Dean hated libraries.
They were stuffy and dusty.
They were disturbingly quiet and packed full of nerds.
He would never understand why his little brother enjoyed spending so much time in them.
Except Sam wasn't even around this time. He was at school, so it was just Dean hanging out in the boring building, doing research. Dad had called this morning and said he would be back in a couple days and wanted the boys to start gathering info for the next hunt. Sam was only fifteen and still in school, so the lucky little shit got out of library duty. The really sad part was, he would have loved to be the one doing the research.
Dean snickered to himself as he thought of his dorky little brother, shaking he head as he flipped through the latest book.
He was interrupted from the riveting read by the sound of his cellphone. Ignoring the death-glare he was receiving from the librarian, he flipped his phone open and answered it.
"Hello."
"Is this Dean Winchester?"
The teen stalled at the question. He didn't recognize the voice and apparently it didn't recognize him either. Not many people had his number. Besides Dad, Sam, a handful of hunters, and a few very attractive women, nobody had his number.
"Who's asking?" He replied gruffly.
"This is Principal Mathers. You were the contact listed for a Samuel Winchester."
"What happened?" Dean questioned, cutting to the chase as he rose from his seat and made his way out of the library toward the Impala.
"Samuel-
"It's Sam." He corrected automatically.
"Sorry, Sam was in a fight today and we would like-
"Is he okay?" The young man questioned, his concern apparent as he started the car and directed it towards the high school.
"All the boys are a little banged up, but nothing major. Now I would like-
"I'm on my way." Dean informed the woman briskly as he closed his cell and pushed his foot down harder on the accelerator.
A few short minutes later he was pulling into the school parking lot and marching into the building, making his way immediately to the office, the one he had visited on our first day in town when he had come to register Sammy.
There, on a chair right outside, were three older boys, all nursing various wounds.
Dean smirked at the sight.
It looked like his wiry little brother had done some serious damage. Dean counted three black eyes, two split lips, a missing tooth, and a number of bruises.
"Where's Sam?" He questioned curtly, never having any patience when searching for his little brother.
The secretary nodded toward the principal's office and Dean headed straight for it.
He didn't bother knocking before swinging the door open. His eyes scanned the room, searching until they found the only thing that mattered.
Sammy.
The kid was seated on a chair across the desk from the principal.
Dean ignored the inquiries being tossed his way by the older woman seated at the head of the room and made a beeline for Sam.
The smaller boy glanced up at his older brother from under the curtain hair that was hanging before his eyes. Dean squatted down and gently, but firmly, grasped Sam's chin and angled the young face up in his direction, his frown deepening at the sight of it. Sam had a hand towel held to his still-bleeding nose, a dark bruise colouring his left cheekbone, and a split lip that was leaking blood down his chin, neck, and onto his shirt.
"You alright?" Dean questioned quietly.
Sam's eyes skidded over his brother's face before falling back down to his lap as he nodded his head. Dean released the kid's chin and gave his knee a gentle pat before moving to stand.
"What happened?" He directed his inquiry at the principal.
"From what I can gather, Sam had a disagreement with the three boys in the hall and they decided to settle it in a violent manner. All you brother will tell me as that he started the fight. None of these boys care to admit what it is they were so upset about."
Dean frowned at the information.
Sam was never the first one to start a fight - and he also wasn't one to not answer questions from a figure of authority.
"What's the punishment?"
Dean asked, just wanting to get to the point so that he could get his little brother back to the motel, find out what really went down, and patch his kid up.
"Sam is a good student and I think more went on then anyone cares to tell me, but we have a strict no tolerance policy when it comes to violence. Therefore, all four boys will be suspended for the remainder of the week."
Dean winced, it was only Monday and Sam hated missing school, let alone an entire week of it, but he didn't argue because he knew it wouldn't do any good.
"Fine. Are we good to go?"
The older woman looked put off by Dean's brisk demeanor, but she nodded nonetheless.
Dean grabbed his brother's backpack off the floor and slung it over his shoulder as he watched Sam slowly stand from the chair. Dean frowned, clearly his brother's face wasn't the only thing those assholes had messed up. He placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and shadowed him as he shuffled to the door, pausing when the younger teen did and watched as the hazel gaze glanced back into the room.
"Sorry again, Ms. Mathers."
The principal's face softened as she nodded in reply.
Dean smirked.
Even when he was in trouble the kid could still get anyone on the planet to fall for those puppy dog eyes. Dean waited another second before softly nudging Sam forward and following him out into the hall. The elder Winchester turned murderously towards the three teens hunched over in their chairs, but before he could rip any bodily organs out by way of their gullets, he felt bony fingers wrap around his wrist.
He glanced over at the young bot gripping his arm.
"Sam-
"Don't, Dean. They aren't worth it. Just don't."
"But-
"I already did. Trust me. They are worse off than I am."
Not kicking the ever-loving-shit out of the three scumbags went against every bone in Dean's body. But when Sam tugged on his wrist and looked up at him from under all that damn hair with those damn eyes - Dean knew he didn't have much of a choice.
The principal wasn't the only one who crumbled at that expression.
He nodded, indicating his reluctant agreement.
Sam looked relieved as he released Dean's arm and proceeded to make his way out of the building. Dean waited until his brother was a few paces away before turning toward the three little shit-heads, giving them the darkest most lethal look he could muster as he towered over them.
"You ever lay a hand on Sam - or fucking speak to him - ever again and I will tear you to pieces. You understand me?" He seethed, enjoying the spark of fear he saw in every pair of eyes looking up at him. He didn't wait for any sort of response, knowing perfectly well by their terrified expressions that his message had been clearly received.
"Was that really necessary?" Sam asked as they exited the building and strolled toward the Impala sitting sleek and shiny in the parking lot.
"You're damn right it was necessary. It's all I can do not to storm back in there and rip their lungs out." Dean growled.
Sam sighed, shaking his head in exasperation before dropping heavily into the passenger seat. Dean waited until Sam had pulled his twig legs into the vehicle before shutting his door, not failing to hear the kid mutter:
"Could have done that myself."
Dean rolled my eyes at the petulant teenage attitude as he dropped in behind the wheel.
"Keep pressure on your nose." He instructed softly, nodding to the towel that had remained bunched up in Sam's hand since they had left the principal's office, allowing the blood to continue to trail down his face.
He huffed, but did as was requested.
They rode in silence on the way back to the motel, Sam only bothering to speak once Dean had the Impala parked in front of their rented room.
"Dean, I-
"Shut up, Sam. We are going to go inside, patch you up, and then you are going to tell me what the hell happened at school today. In that exact order." Dean dictated, utilizing his most parental tone.
Sam scowled, he never was a fan of being told what to do, but he made no objection as he climbed from the car.
"I can carry that." He declared as he grabbed for his backpack.
"Sure you can." Dean agreed, refusing to hand the bag over as he waited for the young boy to go inside.
Sam sent him an irritated look before opening the door. Dean dropped the book-bag on the floor and grabbed the medkit from the bathroom along with a clean hand-towel and a damp face-cloth.
"Now sit your ass on the bed and let me take a look at you." He ordered calmly, knowing he was pushing his luck with all the demands he was making.
"I can do it." Sam announced, reaching for the kit.
"Yeah, I know. Now sit down." Dean responded flatly.
"I don't need-
"Sammy, I get it, okay?! You can fight your own battles, you can close your own doors, you can carry your own shit, and you can fix yourself up. I get it! Now just sit down already, would you?"
Dean hadn't intended to snap, but his frustration level was rising and he just really wanted to clean all the damn blood off his kid's face. Surprisingly, Sam shut his mouth and sat down on the edge of the bed, his eyes on the floor as he awaited his brother's ministrations. Dean released a thankful sigh as he tugged a chair over and sat down across from the lanky teen, their knees nearly touching as he placed three fingers under the younger boy's chin and pushed it up until he could get a clear view of the damaged face.
First things first, stop the bleeding.
He tapped the smaller hand until Sam got the hint and removed the cloth from where he had it pressed against his nose. Dean frowned at the amount of blood coating the fabric and smeared across the kid's face and neck.
His little brother's blood had always run far too thin.
Dean and John had thick dark blood that clotted easily.
Sam's was thin, bright red, and often refused to clot.
And Dean really fucking hated it.
He took the bloodied fabric from the teen's hand, but noticing that it was soaked all the way through - he tossed it on the floor and grabbed the fresh towel. Sam flinched when Dean used the clean fabric to pinch his nose hard.
"Sorry I have to-
"Stop the bleeding. I know. Don't worry about it." He muttered in a nasally tone.
The brothers sat in silence for a few minutes until Sam's nose stopped leaking.
"Finally." Dean grumbled as he used the newly stained towel to dab at the blood persistently trickling from his brother's lip. He applied a single butterfly bandage to the split lip, content that it would do the job and keep it from continuing to bleed. He then used the damp facecloth to wash away all signs of blood from Sam's face and neck, instructing him to take off his shirt because it was also covered in the red fluid.
"Shit, Sammy." He cursed, once he caught sight of the bruises already marring his little brother's torso.
"It's not as bad as it looks." The younger boy mumbled.
"Bullshit." Dean spat, his anger rising as he could distinctly make out the imprints of shoes on Sam's skin. With a deft touch he trailed his fingers over the discoloured area, satisfied that nothing seemed to be broken or dangerously damaged.
Dean moved to the small kitchenette to get ice, all the while working to swallow his rage so he wouldn't race back to that school and rip those bastards to fucking pieces.
He returned with two ice-packs, supplies that they always kept on hand for various hunting injuries. He placed one in Sam's hand and nudged it toward his face, the young teen obediently held it up against his bruised cheekbone. Dean then lifted the pair of thin legs up onto the bed, ignoring Sam's squawk of defiance as his big brother propped him up on pillows and had him lie back, only then placing the second ice-pack on the darkest part of his abdomen.
Sam's body remained tense for a moment as it adjusted to the cold, but soon started to relax as the ice-pack did its job.
"Any other injuries that I can't see?"
His brother shook his head in reply.
"Good." Dean declared with a satisfied nod. He tossed the two bloodied towels into the trash, dropped the facecloth into the sink and put the first-aid kit away before plopping down onto the bed next to Sam's knobby knees.
"Now you want to tell me what the hell happened today?" Dean questioned, although it came out sounding much more like a demand.
He could see Sam contemplating, probably deciding whether or not to try and argue his way out of relaying what happened. Dean schooled his features and gave the kid a stern look, to physically display the fact that that would not be happening.
Sam sighed, their silent communication with each other coming across loud and clear.
"You know how yesterday was Mother's Day?" He started.
"Yeah."
Dean hadn't forgotten, he never did. The brothers had spent the day the same way they had nearly every year.
Dad was never around for that particular holiday, which was more than understandable, so Sam and Dean would always spend the day hanging out together. They would order pizza and watch movies, maybe even go out if they could afford it. They would spend the day just being brothers, taking a break from the hunting world.
Dean always thought their mother would have liked that, if she was still around.
He remembered when Sam had first learned of Mother's Day. He came home from kindergarten on the Friday before with a hundred and one questions.
Why don't we have a Mom?
Where did she go?
What was she like?
What do mom's do?
Dean had tried desperately to get him to stop asking, he'd tried to save the kid the pain and tell him not to worry about it, but Sam had always been a stubborn little bitch and he refused to let it go.
And Dean was eventually forced to tell him the basics.
Our Mom died, that's why she isn't here.
She was beautiful and smart and kind and she loved you.
Mom's make you dinner, they pack your lunch, they tuck you in, they sing you to sleep, they hang all your art on the fridge - even if it's shitty, they love you no matter what, and they make sure you are always clean, healthy, and happy.
Dean could so easily recall the sight of Sam sitting on the bed, hazel eyes as wide as they could get, with every ounce of his attention focused on obtaining each drop of information he was provided.
"Dean?"
He returned his concentration to the boy seated in front of him. Older than the little muntchkin he was remembering, but still so young and so damn small.
"Yeah, sorry. I'm listening."
"Well on Friday our teacher made us write an essay about...about our mothers." Sam stated softly.
Dean nodded knowingly.
School really made that day a hell of a lot worse, pouring salt in the wound every single year.
All the Mother's Day assignments his little brother ever had to do was addressed to Dean. Every year he would get a card with a perfectly traced hand-print, a poem, a drawing, or some form of art. Instead of "Happy Mother's Day" it would read "Happy Brother's Day."
Every year Sam would be beaming with glee as he presented Dean with his latest assignment.
Every year Dean would accept the gift, reading and admiring it thoroughly.
Every year...except this one.
"Did you do it?" Dean queried, because he knew that when it came to those particularly painful assignments, his preference had always been to accept a failing grade and not put himself through that level of despair.
But of course, this was Sam.
And Sammy was different – something Dean was always desperately trying to get their father to understand.
"Yeah, I did it." He admitted in a whisper.
"Okay, so how did any of this lead to you kicking ass?" Dean wondered aloud.
Sam smiled.
"What?"
"Nothing just...thanks for saying that." He said with a shy grin.
"Hey man, I'm just stating the facts here. Now it's your turn. What the hell happened?"
Sam took a deep breath, pulling the ice-pack from his face before continuing. "It was at lunch. The teacher had just handed back our essays and I was looking at my mark on the way to the lunch room when Darren came up and ripped my paper right out of my hands."
"Darren was one of those guys I saw sitting in the office?"
"Yeah, the other two were Eric and Jackson, his friends."
Dean nodded, understanding that school bullies rarely walked alone.
"Anyway, Darren started reading it out loud and he wouldn't give it back, and then they all started saying things- and I just, I don't know, I guess I just snapped." He explained softly.
"What were they saying?" Dean inquired, not demanding an answer, but simply curious as to what it was that got his peace-loving little brother to throw the first punch.
Sam shrugged. "Just stuff."
"Come on, Sammy. I know you. You're a lover not a fighter."
The teen smirked at the quote, but remained silent.
"You can tell me." Dean assured.
"Only if you promise not to get mad and go rip their lungs out." Sam said, his tone slightly amused, but still serious.
"I can't promise that. Not until you tell me what they said."
"You can, Dean. And you will. Or I won't tell you."
Like he said, stubborn little bitch.
"Fine." He agreed reluctantly, because he wanted to know what had upset his kid brother even more than he wanted revenge.
Besides, Sam did just fine on his own at teaching those douchebags a lesson.
"Promise."
"I promise."
Sam nodded, satisfied.
"Stuff about how I don't have a mom. How she probably left after getting one look at my ugly mug. About how she'd probably be embarrassed to have such a pansy for a son...about how it was good that she left so she wasn't around to see how pathetic I am."
With each word that fell from his little brother's mouth, rage spread like wildfire through Dean's veins. His fists clenched and body tense as he listened. Not only did those assholes have the nerve to mention their mother, who was a sacred topic to say the least, but they dared to blame Sammy for her absence - to hurt him like that.
"Dean, you promised." Sam reminded his brother, his tone soft but stern.
Dean took a few deep breaths, relaxing his muscles a little more with every exhale and stuffing the rage back down.
"You know none of that's true, right Sam?"
The younger boy ducked his head, which was in no way convincing.
"Hey! Look at me." Dean ordered gruffly.
Sam's hazel eyes travelled up slowly until they met the steady green gaze.
"Mom loved you. And she'd like how kind you are and smart and brave- she'd be proud of you, Sammy."
His brother's eyes lit up with hope, joy, and relief as he absorbed Dean's words.
"Even though you are a total dork." The older teen added nonchalantly.
He was desperate to escape this chic-flick moment. It was necessary, but all this talk of Mom had a lump growing in his throat, and he would not burst into tears like a little girl.
Especially not in front of his kid brother.
"Three against one though, dude. That's pretty impressive. You went all Rambo on their asses." Dean declared with a smile as he stood from the bed.
Sam chuckled in response.
"They were pretty surprised." He admitted.
"Ha! No kidding. Who would suspect that such a wiry kid could pack such a punch."
The smaller teen rolled his eyes at the comment, but his grin never faded.
"You want some pizza? There's some of that fruity shit left over from last night."
"It's Hawaiin." Sam corrected, teenage exasperation coming through loud and clear.
"Whatever you say, Samantha." Dean quipped.
"Get me two slices." His little brother ordered, groaning as he reached for the remote control.
"I'm sorry, when did I become your maid?" The elder teen asked, already headed to the fridge to pull out the food.
"The second I was born." Sam shot back, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
Dean barked out a surprised laugh, grabbing two cans of coke and the leftover pizza and dropping down on the bed next to his brother.
They spent the rest of the day camped out in front of the television.
Since he was going to be home from school for several days, Sam offered to do the research for the next hunt, and for that Dean let him have the last slice of pizza – which his brother barely finished before his exhausted ass dropped off to sleep during the fifth episode of Bonanza. Dean gently double-checked Sam's injuries, careful not to wake the teen before pulling the comforter up over his lanky frame.
He checked the salt lines and the locks before going to the bathroom to get ready for bed, when he came out a few moments later, his little brother was sound asleep and there was a piece of paper sitting on Dean's pillow.
He picked it up, eyebrows raised curiously before registering the wrinkles and tears, realizing that this must been the essay that was fought over.
Dean sat on the edge of his bed, facing Sam's sleeping form as he read.
I don't have a mother. She died when I was a baby. Honestly, I can't remember a single thing about her. The only things I know about my mother are things that I have been told, or things I have picked up on.
I have seen a picture or two and I know that she was beautiful. I know that my brother looks more like her than I do. I know that she was kind and smart, I have been told as much. By the way my dad and brother miss her, by the way they get quiet and sad when they talk about her, I know that she was special. I know that she loved them and that they still love her. And just because I don't remember her, it doesn't mean that I don't love her too, because I do.
I may not have a mother, but that doesn't mean I don't have someone who looks after me. Someone who makes me dinner and packs my lunch. Someone who sits up with me at night when I'm sick and keeps a cool cloth on my forehead. Someone who pulls the blankets over me and tucks me in at night. Someone who wakes me from nightmares and hums out loud until I can fall back asleep.
I might not have a mom, but I have someone who makes a big deal out of my accomplishments even when they are just stupid little things. Someone who always forced me to take a bath and brush my teeth, even when I didn't want to. Someone who would play the same childish games and read the same lame books to me over and over again. Someone who taught me how to read and tie my shoes. Someone who would hold my hand when we crossed the street and would lecture me if I ran too far ahead. Someone who would pick me up when I fell and make me smile so I would feel better.
I have someone who always puts me first. Someone who protects me and helps me even when I insist that I can do things myself. Someone who always does everything possible to keep me safe and tries hard to make me happy without ever asking for anything in return. Someone who always listens to me no matter how annoying I'm being. Someone who never stops caring about me, no matter how stubborn or angry I am. Someone who knows me better than I know myself.
I have someone who is always there for me, no matter what.
I have someone who I can always count on.
I have someone who loves me without condition.
His name is Dean.
The elder Winchester briskly wiped away the tears threatening to slip from his watery eyes, before he carefully folded the paper and moved to his duffel, pulling an envelope out from the bottom and sliding the latest Mother's Day assignment inside, to join the rest of them.
Dean had kept every single one.
He returned the envelope to its secure place in his bag and then moved back onto his bed and lied back. As he stretched out on the mattress and turned to face his sleeping little brother, he couldn't stop thinking about Sam's essay.
Those simple words had his heart both swelling and aching.
Dean was not only reminded of how much he loved his little brother, but of how much Sam loved him, how much Dean meant to his kid, how much Sam still needed him. That reminder alone made it difficult to breathe and sent warmth flooding through the teen's body.
But, it killed him that his little brother didn't know what it was like to have a mother.
That Sam didn't know how Dean's mac&cheese was shit compared to their mom's homecooking.
He didn't know that his big brother's compliments and encouragements weren't nearly as effective as their mother's gentle praise and loving kisses.
He didn't know that the older teen's Metallica humming was not nearly as soothing as their mom's lullabies.
He didn't know that the taller boy's patience didn't hold a candle to their mother's kindness.
Sam didn't know how awful of a replacement Dean was for their mom.
He never would.
And that hurt more than Dean could ever express.
But it made him all the more determined to be the best brother he could possibly be, because Sammy deserved that.
He deserved to be cared for.
He deserved to be protected.
He deserved to be loved.
He had been deprived of enough.
A normal childhood.
A home.
A Mother.
Dean wasn't going to let the world rob his little brother of one more thing.
Not one fucking thing.
The End