little bit closer to his brother. So he honestly doesn't know why he still went to them after Dean came back and he definitely doesn't know why he still hustled pool, a new force of habit he guesses, but that new habit is exactly how he ended up with a face the color of a plum and a shiny new stab wound in his back.

Looking back, Sam doesn't really know what he was thinking, in more than one sense. Pulling Samhain back to hell had left him feeling more drained than he had felt in a long time. That demon was more powerful than anything he had tried to mentally exorcise before and his body was definitely feeling it. His head had a marching band from hell residing in it, complete with a drum line, and his body felt just plain worn down. And if all the physical aspects didn't suck enough, the heart breaking look Dean fixed him after the deed was done with sure took care of the rest. Even if he had the strength to explain to Dean what had happened, he knew his brother wouldn't listen to him, he knew Dean wouldn't see what Sam saw. He wouldn't see that Sam had new bruises on his face from Samhain wailing on it, he wouldn't see Ruby's knife out of reach on the floor and he wouldn't see how the demon had him by his throat, leaving him with no choice. Dean wouldn't see how much Sam didn't want to do it. What he would see is Sam using his freaky demon powers and betraying his brother, again. So after it happened, he forced himself to follow Dean back to the car, trying not to show how much his body hurt and trying to ignore the silence quickly closing in on them. The ride was short, tense and way too much for Sam to handle at that point and when the motel parking lot came into view, he thought he might die from relief. He clambered out of the car, hiding the wince that came with standing up too fast and waited for Dean to do the same. Dean didn't budge and Sam furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. He guesses he shouldn't be surprised that Dean doesn't want to follow him into the motel room to spend some more quality time in painful silence with more accusing, 'what the hell were you thinking?' looks but it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt when Dean says, "I'll be back later, don't wait up."

Sam barely gets to nod before Dean's screeching out of the motel parking lot, going in the opposite direction. Sam knew it was stupid but he couldn't help the clench of his stomach as he watched Dean leave, it felt like abandonment, like Dean wasn't coming back. It was a stupid thought because Dean wouldn't just take off and leave him, it's not Dean's style, but after Dean being gone for four months, he still gets a little wigged when Dean isn't in his eye line.

Sam blinks, realizing that he is just standing in the middle of the motel parking lot, looking like a little boy lost. He shifts his weight, unsure of what to do. His body is screaming at him to go lie down and sleep for the next fifteen hours but his battered brain is on overdrive. It comes in flashes, the fight with Samhain, the meeting with the angels, Dean's expression piercing through him. Yeah, he's not going to be getting any sleep any time soon. He drags his hand over his face and glances around, trying to decide what to do. That's when he catches the neon glow of the bar sign down the road. His feet were moving before his brain event sent the signal to go, his body moving to the neon glow like a homing beacon. When he pushes open the door to the bar, he freezes in surprise. People dressed as cowboys, policemen, saloon girls, fairies, oversized bananas, you name it, litter the bar like strategically placed cut outs. That's when it hits him that Halloween is still in full swing and it's the bar witching hour. He relaxes and chuckles at his own temporary moronic moment and makes his way to the bar counter.

He squeezes between a man dressed as an electric plug and a girl in a saucy pirate costume and tells the bar tender, "Bud, draft."

He had pretty much stopped drinking after Dean came back, figuring that his brother was consuming enough whiskey for the both of them, but it just felt wrong to be in a bar without a beer, especially when he was in said bar to hustle some pool. It's a small town and a small set up, so there's only one pool table, but that's fine with Sam, as long as there's a game in play. There is, thankfully, with two guys dressed up as zombies.

'Nice', Sam thinks wirily, 'As if there isn't enough irony in my life.'

Sam takes a moment to observe. To anyone else, they wouldn't look like much of a threat but Sam knew different. He could see the hidden muscle under the torn clothing, could tell that they had a different kind of confidence by the way they carried themselves. They could possibly be military or off duty cops, or, if Sam really wanted to go out on a limb, other hunters. Or maybe they were just old high school football players, jocks that hadn't quite lost their swagger. Whatever their profession or background, Sam knew that if he went for this, that he needed to be careful. He has enough bruises for right now, thanks.

He takes a gulp from his beer, thankful that the taste is helping chase away the ache in his head, and makes his way over to the pool table.

The two zombies are chuckling when Sam gets there, just having a swell ole' time as they alternate taking shots with the cue. They pause when they notice Sam's towering figure and Sam does his best to appear non-intimidating and a little bit tipsy.

"Hey, you need another guy?"

The two men look at Sam, then look at each other and grin. If all the other events of the night weren't enough to make Sam stop and stay at the motel, then that smile should have been the one to finally put things to rest. It didn't and zombie number one, who Sam later learned was Zeke, pushed a pool cue into Sam's hand.

"Sure, dude, let's see what you've got."

Zeke and Greg, as it turns out the other is, are cousins and Sam was right when he assumed they were a little bit more than average Joe's. After some meaningless conversation, Sam found out that they are both well trained in martial arts, like "Full on Jackie Chan shit, man."

Sam was amused by this but also cautious. There was a chance, a very large chance, that they're just bullshitting but there's also the small chance that they're not. Sam would rather just win the game quietly, leave with the money and call it a night, and forget that the holiday Halloween even exists. Sam should have known better because he never gets that kind of break.

Sam had one shot left on the table, not counting the eight ball, when Zeke and Greg finally caught on to Sam's game. Sam guesses his story of "that's so crazy! I haven't played since high school!" wasn't pulling one over anymore as he sunk the last ball in a nearly impossible shot.

"You must have been some player back in high school," Greg states, his steely eyes settling on Sam after he watches the yellow ball disappear in the pocket.

Sam knows in the back of his mind that he's been made but he shrugs, "Not really, guess luck is just on my side for once."

Sam would've missed the covert look between Greg and Zeke but years of doing the same thing with Dean made him catch it immediately. Watching the exchange sets of an extremely painful twinge in his chest as he thinks of his brother and of how things used to be between them, before things got so messed up.

Zeke turns his attention on Sam and he tenses up, waiting for a verbal or a physical confrontation. He'd already mapped out the exits, scanned the room for potential weapons, and took note of who may or may not step in to help with the wailing. That's when he noticed, with a certain amount of panic, that there was literally an exit right behind him and if Zeke and Greg were thinking what Sam thinks they're thinking, they could have him shoved out into the back alley in a few micro seconds and no one would be the wiser. Zeke and Greg were totally thinking what Sam was thinking. Sam didn't have very much time to react. His hands flung out to try and catch himself on the doorway before he was shoved out, but all that did was give him a few more scratches on his hands to go with the miscellaneous ones on the rest of his body. He went tumbling into the alley way, his tall body desperately trying to right itself before it face planted into the pavement. Thankfully, hunting had brought up his coordination and he saves himself the pain of his face meeting concrete. He stands up, gets into a defensive pose, and mentally sizes his opponents and tries to see the best way to win the fight. Then he remembers "Full on Jackie Chan shit" and his thought process falters.

Damn it.

Sam knows he's a damn good fighter. Dean and his father had taught him well and the four months that Dean had been dead had toughened him to a state that he'd rather not be in, but it helped his sparring skills. He knows that he'd be able to take on two regular guys with no problem but Sam has no idea what 'Jackie Chan shit' actually consists of and worse yet, he doesn't know what that means when there's two of them. Even with knowing this, his confidence and his stubbornness doesn't waver, letting his game face drop would only look like an invetation to get his ass handed to him.

"This doesn't have to end badly, man, just give the money back and we'll let you go with a wounded pride," Zeke says, taking a small step forward.

This is where Sam knows he should say something like, "Yeah, sure, whatever, take it," but there's a few things holding him back. One, they were running low on cash and Sam just wrung three hundred dollars out of these guys and two, there's some things that Winchesters will leave wounded, their pride is not one of them. In his head he can hear Dean scoff and say "Damn straight!" Yeah, Sam wasn't backing down from this fight.

"I won it fair and square," Sam replies, backing up even more and tightening his fighting stance.

"See, it's the 'fair' part I'm having issues with, how bout you, Zeke?" Greg asks as he draws nearer to Sam.

God these two reminded him so much of himself and Dean that it was making him sick, sick with envy and nostalgia.

"Yeah, you could say I have an issue with that part," Zeke replies almost nonchalantly but Sam can hear the dangerous undertone in his voice.

For the second time, Sam wonders exactly what he's gotten himself into. Greg moved before Sam even had a chance to parry the hit. His fist drove into the side of Sam's face, the side that Samhain had favored too, the bastard, with the force of a brick. Good God, Sam didn't think it was possible to hit that hard if you were a human, he doesn't even think that Dean hits that hard and that was honestly saying something. Sam went down like a rock but he was up quick, shaking off the stars swirling around his head as best as possible. Greg was on him in a flash, delivering a kick-punch-punch-kick combo that Sam had never even seen before let alone deflected. The attack leaves Sam panting on the ground and spitting blood. He pushes himself to his knees, leaving his heaving ribs vulnerable to assault. He realizes his mistake immediately as one of them, Sam has no idea which, kicks the open area, sending Sam sprawling. Sam grits his teeth against the pain, wondering if he imagined the snapping of a bone in his chest or not. He uses the wall to haul himself up and then quickly maneuvers himself so he's not trapped by it.

Zeke chuckles, "You got balls, kid, I'll give you that."

'Can't help it,' Sam thinks with a small smirk, 'Last name's Winchester.'

"Want to rethink handing that cash over now?" Greg asks, taking a few threatening steps forward.

Sam doesn't know if it's the latest knocks to the head, the fuzziness that had been there before, or what but for some stupid reason he says, "Sorry, think you'll have to try harder than that."

He actually blocked the next hit. Greg's fist came from his right side and Sam reacted just quickly enough to throw up his left forearm and pull back with his right fist, pushing his knuckles into Greg's nose. There was a satisfying crunch and a wail that came from Greg but his victory was short lived, because now Zeke was pissed and very much ready to beat Sam to a pulp.

Shit.

Sam held him off for a few punches and one kick but by that point he was reaching a new level of exhaustion and really, what was he thinking doing this after Samhain had worked him over? Zeke got in another good punch, one that had Sam's eye swelling shut almost immediately. Sam was on the ground again, this time spitting out blood and praying that a tooth didn't come with it.

"No one busts my cousin's nose and gets away with it," Zeke growls and Sam can see his shadow moving closer to his slouched over body.

God, he doesn't know if he's going to get out of this without landing himself in the hospital.

"Hey!"

Zeke pauses and so does Sam's breathing. He'd know that voice anywhere, the infliction, the hidden threat in it. Dean.

"Keep moving, man, you don't want to get into this," Zeke says as he moves away from Sam.

As far back as he can remember, Dean's beat every human being's ass they'd come across, be it bullies, bar flies, or guys who just needed a punch to the face, Dean has taken them down. Sam's not so sure that's going to happen this time around and that has him trying to get himself up, his heart starting to stutter in panic.

"Uh, actually I do, because that's my kid brother you're wailing on and no one gets to do that but me," Dean replies.

Sam winces and not because of the strain he's putting on his beaten body. Just last week Dean had laid into him, punching him twice in the face after finding out that Sam had lied about using his powers and had out right betrayed him. Like he did tonight. Suddenly Sam's not so sure anymore that he deserves to be saved by Dean, but that doesn't mean that he wants Dean to get his ass handed to him either.

"Dean, wait," Sam gasps but it's unheard by his brother, either that or ignored.

"Your kid brother is an idiot for hustling us and trying to take off with the money," Zeke says.

Dean chuckles lightly, "Yeah, well he is an idiot but not for hustling you bozos. Seriously, dude, zombies?"

Sam can hear Zeke growl and he finally forces himself to move, once again using the brick wall to pull himself up. Sam knows that he's not going to be much use in a fight right now, but he can catch Zeke off guard, knock him over, something, so that Dean could get the drop on him.

"Last chance, walk away," Zeke says and steps towards Dean.

Sam can see the familiar fight stance that Dean falls into and immediately knows that this is going to end either with both of them in the ER or with Zeke passed out cold. He hopes it's the later.

"Not going to happen," Dean replies easily and prepares for Zeke to attack.

Bring the fight to you, never the other way around.

Sam's trying to find the energy and vertigo to push himself off the wall when the first punch lands. To his relief, it's Dean that's smashing Zeke's face in and not the other way around, for now. Dean throws a couple of hooks and one hard cross over punch to Zeke and Zeke blocked all but the last one. Zeke went spiraling with the force of the hit and Sam can't restrain the smile that painfully splits his face. Briefly Sam wonders why Dean didn't just pull his gun on Zeke, using scare tactic instead of actually fighting, but then Sam remembers the mausoleum. Dean probably needs to let off some steam and he probably didn't get the fight he needed back when Sam was taking care of the demon. Maybe they'll get out of this in one piece after all. Sam wants to snort in sarcastic amusement but doesn't because his nose, his entire face, hurts.

Zeke recovers and swings hard at Dean, who doesn't get out of the way in time. Zeke's fist lands hard and Sam winces, knowing all too well exactly what that felt like. Dean stumbles but doesn't go down, and that makes Sam feel a little better because so far, he's doing better than Sam had done.

"Sonuvabitch," Dean grunts as he shakes off the punch, a look of surprised anger on his face.

Sam grits his teeth and pushes himself off the wall, trying to force himself to stagger over to where Zeke and Dean were brawling three yards away. From what he could tell, Dean was winning or at least holding his own, but it was a little hard to be sure with his right eye almost completely swollen shut. He makes it a yard, maybe a yard and a half and the sounds of fists and feet hitting flesh are becoming more prominent. He can't tell who's taking the brunt of the hits but at this point, it doesn't really matter. He has one mission and it's to distract Zeke, and get Dean out of the mess Sam put him in.

Sam doesn't hear the shuffling behind him; he's too concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and getting to Dean. It's a subtle sound but a dangerous one, one that just screamed foreboding. In any other situation, Sam would've been turned around in an instant at the scrap of boot against cement, but this wasn't any other situation.

He doesn't really know what's happening until it's too late. He thinks he can hear Dean shout something, it might have been his name, it might have been something else, but the sound is cut off when Zeke tackles him to the ground. Sam sees Dean go down and he stumbles as he tries to pick up his pace. Suddenly an arm shoots out from behind him and winds around his shoulders, hauling him back up…and right into the sharp end of a knife. He might have grunted or cried out when the sharp, white hot pain went through his side but he couldn't be too sure, sounds were starting to mute. He realized almost immediately what was happening because he's been here before. He remembers this kind of pain, the way things fade out, the way Dean's yelling dimmed down slowly. He was dying and it was in the same damn way it happened the first time, almost down to the detail. Yeah, irony was a bitch.

A/N: Like usual, I had intended for this to be a oneshot but it just got so fricken long that I decided it would be better to do Dean's POV in a second chapter. So this may end up being three chapters long. Or four. You never know with me.