For my beautiful Dani; happy birthday sweetpea.

He never got to ask his question. He'd heard noises, then had heard Mommy scream. Why was she screaming? Was she hurt? Why did the air smell funny? What was going on?

Then Daddy came hurrying out of Sammy's room with something in his arms. He looked scared; Daddy was never scared. He bent down next to Dean, and handed the something in his arms over. It was Sammy, wrapped in a blanket.

"Take your brother outside, as fast as you can," Daddy ordered. Dean froze for a second, before Daddy said, "Now, Dean, go!"

So Dean went. He held Sammy tight, hurrying down the stairs as fast as he dared. So far he'd only held Sammy when he was sitting in the big chair downstairs. This was different, and Mommy wasn't sitting near him to help if Sammy squirmed or Dean got worried that he'd drop his baby brother.

The front door knob was tough to open when he was holding a baby, but Dean wasn't putting Sammy down. There was a roaring from upstairs, like a big monster was up there, and the funny smell in the air was making him cry. He didn't want Sammy to cry because of it, too, so he opened the door fast and hurried out down the porch steps.

Once he was outside, he stopped in the front yard, looking up. There was something bright and burning in Sammy's room, and Dean could see Mommy in it, looking even more scared than Daddy had.

Sammy started to cry and squirm, but Dean couldn't take his eyes off of Mommy. "It's okay, Sammy," Dean said, hoping it really was okay.

Then Daddy came running out, grabbed Dean and lifted him into the air fast, carrying him away as the house blew up. Dean gasped and clutched at Sammy in his arms, wrapping him up tight and making sure he didn't drop him. He wouldn't drop Sammy. Sammy was so tiny, like a stuffed animal, but Dean knew if he dropped Sammy, he couldn't just pick him up like one of his toys. Sammy would break.

"I won't let you drop, promise," Dean whispered to Sammy as he heard sirens getting louder.

The spirit was closing in, shrieking loud enough to burst his eardrums. Up ahead, Dean could see his brother, hurrying through the halls. "In there!" he shouted, pointing to the door his brother was close to.

He saw a head nod, right before his brother shifted directions and darted into the room. He gritted his teeth and pushed his feet into the floor, determined to follow his brother in.

"Dee!"

Dean glanced up from his army men and frowned. Sammy had been playing right in front of him just a minute ago. "Sammy?"

"Dee!" His voice didn't sound happy and giggly like it had when he'd been in front of Dean, either. It sounded scared. Dean immediately jumped up and ran towards the voice.

Sammy was on the kitchen floor, staring at a big spider that was crawling towards him. "Dee?" he said, his lower lip trembling, his eyes wide open and afraid. He turned towards Dean, whimpering as if he were about to cry. He held out his arms for help. "Dee, pease," he pleaded.

Dean reached down for the two year old, wrapping his arms around Sammy's waist just as he felt hands wrap around his neck. Sammy wasn't all that big; he was easy to carry back to the bedroom where he was supposed to have been in the first place. "S'okay, Sammy," he said, gently setting the toddler down. "I'll go take care of that big, mean spider. Okay?"

Sammy nodded, eyes still wide. "And you'll stay here?" Dean asked.

Sammy nodded even harder this time. "'Tay hewe," he promised.

"Okay," said Dean, turning and heading back into the kitchen. The spider was still crawling around the floor.

With great care he led the spider into a cup, then opened the door and let the spider crawl out. He closed everything up, tossed the cup into the sink, and headed back to Sammy.

The door had barely shut before the spirit hit it, shrieking even louder now. The door held, though, and muffled out some of it.

"Now what?" he heard a voice pant behind him. Hell if he knew.

"Wait it out?"

A snort, then, "You really think that's going to work? C'mon, Dean."

"Yeah, all right," he admitted. "Probably not. Any other way out of this house?"

He heard nothing for a moment, then, "The kitchen's our best bet."

"Kitchen's on the floor below us, Sam."

Not even a pause in the response now. "Dumbwaiter. I saw it while I was running. It's across the hall."

Dean nodded. "It's our best shot. Let's wait until Mister Severed His Own Head finds a mouse to yell at and leaves us the hell alone for two seconds."

"Sam?" Dean called into the darkness. He was thirteen now, and he knew what he was doing on a hunt. A werewolf was actually easier than most people thought. Easy to find, easier still to kill. It was especially easy when you knew what you were doing, like Dean did.

Sam didn't, though. Not yet. He was only nine, and the one time Dad had given him a gun to kill the thing in his closet, he'd freaked. And that hadn't been anything more than a nightmare, all of it in Sam's head. He knew because he'd checked several times that night. So had Dad.

This wasn't a thing in the closet type of deal. This was a werewolf. A real, very dangerous threat that could kill you or worse, turn you.

And Dean couldn't find Sam.

"Sam!" he yelled again. He was supposed to be quiet so Dad could find the werewolf and so the werewolf wouldn't find him, but Dad had gone off after it.

Sam had gone missing shortly after that. Dad was going to KILL him if he didn't find-

"Sammy?" he called, seeing a huddled shape on the ground. It was shivering and clothed, which meant it wasn't the werewolf. He heard a familiar sniff, and almost sighed with relief. Almost.

"Sammy, you okay?" he asked, and Sam twisted his head to look at him.

"My...my ankle," he said. It sounded like he was barely getting the words out past gritted teeth. "I caught my ankle and fell."

"It's all right," Dean immediately assured. He crouched down next to his brother and used his flashlight to verify. Sure enough, Sam's right ankle looked twisted and swollen. They needed ice on it, fast. Maybe even a doctor to look at it.

That wasn't going to happen out here in the woods. "C'mon, let's get you back to camp," Dean said, bending down and pulling a still sniffling Sam into a seated position. Sam's arms quickly wrapped around his neck, and Dean slid his arms underneath his knees and around his back. "Hold on tight," he said, then braced himself and lifted.

"I-I could walk," Sam said hesitantly, not sounding like he wanted Dean to let him down to test his statement.

Dean didn't want to let him down to try it, either. "Nope; I'm carrying you. Get over it."

"Aren't I too heavy?"

Dean snorted. "No; you're easy to carry. Don't worry about it, Sammy."

Maybe not as easy as it had been when he'd been six and Sammy had been so tiny, but Sam was still pretty small. He could manage.

With Sam's head burrowed into his jacket, Dean turned and headed back to camp, where he hoped his dad was waiting.

The spirit's shrieks eventually faded out, and he cautiously stuck his head out of the door. The spectral noisemaker was nowhere to be seen. "Move," he hissed. His brother brushed past him and darted across the hall to the wall, where he waited.

The coast stayed clear. His brother moved fast, sliding over to the dumbwaiter and lifting the door, glancing in. "The dumbwaiter's in the basement," he said. "I can see the top of it on the kitchen's level. We can just slide down the shaft."

A flicker of light behind him appeared, and Dean ran forward, knowing he was probably going to be too late. "Sam look out!"

His brother was practically in the dumbwaiter shaft by the time he turned. The spirit was already diving forward towards its next victim, and the only thing he could do was dive and pray he hit his brother before the spirit did.

"Sam?" Dean called, fear lurching in his chest. The hunt had gone all wrong. It was supposed to have been a simple poltergeist, one that Dean and Sam could handle on their own. Dad had only been backup, wanting his now officially adult son to lead the way.

That had been extremely stupid. Because that damn spirit had caught them off guard, and instead of John leading to pull the trigger, it had been Dean. Dean who'd thought he could handle this.

Dean who had screwed up, and had watched his brother fly to who knew where because of it.

"Sammy?" he called out again, panic in his voice.

Then, from somewhere below him, "D-Dean?"

Dean's heart lurched in his chest. Oh god; the stairwell to the basement. He made a mad dash for the stairs and then stopped in horror.

Sam was partially down the stairs, his left leg having gotten trapped in one of the rungs. It was twisted at a very unnatural angle, and Dean knew it was broken.

Sam glanced up at him, face pale and covered in sweat. His eyes were wide and bright. Time to get Sam out, NOW.

"I'm right here, little brother," he said, trying to keep his voice steady as he hurried down the few short steps to Sam. "I'm right here. Can you move at all?"

Sam bit his lip and tried to shift, then moaned, closing his eyes. A single tear trickled from each eye. "N-Not without pain," he said, before he swallowed hard. "I think I'm gonna hurl."

"You'll be fine, just breathe through it for me." Dean sat back, his eyes roaming over Sam to try and find points where he could lift and not hurt his brother any further. At least Sam was still smaller than he was, though Dean knew it wasn't going to last much longer. Sam was sprouting up fast these days. Gangly limbs all over the place, barely coordinated enough to STAND, and Dean had turned away from him for a split second on a frickin' hunt.

He was an idiot; just because he was 18 now didn't mean he could lead, or should lead.

"Listen to me, okay Sammy? I'm going to put my right arm under your leg to help hold it in place, all right? Just hold onto me, and we'll be fine, I swear," Dean said, already moving before Sam could think about it and tense in anticipation. He moved fast, but he still winced at Sam's whimper of pain. "I've got you, kiddo," he whispered. "I've got you."

"Dean? Sam?" he heard his father call. A moment later, he appeared in the doorway above them. "What happened?"

"It threw him," was all Dean could say. If he kept speaking, he knew the words 'fail' and 'sorry' were going to come out, and he couldn't do it right now.

John's face softened at something he must've seen in Dean's face. "Bring him up slow, Dean. We'll get him taken care of."

Dean had never moved so slow in his life, and he still knew he was hurting Sam. When they reached the top of the stairs, John laid a hand on Sam's head, gently running his fingers through his hair. "You'll be okay, Sammy," he said softly. Sam tried for a smile, but it came out as a grimace.

Because of Dean. He felt like he was the one who was going to hurl now.

"Dean," John said, and Dean raised his gaze to meet his father's eyes, which...weren't full of accusation. If anything, he was gentle and tender, almost. "It's going to happen. It's why I don't like you boys on a hunt with me, but I know you need to be there anyways. Bad things happen."

"I screwed up," Dean found himself saying.

Hands tightened in his shirt, and Dean glanced down at his brother. Even with a face full of pain, Sam still managed to look determined. "No you didn't," Sam said, his voice shaky. "Dad's right. And hey, you're getting me out, right? That counts for something." There was no disappointment at all in Sam's gaze; it still held the same unwavering trust that had been there since Dean could remember.

Dean took a deep breath, then let it out in a rush. "Okay. Hospital, though. Now."

The first thing he felt when he came to was pain. The second thing he felt was a cold, tiled floor beneath him. The kitchen; they'd made it down, then. The details on that were still a little sketchy, but-

His eyes caught and held on the limp form of his brother on the floor. Faintly, but getting louder by the second, he could hear the spirit's wails. It wouldn't be too much longer.

He pushed himself up, fighting off the wave of dizziness. He could handle it. He had to get his brother out of there.

With gentle but quick moves he had his brother up in a seated position, head lolling against his chest. One arm underneath his knees, then one behind his back. He braced himself and lifted, making sure his precious cargo wasn't in any further pain or danger. The spirit was closing in, but the kitchen door was right there, and the car just beyond that.

"I've got you, Dean," Sam murmured, before carrying his brother outside.

"I think it's just a sprain, Dean," Sam said, giving his brother a look. "It just hurts a lot, but it still feels solid enough to walk on."

"Well, don't," Dean retorted, rolling his eyes. "It's not a smart idea."

"Neither is getting yourself completely wasted on your 21st birthday," Sam said. "I told you as much. You still went and did it, though."

"It was my right, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Right. Can we get out of here?"

"Yeah, whatever," Dean said. Despite his tone, though, he was extremely careful and soft with his touches as he pulled Sam into his chest and lifted.

Sam raised his eyebrows into his hairline. "Dude, what are you doing?"

"Carrying you," Dean said, sweat beading on his forehead. "When the hell'd you get so heavy?"

"I'm 17, Dean," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "It's kind of gonna happen. And it's just a sprain; you don't have to carry me."

"Sure I do," Dean said, making his way down the alley back towards the car. They'd catch the shifter later, after Sam's ankle was taken care of.

"I could walk, Dean. I have one good foot. You could just take a supportive role in helping me walk. You don't have to actually carry me."

"Yeah, I actually do," Dean said, surprising himself with how serious his voice sounded. Sam blinked, surprised as well.

"You do?"

"Well, yeah."

"Why?"

Dean gave a small shrug. "C'mon Dean, why?" Sam asked, honestly curious now.

"Because...because one day, I'm going to really need to carry you," Dean said. "When you're bigger and heavier than I am. And I need to remember how to carry you out. It's my job, you know. Keep you safe, carry you to safety."

It had been his job since he was four years old. He wasn't about to give it up now.

"Okay," Sam said, surprising Dean. His brother, who was so rebellious these days, was actually conceding this one to Dean?

When Dean glanced at Sam, though, he could see something like understanding in his eyes. "Okay?" Dean echoed incredulously.

"Yeah, Dean, okay," Sam said, giving a small smile. "I get it. You know I'd do the same for you, right?"

Dean began to smile back, a genuine smile that told so much more than the words 'I know you would' could ever have. Then he slid it into a grin and said, "Sammy, that's never gonna happen."