A/N: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters.

This is a short story that takes place throughout the season so I will be sure to inform if and what season there are spoilers for as chapters progress. For this one there really is no spoilers.

Thank you so much to anyone who reads, follows, reviews, and/or favorites. Another special thank you to LilyBolt who's been a great support and amazing person.

Chapter 1: Hi Sammy, I'm Your Big Brother

People see a lot of things in my brother. They see him as good, intimidating, brave, macho, hysterical, immature, impulsive, isolated, taboo, desirable, faulty, agonizing, protective, aggressive, efficient, rambunctious, loyal, dependable, predictable, upbeat, abrasive, inadequate, convenient, crazy, brash, lustful, impossible, unbelievable, broken, depressed, guilt ridden, heroic...I could go on. Everyone sees him in their own way and can see different things in him. I can see most of that too. But there was something more that I could see within my brother, something no one else could. A light. I don't know if it's because I've been with the guy 24/7 for almost my entire life, or if there's some other reason. All I know is that I have been aware of it and seen it since as long as I can remember. Actually, that's not entirely true. Since before I could remember.

I can't recall much of the day, but I remember the important parts. It had been my sixteenth Birthday. I can't remember what we did that day, but that night, that I remember clearly. Well...pretty much anyways. I had been sitting at the little wooden table in the dingy hotel room with a Del Sol just out of elbow reach. My dad never approved of me and underage drinking, even though Dean had started younger. It was because of my brother and his smooth talk that I was sitting with one to begin with.

"Come on Dad, it's the big one six. It's a milestone for crying out loud. You let me have one, remember? It's not like he's going out anywhere tonight."

"Dean, no."

"Aw come on, what's the point of being good if you can't be bad every now and again?" In the end, Dad was convinced. I could have ONE beer. The one that had been sitting at the table was number two. Also courtesy of Dean. He had slipped me another one while Dad had stepped out briefly to use the restroom.

My brother had been zonked out on the too small couch still completely in his day clothes and work boots, his legs outstretched, and his arm closest to the tv dipped in the bowl filled with Tortilla chips that he had been pigging out on. A thing of salsa sat on the cheap carpet next to that and next to that, my brother's...I believe third, El Sol. The hand that hadn't been in the chips rested on his chest, rising and falling with his chest. The small unmistakable sound of snoring could be heard. I had snickered at him and rolled my eyes. Dean liked to party, but no matter how hard he did, he always crashed hard.

"Sam," the sound of my name drew my attention. Directly across from me, Dad had been sitting with a bottle of whiskey and an empty shot glass. He had my full and undivided attention, and yet all he did was look at me while twirling the empty shot glass, if I didn't know my father I would say it was a nervous gesture. Then his gaze would move over to Dean.

"Yeah Dad?" I had said to try and coax a response from him. It felt odd to tell you the truth. Dad and I weren't usually on the best of terms with one another, especially during my teenage years. Dean may have been a handful with his love for booze, babes, brawls, and parties, but he had been the perfect son when it come to orders from Dad. I on the other hand never partied, never drank, never fought, never fooled around, always was reading or studying, but I would buttheads and get into yelling matches any time he was home. Dean had informed us before that we sounded like a couple of territorial male elephant seals. Of course, at that age, when I yelled I sounded like a girl trying to sound like a man. However, that didn't stop me from raising my voice at him anyways.

"Did I..." He paused slightly, as though what he was trying to say was something he would rather not talk about. "Did I ever tell you about the day your mother and I brought you home from the hospital?" My heart was pounding, my eyes grew wide, and I gulped.

"No sir," I had responded trying to keep out any and all signs of excitement in my voice so as not to spook him out of the story. Our dad never talked about the past, that is not unless it was a reminder of how the last time we were stupid things hadn't turned out so well. An example being when we were on a ghost hunt in Neveda one time he had said to me "don't turn your back on the monster son, I don't care if you were helping your brother up. Remember What happened last time you did that?" I always would respond with a "signature Sammy eye roll" as Dean would call it. It was like Dad had a personal motto: Never share the past, always keep it locked up. Even more so, he NEVER brought up Mom, EVER. If it hadn't been for pictures, I wouldn't have even known what she looked like. Let alone that I even had one.

"When we first got through the front door, neither of us knew what to expect. We had told Dean that he was going to be a big brother, and he seemed pretty happy about it. I had heard stories about older sibling's torturing and teasing the first newcomer to the family. I even heard of cases where the oldest actually tried to kill them. So you can imagine my fear when I heard the stomping of little feet and the call out to your mother and I as your brother ran down the stairs to greet us. A friend of ours had been watching him while we were gone. He got to the end of the staircase and rushed at me full speed. He was all smiles." Dad had smiled at the shot glass as though he was actually in the memory itself. "Let me tell you something Sam, your brother, was the happiest kid I had ever met. I had never seen anyone with a bigger smile than Dean when he was a boy. I picked him up, gave him a hug and a kiss on the forehead and set him down. When he went to hug your mother, his eyes fell on you. I watched him cautiously as he observed. I saw something in Dean that day that I hadn't really seen before. His eyes seemed to shine brighter, which I had been certain was impossible. He had asked us if that was him, his little brother. I had been too petrified to say anything, but your mother knew exactly how to handle the situation. She always did. She told him you were and that your name was Sam. Dean begged your mother to let him hold you. Now, I was afraid he may be too rough or that he might drop you, but your mother told him he could and she placed you in Dean's little arms. Of course she made sure to position them just right and told him to be very careful. I wish I had taken a picture, although I doubt it would have captured the glow that shone on your brother's face as he peered down at you. He was holding you so tight I thought we were going to have to get a crowbar to pry you back." Dad stopped, poured himself a shot, threw it back and sat staring at the glass. I had been terrified he would stop there, that that was all he was incline to say. Already he had said more about the past then he had ever shared before. His eyes had moved from the shot glass up to me and I could see he was fighting back tears that were threatening to fall down his cheeks. "You know what his first words to you were Sam?" He asked me. Of course I didn't, no one had ever told me any of this before, not Dad, not Dean, not even Bobby. I shook my head blinking tears out of my own eyes. "He looked you straight in the eyes and said 'hi Sammy, I'm you're big brother Dean and I promise to look after you.' No four year old talks like that." His eyes moved from mine back to my brother. "But hot damn if that boy hasn't kept his promise." I had looked over at the snoring young man on the couch. A smile crept over my face as I did, the same smile our Dad wore, or so I was told.

"He really said that? At four? With no one telling him to?"

Dad nodded. "It was from that point on that I knew I wouldn't have to worry about you two. Sure you boys have had your disagreements and your differences, but you are brothers after all, teasing and fighting comes with the territory." It had felt like Dad had been possessed by some emotional ghost or something and I had been tempted to throw salt at him just to make sure he was really him.

"He wants to be just like you," I had said turning my gaze from Dean back to our dad. His face grew very stoic and he looked at me stern and...was it fear? Anger? Sadness? There was a hint of something, maybe all of the above.

"Don't let him," he replied.

"What?" It had caught me a little off guard to be honest. All this time, he had been raising us to be the perfect soldiers so that we could fight this battle with him, get our revenge and in the process, save some people. Dean already was on his way to becoming a carbon copy. Same dress code, same favorite music, same love or at least need for the job, even the same car interests. Of course, when it came to me, that's where they differed the most. Dad's mission in life was to find what killed Mom and get his revenge. Dean's mission was to keep me safe from everything in the world. My mission, I had been really starting to hate the hunting life more and more as I got older. I would have rather been sitting in the library studying up for my next test then on how to kill a werewolf. I had wanted to play soccer like all the other boys my age instead of sparring with my brother and learning how to use which weapon when killing what. I wanted to talk to friends and meet girls instead of talking to victim's loved ones and witnesses, or even victims themselves when they had managed to make it out alive. You know, a normal life. Already I had been thinking about what it might be like to go to college, get a real education, land myself a career, maybe settle down with a nice girl and have 2.5 kids. "The Apple pie life" as Dean called it.

"I don't want either of you to become me, you understand?"

I hadn't. "What do you mean Dad?" Unlike my brother, I didn't have trouble pushing questions on anyone.

"Keep that smile on his face," was all he said. With that he got up from the table and made his way to the bed closest to the front door. I had sat awhile longer soaking in everything I had heard that night. My eyes fell on Dean and I listened to his comforting somehow soothing sound sleep. Sleep had been hard for me, and any source of light or sound would wake my brother up if it was unexpected. I imagine it had to do with always being on alert. I blamed Dad for it. With Dean being so easy to startle awake most nights, I would just lay in my bed with no tv and no lights and just listen to Dean breath. It always lulled me into my own sleep. It made me feel safe, like I wasn't alone.

Dad had revealed that Dean had been the happiest kid he had ever met. It wasn't a mystery as to what had changed. How does a four year old go from playing with little plastic green army men and metal toy cars to learning how to aim and shoot a gun properly and drive a boat of car before he was even legally allowed to? Or know how and what was needed to sew up a wound? Maybe the biggest question of all, was how could a guy who had seen so much bad and so much death be so good and so full of life?