Note: This fic is connected to my other stories Mother's Day and The Reason Why which are both part of my Mother's Day 'verse. Also this fic has slight mentions of Never Forgotten - but can of course be read as a stand alone.
Set in Season 12.
Dean groaned as he dragged himself out of bed – every one of his aches and pains making themselves known.
He was getting too old for this shit.
The last few hunts had been physically taxing to say the least and the older man was feeling it.
He tugged on a pair of jeans and a shirt – snagging a flannel on the way out of his room due to the slight chill the bunker always had in the mornings. Dean stumbled his way to the bathroom – his feet dragging on the floor – after taking care of business he sluggishly made his way down the hall, perking up as he neared the kitchen and the scent of coffee wafted through the air.
He released a content sigh at the sight of the coffee pot – glad to see the steam still rising off of it, because hopefully that meant Sam had woken up relatively recently. The kid hadn't been sleeping since… well since birth really, but more specifically since being fucking tortured by a British psychopath.
Dean made his way towards the counter, pausing as he passed the kitchen table; the mug he used most mornings had been cleaned and was sitting out – which made him twitch a smile because Sam – and was set on top of a box. He recognized the label on the corner of the box to belong to a bakery that he loved about half an hour away. Dean squinted in curiosity trying to find a reason for the delicious gift as he flipped open the lid and gazed at the variety of donuts filling the cardboard container. There were a dozen of the sugar-coated pastries and they all looked fresh and delicious - just the sight of them had Dean's stomach growling in anticipation. He let the box fall shut in favour of satisfying his caffeine fix first. The motion of the cardboard lid closing caused a rush of air that blew a piece of paper off the table and on to the ground. Dean frowned, having not spotted the note until it had floated away. He picked it up and unfolded it to see his little brother's signature chicken scratch, which made him smirk.
Dean had heard somewhere once that the most intelligent people often had the worst handwriting – and that rang true when it came to Sam. The dork was the smartest person Dean knew by far – and yet he had a nearly illegible form of calligraphy. The elder Winchester was pretty sure if he hadn't been the one who taught Sam how to write or grown up trying to decipher the scrawl – he wouldn't have a clue how to read anything his little brother ever printed.
He blinked a couple times, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he focussed on the words in front of him.
Morning Sleepy-Head,
I've decided we are taking the day to hang around and do whatever you want.
Enjoy the donuts, though do please try not to eat them all in one sitting.
It may be your day, but I need to keep you healthy in case I ever need a kidney or something.
Anyways,
Happy Brother's Day, De!
The older man released a surprised laugh at Sam's words, before getting to the last line and pulling out his phone – opening his calendar to see what day it was.
It was the second Sunday in May, which did, in fact, make it Mother's Day.
Dean's heart warmed at the fact that Sam was still giving him little gifts every year on this day – but it ached at the thought of the younger man's actual Mother.
The one who had made a deal to condemn him before he was even born – unintentionally or not it had still happened.
The person who had been absent Sam's entire life – not her desire, but still the cruel reality.
The woman who had returned to the land of the living only to abandon her children a moment later – and then she had come back around once again only to run off with the very people who had tortured her youngest child.
Dean's hands clenched as he stalked over to fill his coffee cup – scowling down at the black liquid that had brought him contentment only moments ago.
Mary was supposed to be here.
She was supposed to be around so she could get to know her sons – most importantly Sam who she had never truly gotten to know, he'd been an infant when she'd died and since being back she barely gave the kid the time of day. Dean had seen that. He'd seen how Mary had come to him more often than his little brother – the rare time she called it was Dean she contacted, Dean she reached out. Sam had noticed all of that as well, had very softly pointed it out in a moment of vulnerability when he had been recovering from a massive migraine, caused by having some deranged witch make his brain bleed when Sam had been doing everything he could to get Dean back his memories and sanity.
Mary was supposed to show Sam what it was like to have a mom.
Sam had written an essay when he was a kid, about how he didn't have a mom, but he had a big brother who taught him how to read and made him lunches and did all those parental things for him. Dean had nearly bawled his eyes out, his heart swelling when he'd read Sam's school paper – but his heart had also broken because the assignment had driven home just how much Sam didn't know about having a mom – how unaware the kid was that Dean was a poor excuse for a maternal replacement. With Mary's return, a naïve side of Dean had hoped that this would be Sam's chance to have a mom and reap all the benefits he'd been robbed of as a child.
But of course, fate had been as cruel to Sam as it had been his entire life – and had used Mary's return as another opportunity to deprive the youngest Winchester of even the simplest happiness.
Because Sammy could never catch a fucking break.
Which was ironic in a painful sort of way – because Dean's little brother was more worthy and more deserving of having good things happen to him than anyone else on the damn planet.
Dean shook his head, trying to dislodge the funk he'd gotten himself into, as he carried his coffee and the box of donuts out of the kitchen and down the hall, in search of his little brother.
He found Sam in the study, hunched over a novel.
Typical.
Dean's lips twitched up at the familiar sight, but his amusement faded as he took in the exhausted state of his little brother. The young man was wearing a hoody that used to be one of Dean's and a pair of sweatpants, both pieces of clothing swallowing his thin frame and classic examples of Sam seeking comfort. The kid tended to don his coziest clothing when he was feeling a little out of sorts and had been wearing that particular sweater an awful lot lately – specifically since he had been beaten, burned, and terrorized in that fucking basement, something Dean had not failed to notice.
He resisted the temptation to go grab a pair of clippers and tame Sam's unruly bedhead, when he set the box on the table and dropped down in the chair across from the younger hunter
Sam looked up from his book with a start, having been so immersed he neglected to notice the other man's arrival. Dean smirked – his lips pulling up into a genuine smile as a helpless response to the dimpled grin that was sent his way.
He wondered if there would ever be a day when his kid brother's smile didn't make Dean feel all sorts of girlie shit. It hadn't happened in the past thirty-four years so he didn't imagine anything was likely to change.
"So we're taking the day off?" He queried, amusement in his tone.
Sam nodded his smile still in place, almost bright enough to disguise the dark circles beneath his hazel eyes – almost.
"Yeah. I mean – I know there's a lot going on. But there's always a lot going on. And we can't really do anything about Cas cause we have no idea where he is, and the Brits have been quiet – for now anyways – so I think we can get away with taking at least a day." Sam sucked in a deep breath after finishing his unnecessary explanation.
Dean didn't need an excuse to spend the day with his kid brother.
"Sounds good." He replied with a nod, because Sam's expectant gaze suggested he was waiting for Dean to give the okay.
"Good." The slimmer man responded – sounding utterly satisfied, as though Dean had just done him some big favor.
"Thanks for the donuts." Dean commented, after another sip of coffee.
Sam's dimples deepened as he nodded. "Dare I ask how many you've eaten?" He asked, his eyes alight with amusement.
"None, yet." Dean said, lifting the lid to give his brother a peak when Sam's gaze turned skeptical.
"Looks like you're gaining some restraint in your old age." The younger man teased.
Dean squinted accusingly across the table as he took a sip of coffee.
"Dare I ask how long you've been awake?" Dean inquired, setting his mug back onto the wooden surface.
Sam's eyes rose questioningly from where they'd dropped down onto the pages of his open book.
"Because I happen to know this bakery is a solid thirty minutes away." He elaborated, tapping the cardboard box.
Sam shrugged. "Yeah, I was up a little early." He admitted before returning his attention to his novel.
Dean frowned. "Nightmares?" He queried softly, knowing Sam had been struggling with those pesky things lately. As it turned out being tortured in a basement was something that liked to prey on one's psyche for several months– especially when it brought up a tsunami of memories from over a century spent in a cage with the most sadistic being to ever exist.
Sam frowned, scratching at the back of his head and then opening and closing his mouth a couple times before visibly giving up at a verbal response. Sam bit his lip and looked up at Dean from under the hair that had fallen in front of his face – giving his big brother a small helpless look.
Dean's insides clenched at the sight
"It'll get better." He offered, knowing perfectly well just how useless his words were – but they were currently all he had to offer.
Sam twitched a twisted little smile, giving a hopeful nod before sighing softly.
They sat in comfortable silence for awhile – Sam reading as Dean drank his coffee and studied the exhausted man across from him.
"You know you don't have to do this stuff anymore." Dean stated after some time, indicating the box of treats sitting between the two men.
Sam's head popped back up his eyes squinted in a second of confusion before he caught on to what his brother was talking about – after which he rolled those same two eyes in a clear display of exasperation.
"I know, dude, you tell me that literally every year." He huffed, obviously unimpressed.
"No, I mean – well yeah, you know it's not necessary – but I meant you don't have to this year cause you have a mom that's like here- I mean like, alive now." Dean tried to explain, inwardly cringing when he misused the word 'here' because Mary was a lot of things but here with her boys, with Sam – that was not one of them.
Sam nodded, his expression less annoyed after his brother's explanation. "Yeah, I know. I sent her a text. Not that I think she'll respond or anything – not to me anyhow – but I sent it." Sam replied with a shrug – acting as though it wasn't a big deal that his mother didn't spare him enough time to respond to a fucking text. Sam was acting like that wasn't a problem – like it didn't matter, like he didn't deserve way fucking more from his family.
But that was the truth, wasn't it?
Sam never understood how much he deserved.
The kid's self-worth had always been jacked-to-hell.
And why wouldn't it be? The world had taught him his entire life that he didn't deserve anything good or pure or decent. He didn't deserve to have two parents who were there for him, he didn't deserve the small favor of being able to grow up in a safe normal environment. He didn't deserve a proper education, he had to strive and fight for all the things that everyone else was granted as a basic right. He didn't deserve a girlfriend to love and give a ring to and spend his life with.
He didn't deserve blood that wasn't tainted or a life that wasn't cursed.
The universe had made all that perfectly clear to the youngest Winchester time and time and time again.
So why the hell would Sam think for one bloody moment that he deserved to have a mother who stuck around.
Dean knew Mary had her own shit to deal with – really, he got that. What he didn't understand is how the woman could run off with the same monsters who broke the bones, burned the skin, and tormented the mind of her youngest child. What he refused to understand was why Mary hadn't even taken time out of her fucking British tea party to so much as acknowledge Sam on his goddamn birthday.
Just over a week ago it had been Sam's birthday – a day Dean had spent years trying to convince the kid was worth celebrating, because Sammy despised his birthday. Dean had texted Mary – casually reminding her of the date and what it represented, something he had done growing up with John more times than he could count. He had done his best to make Sam feel at least a little spoiled throughout the day – something that had been difficult with the shitstorm that was going on around them. At the end of the day when Sam had finally fallen asleep next to Dean during the third Lethal Weapon film – the elder hunter had snagged his little brother's phone and searched it for any communication between Sam and their mother. Dean had found nothing but a series of unanswered texts that Sam had sent to Mary since she had disappeared from their lives – again.
Dean swallowed, the thought breaking his heart all over again.
Sam deserved so much more from the world – but especially from the people who were supposed to love him.
"Dean?"
The elder Winchester blinked, only just realizing he was staring down at the table top - casually tracing the initials he and Sam had recently carved into the wooden surface. Dean refocused his gaze on the slim frame leaning towards the simple carving and serving the shorter hunter a curious look.
"Yeah." He rasped, forcing himself to take another gulp of coffee, hoping to swallow down the fury that had risen up inside of him.
Sam had a lop-sided smile, his head still tilted in slight confusion as he spoke. "Dean, even if Mom was … around, you'd still be getting a box of donuts."
Dean raised his eyebrows but waited as Sam continued, the hazel eyes having captured his green ones.
"Mother's day – as much as I ever understood it – is about celebrating the person who was there for you – who raised you. And for me, that's you. It's always been you and it's always going to be you. Mom being around – her being here or not, isn't going to change that. Nothing is going to change that." Sam explained his voice soft but sure. His gaze oozing so much sincerity and love that Dean felt like he could drown in it.
He had to swallow about six times before he could speak clearly.
"I'm just – I'm sorry, Sammy." He rasped.
"For what?" The younger man wondered, looking absolutely dumbfounded.
"That you got stuck with me. I mean as a brother, obviously I kick ass."
Sam smirked at the comment.
Dean did as well before he sobered, staring down in defeat at the table top. "But as a parent. As a Mom – I just. I'm sorry that I'm all you had." He professed – his voice gravelly as he finally spoke the words that he had kept hidden away in a dark corner of his mind for years.
"I'm not."
The declaration was strong and defiant and immediately had Dean raising his gaze.
"I'm sorry that you had to step up and play a role that no kid should ever have to. I'm sorry for you - that you had to do that – but I'm not sorry for me. Not for one damn second."
Dean was taken aback by the passion in his little brother's tone, it sounding almost like aggression.
"Okay, well good. Do you want some coffee? I'm going to get a refill. I'll grab you some." Dean rambled as he swiftly stood form the table and began to make his way hastily form the room - all of the sudden desperate to escape the conversation he began, not wanting to go down the road he saw it leading to.
"Hey, no. Wait. I'm not finished." Sam declared, moving quick enough to grab Dean by the elbow and tug him back around before the man could get more than a couple steps away from the table.
"What, Sam?" He snapped, feigning irritation in hopes of deterring his little brother's course or action.
Which was foolish of couse, because when had that strategy ever succeeded in the past?
"Dean, you have gotten me through everything. You got me through an entire childhood of constant danger – you saved my life more times than I could even begin to count."
"You've saved mine just as many." Dean interjected.
Sam all but rolled his eyes as he nodded hastily and put a hand up in his older brother's direction, indicating that he wasn't finished.
"You got me into Stanford—
"No, you got you into Stanford, no one else." Dean declared adamantly, refusing to take any credit away from Sam, who had worked his ass off for that full-ride.
Sam shook his head impatiently. "You taught me how to read. You helped me with my homework. You argued and bargained with Dad to get him to let us stay in town when I needed to finish a project or take a test. You kept track of all my grades and transcripts every damn time I had to switch schools. You put a priority on my education even when you had to sacrifice your own."
It was Dean's turn to shake his head, but Sam dismissed the objection with a wave of his hand.
"I never would have made it through high school let alone into Stanford without you." He decreed with all the certainty on the planet. "You got me through losing Jess." Sam added, his voice immediately wavering and his expression turning both broken and wistful the way it always did when Jessica arrived in a conversation – no matter how many years passed by.
Dean swallowed, remembering with a pang of despair how wrecked his kid brother had been when the woman who had won over his carefully guarded heart had been ripped away from him.
"I died. And you traded yourself to bring me back." Sam mentioned a moment later, giving Dean a look that was equal parts grateful and hurt.
"You've made the same sacrifice for me." Dean croaked in response; Sam pinched his lips but gave a nod of acknowledgement before continuing with his speech.
"You got me through addiction." Sam stated, his gaze dropping with an expression that looked dangerously close to shame, something that was completely unacceptable and Dean was one second away from addressing – before Sam glanced back up and spoke again. "You got me my soul back. And you saved me from the cage – more than once."
Dean's fists clenched at the way his kid flinched when he muttered the word 'cage' – hating how much Sam had suffered there and how he still suffered from it now.
"You got me through the darkest corner of hell and you still get me through all the memories that I just can't shake." Sam added, his whisper nearly haunted – likely at the thought of the nightmares he'd been experiencing as of late.
"You don't just shake that kind of shit, Sam." Dean spoke, not wanting his little brother to feel for even a second that he wasn't healing fast enough or moving on quick enough – because the fact that the kid was even functioning after all he had been through was straight-up incredible and a testament to Sam's unparalleled strength.
"You got me out of that basement." Sam continued, his voice steadier. "You have gotten me through everything." He finished, levelling Dean with a serious look – as though he were daring the older man to challenge him.
Dean had never backed down from a dare before.
"I did what I could, but-
"But nothing!" Sam interrupted, no wanting to hear it. "You did everything you could. And yeah- maybe you couldn't save me from everything – but no one could have. Not mom and not dad."
"It wasn't enough. I wasn't enough." Dean shocked himself with his own honesty- his heart pouring out his mouth with no filter to hold back the vulnerable parts.
"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Sam barked in sheer disbelief.
Dean frowned, not sure how to respond to the uncharacteristic outburst of anger.
"Not enough? You were everything." The outrage gave way to unbridled emotion as the hazel eyes Dean was staring into so intently immediately filled with moisture.
The older man swallowed, his own gaze clouding as he was struck with the force of his little brother's emotional declaration, Sam's fingers digging almost painfully into his arm as though the kid were afraid Dean would disappear.
"When I needed a Dad to teach me how to catch a ball or defend myself or drive – you were there. And when I needed a Mom to stay up all night with me when I had chicken-pox or take me to the store to try on new clothes or hug me when I was hurting – you were there." Sam's voice cracked, tears sneaking out the corners of his eyes and sliding unobstructed down his face, his whole body shaking as he continued to speak – as though his physical being was struggling to house the force of emotion flooding through the young man. "And when I needed someone to protect me or teach me how to talk to girls or get me out of a funk and make me laugh – you were there."
Dean swiped at his own eyes – trying and failing to keep his own tears from falling.
"Don't you get it, Dean? You were literally everything that I needed in the moment I needed it." Sam insisted, practically pleading for his big brother to understand the point he was striving to make.
"Sam." Dean rasped. He didn't agree. In his own eyes he had still failed – his kid had been hurt so many times and in so many ways and Dean hadn't been able to stop so much of the pain, but something inside him settled and righted itself at the knowledge that Sam didn't view things the same way. Sam thought he had done enough – that he had been enough – and that meant more to Dean than he'd ever be able to put in to words. Dean was at a lost, so unsure of what to say, so he simply reached out to grip the inside of his little brother's arm – the arm connected to the hand that remained firmly wrapped around Dean's elbow, from when Sam grabbed him to halt his exit.
"I know stupid little crafts and essays and cards aren't enough. I won't ever be able to pay you back for everything you've done for me – I know that."
"You don't owe me anything." Dean was adamant on that point, his stern tone indicating that exact fact.
"It's not like that - not like I'm in debt." Sam amended shakily, sniffing as he continued to blink the moisture from his eyes, pushing his hand impatiently through his hair as he appeared to be searching for the proper words to express his thoughts. "I just – I'm – I need to do something to show you that I know how much you gave up, how much you have done and still do for me. To show you that I don't take you for granted – I need to do something to acknowledge you and everything you've done to raise me."
Dean shook his head, Sam immediately interpreting the motion for the objection it was.
"You might not need that. I know that. Cause of how you are – you probably don't need to be reminded of how grateful I am for every single thing you've done for me – you don't think that's necessary, I get that – really, I do. But I need it. I need to know that I have done something to show you that I know who raised me and I won't ever forget."
Dean sucked in a deep breath; Sam's declarations having felt like an emotional sucker punch.
"So just – just give me this day. Okay? Give me just one day where I can buy you stupid shit and leave you little notes and buy you fucking donuts. Just give me that and shut up about it. Okay?" Sam pleaded softly, sounding both exasperated and desperate.
Dean nodded, because he could never deny Sam something he needed – especially something so simple.
Sam released a relieved sigh – obviously he had been ready for some push-back – his body deflating as he gave an appreciative squeeze to Dean's arm.
"Thank you." He rasped before releasing his hold on the older man, swiping at his damp eyes as he made to move away.
It was Dean's turn to halt his brother.
Sam paused when the older man didn't release his grip and sent the shorter hunter a curious look.
Dean took a moment, sniffing softly as he stared at the floor and waited to regain control before speaking.
"I don't want you to think that being there for you – that raising you – was some sort of task I got saddled with." He stated, speaking slow and clear as his green gaze climbed up off the floor to reconnect with the hazel one.
Sam opened his mouth but Dean continued before he could release a sound.
"Because it wasn't some chore. Okay? Protecting you, teaching you, being around for you – that made me who I am and it … it saved me in a lot of ways. So just- just don't think that I would change anything. Because I wouldn't, Sammy. I wouldn't change a damn thing."
Dean prayed his brother would take his words for the truth they were and not argue or pry any further – because he had reached his emotional limit for the year and he really didn't want to get in to the fact that if he hadn't had a kid to raise and look out for – if Sam hadn't been around to keep the light in Dean's eyes and a purpose in his life – that the older boy would have checked out long ago. He didn't want to elaborate on the fact that being Sam's guardian had kept Dean sane, kept him fighting and hoping and dreaming and breathing. Raising a soul as sensitive as Sam forced the elder Winchester to keep in touch with that softer side of himself and had prevented him from becoming hard and bitter like so many hunters did. Dean didn't have the emotional stamina to get into all of that right now.
Thank God for small favors, because for once Sam didn't go poking and prodding, he simply nodded his head – accepting Dean's truth at face value, only then did the older boy release his hold on his little brother.
"Sorry for – uh messing your day up with a chick-flick moment." Sam apologized swiping the tear tracks from his face.
"Pretty sure I started it, so you're off the hook." Dean dismissed, running his palm over his face and then up through his hair as he shook off the remnants of his emotional overload.
"So, uuh, what do you want to do today?" Sam asked, returning to his seat at the table. Dean followed his brother, sitting back down across from him.
"I want to eat donuts." He replied simply, reaching forward and flipping the cardboard box open.
Sam chuckled. "I figured. Anything else? Or are you just going to eat all those and then fall into a sugar coma?"
"Well I'm not going to eat them all, because you are going to have some."
Sam scowled at the statement – giving Dean the same look he had back when the older boy had tried to get his little brother to finish his peas. In Sam's defense they had been canned peas and nasty as hell, but were sometimes the only vegetable the Winchester's could afford.
"I got them for you. Not me." Sam mumbled, staring disdainfully at the rows of pastries.
"C'mon now, Sammy, don't make me eat alone on Brother's Day." Dean prompted shamelessly, having no qualms in resorting to guilt to get his kid to eat.
Sam gave him a knowing look before sighing in defeat and plucking a donut from the box.
"Happy?" He said after taking a bite – mouth still full of food.
Dean grinned at the childish behaviour. "Ecstatic." He claimed with a wink.
And he was.
How could he not be?
He was spending the day with his little brother, who had gone out of his way to show his gratitude – and though it was far from necessary, the older man would be lying if he said it didn't make him feel loved.
Sam smiled in response to Dean's one-word quip, obviously detecting the sincerity in his older brother's tone – because no one could read Dean like Sammy could.
The two brothers spent the morning teasing and laughing with one another as they filled up on donuts. In the afternoon they went for a drive, no destination intended, just a cruise down the backroads. Dean felt more peaceful than he had in a long damn time, sitting behind the wheel, one of his favorite tapes playing softly over the speakers, and (most importantly) his little brother curled up barefoot in the passenger seat – turtled into Dean's old hoody as his soft hazel eyes gazed calmly out the window. He appeased Sam's hippie appetite with a chicken salad for lunch – Dean getting himself a burger because he had no interest in rabbit food – which they ate in the car parked in front of a creek, because neither of them had any interest in interacting with the outside world and because Sam wasn't wearing any shoes. For dinner they picked up pizza and settled in Sam's room to binge watch all the TV shows they always managed to fall far behind on.
Ecstatic didn't begin to cover just how happy Dean felt that night long after the sun had set, as he sat stretched on Sam's bed in front of the television, with a full belly and his little brother curled up at his side. The hunter could do little but smile as he watched his kid slowly drifting off to sleep, his forehead pressed against Dean's thigh when he began to surrender to the exhaustion that had been shadowing his eyes for months on end.
Dean placed a hand on Sam's head, combing his hair gently from his face before settling his palm in between his younger man's shoulder blades. His other hand went to his pocket, where he had placed the note from that morning, the note that would be transferred to an envelope that still lived in the bottom of Dean's duffle. Both he and Sam had unpacked the majority of their meager belongings into the bunker – though it took the youngest Winchester a long-ass time to unpack a damn thing – but they both still had go-bags that they kept on-hand in case they needed to book it. Dean kept the envelope that contained every Mother's Day gift his kid had given him in that go-bag, not willing to risk unpacking it and having it left behind in an emergency.
He didn't have a lot of possessions – neither of the Winchester boys ever really had – but there were a few things he wasn't willing to lose, and that envelope was one of them.
"Happy Brother's Day, De." Sam mumbled sleepily, tossing his arm over Dean's legs as he nuzzled against him.
Dean nearly laughed at the cat-like antics, gently rubbing up and down Sam's spine as he watched the long body mold itself up against his, fitting like a puzzle piece the way it always had even back when it had been a quarter the size.
"Thanks, Sammy." He whispered in response, resting back against the headboard and allowing his eyes to fall close, the peaceful smile lingering on his lips as he drifted off to sleep. His brain for once not keeping him awake with thoughts of a current crisis or impending doom – but lulling him with ponderings of all the simple pleasures his day had been filled with and how fucking much he loved the young man at his side.
The child who had been abandoned by his parents and cheated by the world – and yet remained the most caring and forgiving human being on the fucking planet.
The man who had saved Dean's life more times and in more ways than he could ever hope to calculate.
The boy who – for better or for worse – Dean had raised.
His kid.
Sammy.
The End
Note: Thoughts? I'd love to know what you think. Also sorry for any grammatical/spelling errors, I typed most of this out on my phone at work so it might not be the greatest. Thanks for reading! - Sam