a/n: I haven't written for "Supernatural" in what feels like years and haven't seen the show in just as many, so I might be a little rusty, plus never having written the Winchesters in this setting, so I hope you like it anyways.
Note: Takes place with Robb as Lord over Winterfell; Catelyn, Ned, Sansa, Arya and Jon have left the castle, but there is no 1, Episode tag: "A GOLDEN CROWN", alternate
Enjoy!

Fic Summary: Riding alone in the wolfswood, Bran gets attacked by wildlings but is saved by another boy, one who's living in the living there with his brother. Feeling greatful, Bran invites them to stay in Winterfell.

The character ages are as listed:
Robb - 14
Bran - 9
Rickon - 4
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Dean - 14
Sammy - 6
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********Game/of/Thrones********
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********Super/Natural********

One-shot: —
The Hunter in the Wolfswood

Bran just wanted to be like any other boy in Winterfell, to be how he was before his fall and the loss of his legs, but he knew he could only regain some semblance of a normal life. Sometimes, this depressed him so much that he'd stay in his bedchambers and not eat a thing, only taking a few bites when Maester Luwin came and sat with him; but ever since Lord Tyrion, the imp, the little man who had learned of his problem while traveling with his half-brother Jon Snow to the Wall, gave Robb some plans for a saddle that would allow him to ride again by himself, he did. Robb was always busy with the concerns of Winterfell and its citizens, and Bran didn't want to be more bother for his older brother than he had to, so he went to the wolfswood to ride his filly Dancer.

He was never to go alone, and he didn't, not strictly speaking—his tan direwolf pup went with him everywhere. Though the wolf was still considered a pup, he was already as big as the biggest mutt in Winterfell. Bran felt as safe with Summer as he would if Robb were right next to him, or Ser Rodrick. Though he was just a boy of ten, a cripple, with only a direwolf and filly for company, he didn't feel alone or scared deep in the wolfswood. These woods were just as much his home as Winterfell or the godswood with the heart tree. He was a Stark, and he was safe. So when he heard the rustle of leaves to his left, he didn't think much of it when he glanced back and a raggedy man stepped into view.

"Good day to you," he said to the fat man, and only became nervous when there was more rustling and another bald man came into view on his right, Dancer giving a uneasy snort.

"All alone, are you?" the fat man said. "Lost, is you?"

"I'm not lost." Bran looked between the two on either side of him, and pulled the reins on Dancer's bridle, turning her so that he could see the two of them at the same time. As he looked at them, he knew they weren't foresters or farmers, their furs did not seem right. "My friend is not far." He said, referring to Summer who had gone off on a scent trail.

"Oh, is he then, little boy." He mocked, taking a step closer.

"Yes," his heart fluttered in his chest, but his voice barely trembled. He made to squeeze his thighs, to spur Dancer on, to gallop away from these men, but he remembered too late that he was cripple, and the bald man had stepped up and taken a hold of the bridle. Dancer whinnied nervously, not liking these new and dangerous men so close. "Please, release my horse."

"But she's such a fine horse, wouldn't want to let such a good catch go." The bald man said, and Bran could smell his rancid breath. "That's a pretty little pin you got there too,"

"Must not be just a little boy, then," the fat man said, at Bran's other side, "maybe a little lord too."

"Matters not," said the bald man. "Get off, boy, an' we'll be taking that horse." But Bran didn't move, and metal glinted as the man pulled out a knife, the tip at the boy's throat. "Now I say!"

"I can't!" Bran blurted, fear cracking his voice.

"What you s—"

"Hey, look what he's sittin' on." The fat man grabbed at Bran's custom saddle. It was the one that Lord Tyrion had designed for him, with its high back and thick horn, and straps around his chest and thighs to keep him from falling off. "It's got some straps for somethin'."

"Straps?" the bald one looked. "You some kind of cripple or somethin'?" Bran was silent. "Never mind, I know how t' take care of straps." He slashed at the leather around his right thigh, the leather parted, releasing his thigh with a sigh.

The stroke had more force behind it than was needed and it bit deep; it cut through Bran's leggings and the pale flesh of his thigh. He watched blood well from the slash, watched the red spread on the material of his breeches—it was odd, watching yourself bleed and not feel it. He touched the cut with his finger tips, feeling the warmth of his blood as the bald man cut the strap around his chest.

"No, don't!" Bran called, but the bald man had already reached across his lap and cut the strap around his other thigh, cutting through leather and skin, deeper than the last—still not a hurt was felt.

"Shut up, boy, or it will be your cock next time." the bald man growled. "Would you like that, boy?" He held the sharp tip of the knife against the boy's inner thigh, at the groin of his breeches.

Bran shook his head, his lips tight, gripping the horn in front of him so he might not fall with all of Dancer's nervous shifting and snorting.

"Put the knife away, or you be chocking on your blood with your next breath." A voice called out, hidden in the foliage.

"Your friend, I see." The fat man hissed, pulling out a short sword that had been hidden under his ragged cloak. "Tis you who will die!"

The hidden boy let out a bark of laughter. "You should have stayed behind the Wall, wildling! If you wanted to die, you should have found me sooner." There was a sharp whistle, then a fainter one still as an around shot from the leaves and stuck through the bald man's throat on Bran's other side.

The bald man grunted, dropping his knife, his hands going to his throat as he chocked, stumbling backward. The fat man spun around with yell towards his fallen companion when the foliage parted for a leaping Summer with a growl. Dancer startled, neighing, kicking the air, upending Bran from the saddle and disappearing into the trees.

"Dancer!" Bran had called, an ach in his back but the filly was already too far gone. The direwolf pup latched onto the fat man's shoulder, dragging him to the ground before tearing out his throat, red coating Summer's light brown fur.

Bran pushed himself up onto his elbows as Summer came to him, his muzzle covered in blood. He grabbed a fistful of fur and pulled himself completely upright as the boy with the bow exited the foliage.

He had dark blond hair, eyes like the green leaves, a darker stubble starting on his chin and cheeks. He can't have been older than Robb, clad in a brown cloak, with brown roughspun breeches, leather boots, a wool doublet and dark-green worn jerkin over top. He had a leather belt around his hips, a sword in a soft matching sheath. He also had a quiver at his back and a hunting bow.

"You alright?" the older boy asked, glancing over at him and Summer as he stepped over the body of the fat man and crouched beside the bald man.

"Y-yes." Bran watched as the boy hit the fletched end of the arrow in the man's throat with the palm of his hand, pushing it the rest of the way out the other side. He'd told the man he'd die chocking on his blood and the young boy found that rather scary, killing a man the way you promised. "Thank you for saving me."

"It's fine, I was meaning to kill these two for a couple days now." The boy replied, cleaning the blood from the arrow before sticking it back in the quiver at his back. He stood and on the other side of Bran, leaning his bow against the tree. "I was trailing them and I saw you and your friend there," he jerked his chin as Summer who didn't growl at him but sat there panting casual, Bran took that as a good sign that this boy wasn't going to harm him, "and I knew there was going to be trouble."

"What are you going to do with me?" Bran wondered.

The bow just cocked a brow. "Well, you can tell me your name and I'll tell you mine." Bran bit the inside of his cheek, thinking. "Or I can guess if you'd like. I can instantly tell that your highborn, that pin's the Stark House sigil, your direwolf companion just confirms it. Your clothes are expertly stitched and well care for, and that saddle you were in was one expensive piece of work. But that still doesn't mean I know your name, so... I'm Dean and you are?"

"Bran, Bran Stark in Winterfell." He replied.

Dean nodded in confirmation. "So, those don't hurt, huh?" he gestured to the cuts on either of his thighs that had clotted some but seemed to be weeping blood still.

Bran shook his head. "I fell nearly three waxed and waned moons ago, I haven't been able to move them since. I didn't feel a thing."

"Right now, that might be a good thing." Dean reach to his foot and pulled out a small blade from his boot, the instant Summer saw it, he growled a warning low in his throat. "Easy there, pup," he grinned, "I was the one who called you, remember? I'm just going to cut a few strips off your cloak," he told Bran, "Since you're a Lord, I figured you got others lying around that castle of yours; me, what's on my back is all you see."

Bran nodded his assent and Summer calmed down, and Dean cut away two strips of linen from the lining of his cloak. He lifted Bran's left lank leg and looped the strip over the wound and tied it of, and then did the same to the right.

"What are you going to do with me now?" Bran asked.

Dean chuckled and shook his head as he crawled back over to the two wildling bodies and started to search them. "Back to that question, are you? You're a Lord, what do you think I'm going to do with you?"

"Will you take me back to Winterfell? My brother will give you coin."

"Oh, will he then?" Dean found a water skin and uncorked it, sniffing the contents. He promptly jerked his face away, his handsome face scrunched up in disgust. He re-corked it, and tossed it away. "Piss. You can survive on that stuff, but that doesn't make it any less foul in my opinion." He stood up and started packing away the other items he found on his person. The dagger that cut Bran went in the opposite boot of the other knife, the short sword went into his belt. He turned back to Bran. "I'll take you back, don't worry, I was going to anyways, too bad about the horse though." He took his hunting bow and put his arm through it.

"Dancer will make it back to Winterfell, I know it." Bran replied, holding his arms out; he was used to the humiliation of being carried around like a doll, but that didn't mean it stung any less.

"I hope the filly is as confident about the whole thing as you are." Dean bent down and put an arm around Bran's back as the boy wrapped an arm around his neck, his other arm going under his knees and he hefted him up in his arms. "We have to make a detour first."

"Where?" Bran asked as they started off, Summer at Dean's heels.

"I have to get my brother, I've already left him alone for long enough." Dean said. They walked in silence after that.

Bran knew that Robb was going to be angry when he got back to Winterfell, but right now he knew his brother would be worried as all else. Bran hadn't told anyone directly that he was going for a ride. Hodor had helped him on Dancer back at the stables, but he'd left the gentle giant there. His absence was probably already noticed by Maester Luwin if not Robb and the guardsmen, a search being sent out. If Dancer made it back, a true alarm would be sounded when the cut leather straps and the blood were spotted. Dean seemed really smart, and was probably already aware of this, but Bran had brothers of his own and knew he wouldn't just leave them alone for a stranger, even if he was a Lord.

The sun was no longer high in the sky above the trees by the time that they arrived at Dean's camp. It was a makeshift tent supported by a fallen tree near a stream. There was a small fire, but it was only ash now with a homemade spit overtop, and a tin pan with a bowl sitting next to it.

"Where's your brother?" Bran murmured as Dean propped him against the trunk of the fallen tree.

"In the tent," Dean said stiffly, "Sammy's sick." He disappeared halfway in the tent and that was when Bran noticed that pile of furs and a small foot sticking out.

"Is he alright?" Bran asked.

Dean reappeared from the tent with a bag and put in the dishes. "Just a fever." Though his words sounded casual, the boy could see deep worry in those green eyes. He steadily packed away the camp, until all that was left was the small boy wrapped in thick furs with a mop of curly brown hair.

Bran's own lips pursed in concern, hearing the boy's laboured breathing; he couldn't have been that much older than little Rickon. "How are you going to carry all of this and us back to Winterfell, Dean?"

Dean sent him a brief smirk and disappeared around the fallen tree. He came back into view leading an elderly brown donkey by a short rope about its head. "This is Pala, she's a good sturdy ass. I got her a few years back, cost me my best blade—but she was worth it!" He petted the animal whose long ears flickered in response.

He let the rope fall and the beast stayed its place as he started to load the bags on her broad, bare back. Then he picked Bran up and placed him on the donkey's back, it shifted under his weight, but still did not move. Dean had arranged the bags into a makeshift saddle back to support the cripple boy and then used some rope to secure the boy in place so that he wouldn't slide around as much. Dean then gathered Sammy in his arms, furs and all and walked off in the direction opposite the setting sun.

A shot of anxiety went through Bran as he gripped the short mane in front of him, Dean leaving him behind. "Hey, aren't you going to lead?"

"Why? She'll follow by herself." He called back.

And a moment later Pala started walking off after Dean, and the rocking that had been very disconcerting for the boy when he first started riding again after his fall, returned in his unstable position aboard the donkey's back. But his biggest fear wasn't falling, it was a fall he had off Dancer, but how the animal would react to Summer trotting right next to her. But the direwolf's presence didn't seem to scare the donkey the same way he didn't Dean—everyone and everything always reacted fearful around Summer when they saw him the first time, but then Bran seemed to realize right then how Summer had come to help in his rescue—it was Dean who had whistled, who had called the direwolf. Bran was both amazed and shocked, that had never happened before.

"Are you sure we shouldn't wait until sunrise to start back to Winterfell?" Bran asked, worried as the evening grew steadily darker, the dips and ruts in the ground shadowed. "What if Pala broke her leg?"

"She won't." Dean sounded very confident. "Pala had steady hooves, and my night vision is pretty good. There's nothing to worry about."

"I don't think I've ever been in the Wolfswood at night before," Bran murmured, "night's when all the beasts come out."

"There's no need to worry about any of that, not with your direwolf friend around, and I'm a good shot besides."

And Bran did remember how good a shot Dean was, Theon was the best shooter in Winterfell, but the shot that Dean had taken could rival the other's skill.

"How—" Bran started to ask, he found this boy rather interesting, but his voice cut off as both Dean and Summer froze on their feet in an instant, and a few steps later so did Pala. "What is it?" He whispered, nervous.

"Deer," Dean replied after a moment.

"How could you see that? How could know that in this lighting."

"The night may be dark and full of terrors—but only if you let it be." Dean said and he and Summer took pace again, Pala following their lead. "I wish I could've went for the kill, venison would have tasted really good right about now." He hugged Sammy closer to his chest as he boy moaned.

"You can have all the venison you want in the Great Hall, Maester Luwin could make some broth for Sammy, help him get better. When my half-brother got sick with the pox, Maester Luwin was the one that helped make him better." Bran said. "You'll like it there."

"You're very presuming, even for a Lord." Dean chuckled, shaking his head, the sun having set, real darkness taking over.

Bran was quiet after that, and all that could be heard was the whispering bugs, the hoot of an owl, the flutter of wings, Sammy's laboured breath, the crunch of Pala's hooves on the wood's floor. Summer's trot was barely discernable through the hush of the wind through the leaves, and Dean's steps were just as light even in this darkness and with his arms laden with Sammy, his body heavy with weapons. Trees passed the boy by but he barely noticed them until they were right next to him, concentrating on the swaying so he did not slip.

The going was slow and steady, and Bran knew the instant they were closing in on Winterfell as there was discernable shouts and the light of lit torches leaked through the dense tree. Summer's ears flickered at the voices, and he shot off like an arrow.

"Summer!" Bran called, but the wolf was already gone.

"It's too late now." Dean muttered, stopped, clutching Sammy tight to his chest, tense.

"What's wrong? Those are Stark men, otherwise Summer would have reacted differently." Bran's dark brows furrowed in confusion and worry. They'd gotten this far, why were they stopping? "Dean?"

"Hey! It's the wolf, the Little-Lord's wolf!" The call was taken up. "Find Lord Robb!"

"It's gotta happen, there's no other choice, Sammy." The boy whispered and kissed the crown of the little boy's mop of sweaty curls. Then his whole demenour changed; his straightened out, squared his shoulders, lift his chin, confident. He turned around and looked at Bran with a piercing gaze. "When we step out there and your brother's men come at us, you better tell them that I was the one who saved you, not injured you because if they try and come at me and Sammy gets hurt... I will kill them all. Do you understand?"

Bran gulped and nodded. "Yes, I will. I promise." He had forgotten how dangerous the other boy was while being carried in his arms, because he had felt safe and protected, almost like when he was a babe and his father picked him up, but he was reminded again how they came to meet, how he killed that man and showed not a single drop of fear around Summer who could tear his throat out if Bran made the command—not that the Stark boy would ever do that. Dean had saved him life, Bran was in his debt. "They will not harm you or your brother, Dean." He said firmly.

Dean nodded and licked his lips. "I trust you, Bran. And I don't trust many."

"But you can me, I swear it."

"I believe you." He took the rope that he had early dropped and lead Pala with Bran aboard her strong back out of the wolfswood.

Summer yipped for the men's attention and ran back towards Bran and Dean, circling around them.

"There he is!" several men with torches rushed towards them, hands on the hilts of their swords. They stopped ten feet away, but Dean kept walking. "Halt where you are boy!" One guardsman called, pulling his sword an inch from its scabbard in warning.

"It's okay! It's alright!" Bran called, gesturing with his hand to put their swords away. "He's no threat, he saved my life!"

"My Lord?" the guardsman asked.

"He's a friend." Bran said as he passed through the three men. "Where is Robb?"

"We sent word to him that you had been found."

"Good." Bran nodded.

Dean moved steadfast forward, always keeping Sammy facing away from the guardsmen. He meant to drop Bran to his brother, that was the only way to be sure and done. Hoof beats thumped against the hard packed dirt and grass, Dean came to a stop, Pala and Bran behind him, and Robb appeared from the darkness into the soft globe of flickering light. Grey Wind circled around Bran and Dean, giving Summer's ear a nip in greeting. Taking that as a sign that this other boy with Bran was not a danger, as the gelding came to a stop, Robb jumped from the saddle and rushed to his brother.

"Bran?" Robb came to his side, a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright? Are you unharmed?"

"Yes, Robb." Bran nodded.

"He has a couple cuts on his legs... My Lord." Dean spoke up, his shoulders tense as Sammy moaned in his arms.

"Done by wildlings." Bran interjected as Robb looked over at the back of Dean's dark blond head with narrowed blue eyes.

"Yes, we'll speak of that later. Right now you need to see Maester Luwin." Robb said, turning back to Bran.

"Sammy as well," Bran interjected, "he's sick, he needs Maester Luwin's care."

"Sammy?" Robb asked.

When Dean stay silent, Bran spoke up again. "Dean's brother, he has a fever."

"So I see," Robb glanced over at Dean, at the bundle of furs in his arms, the mope of brown curls peeking out. "Come, the others will be relieved at your safe return." He said to Bran.

Bran nodded but gave his brother a wanting look and glanced over at Dean. Robb looked at his young brother for a moment before he stepped in front of Dean, gazing at the other boy before glancing down at the fevered one in his arms.

"Your brother, he is fevered?"

"Yes,"

"Maester Luwin is the best healer in Winterfell. If you trust Bran, than you can trust me, I would never do a thing to harm the boy. If care for him as much as I care for my own brother, you would let me carry him upon my gelding and be off to Winterfell with speed so that Sammy may be given the care he needs." Robb spoke softly, but evenly, firmly, looking Dean in the eyes like an equal.

Dean's own eyes looked pained in the fire light, and as he gazed back at Robb, something seemed to break within him. He swallowed his emotion and gave a jerky nod. Robb nodded back and mounted his horse as Dean kissed the crown of Sammy's hair, before handing him up to Robb's waiting arms.

"Escort my brother and his friend back to the castle," Robb commanded his guardsmen as Dean stepped back, and he put his heels to the animals ribs, urging it around and galloping off back towards Winterfell. Grey Wind racing after him.

When Dean turned back around, there was a uneasy look in his green eyes, but a determination as well as he took a hold of Pala's rope and started to lead the beast towards Winterfell. They took a faster pace, as fast as Pala could go at her older age, but it was still nearly an hour before they made it to the gates of Winterfell castle.

Dean cut Bran loose and took the boy in his arms once more, leaving Pala with at the stables with a stable boy. A guardsman led the older boy through the castle and to Maester Luwin and Sammy in the guest bedchamber.

When Dean entered, the old man turned from mopping Sammy's sweaty forehead with a wet cloth from where the boy was tucked in bed safely under the furs. Bran could feel the breath of relief through the older boy at the safe sight of his younger brother.

"Lord Bran, and Dean, I've heard." Maester Luwin stood. "Right here, young man." The man indicated a armed chair and Dean sat Bran in its seat, and then replaced Maester Luwin on the edge of Sammy's bed. "Now lets see what we have here." He untied the linen bindings that Dean had stripped and tied around the wounds. They had all but stopped bleeding completely, but reopened as the cloth was pulled away. He cut the rest of Bran's leggings away. "My," The old man took a fresh cloth and dipped in it a bowl of soapy warm water and set to cleaning the wounds. "I may have to put a stitch or two in." And the Maester did just that as they bled freely. One silk stitch in his right leg, and two in his left. He applied some of his handmade ointment to the wounds, Bran biting his lips at the on coming sting, but felt none, just like he'd felt nothing when the Measter cleaned the slashes, then the old man put a fresh linen pad on each wound and wrapped them again. "They'll scar, there's nothing for it, Bran."

Bran shook his head. "It is fine." They would scar, but it could have been worse. If Dean hadn't come, those two wildlings would have slit his throat and taken Dancer. "Dancer!" He realized, not able to believe he had forgotten the filly.

"One of the guardsmen found her wandering, she was taken to the stables." Maester Luwin told him.

Bran nodded as there was a knock on the closed bedchamber's door and when it was pushed open, Robb stepped inside. "How's everything coming in here?"

"Just two cuts, My Lord, they heal but scar." Measter Luwin stood, and Dean as well, but he stayed at Sammy's side. "And the boy's fever is quiet high, but I have high hopes that it will break."

Good," Robb nodded, glancing at Dean. "You may leave, Maester."

Maester Luwin bowed his head, but before he left he instructed Dean on what to do to help Sammy's fever throughout the night before he left for his own chambers.

"We shall speak on the morrow." Robb told Dean, and collected his younger brother in his arms.

"Thank you... My Lord." Dean replied.

Robb silently nodded and Bran gave the older boy a grateful and encouraging nod as well before his brother took him away.

"That was very foolish of you, Bran." Robb murmured as he walked down the hall.

"I am sorry," Bran said, his arm wrapped around his brother's neck.

"What were you thinking? You could have been killed."

"I wanted to go for a ride. I didn't want to be a bother. I had Summer with me, and Dean was there as well."

Robb shook his head, going through a enclosed connecting bridge to the Stark bedchamber tower. "And what if the forester boy hadn't been there? You are a Stark, you should never leave the castle without an escort, even if it's just for a ride. How would I tell father and mother is something more ever happened to you, Bran, how?"

"I am sorry, Robb. I won't do it again, I've learned my lesson. I promise." Bran said as they entered his bedchamber. "I do!"

"See to it that you keep it." Robb set his brother on his bed, leaning him against the bedhead and fetched a fresh pair of smallclothes for him to change into. After Robb helped him, Bran used the grab above his head and laid down under the piled furs. Robb said on the edge of the bed. "Tell me what happened."

So Bran did, about riding, Summer tracking a scent trail, the two wildling men coming out, the knife, and then Dean. The older boy's skill with a bow that could rival Theon's, and how he called Summer. Then Dean taking him back to his camp, and the travel until meeting up with Robb at the edge of the wolfswood.

"Interesting," Robb murmured when Bran was finished with his tale, he ran his fingers along his coming reddish beard. "And he never told you his family name, or what he was doing in the wolfwood?"

Bran shook his head. "All he said was that he was tracking the two wildlings for a couple days past."

"Well, we can find all that out on the morrow." Robb stood. "Goodnight, Bran. Sleep well,"

"Goodnight, Robb."

The elder Stark blew out the lit candles, the room turning to darkness before he left. Bran sighed, staring into the darkness as he thought about all that had happened today, but his mind was sluggish as the exhaustion as the excitement of the day finally caught up with him.

Xx

The next day Dean refused to leave the bedchambers with his brother, would not talk until Sammy's fever broke and his brother finally awoke. Robb could understand this and allowed it, sending the boy three meals, and Maester Luwin checked on the sick boy regularly. Bran would have Hodor take him to visit, and two days later, Sammy's fever broke and he opened his brown eyes.

"D?" The boy muttered.

"Sammy!" Dean gasped in relief. "You're finally awake."

"Where?" the little boy wondered, looking around this unfamiliar room.

"We're in the guest bedchambers of Winterfell, Sammy."

"The castle?" Sammy gasped in amazement, looking around the room with widened yes.

Dean chuckled and shook his head. "Yes, the castle. You hungry, Sammy?" Sammy nodded. "Good, 'cause we got some soup here and your gonna eat it all."

Sammy pushed himself up, and Dean settled the bowl on his fur covered lap so it would not spill, and the little boy immediately started eating like he'd nothing for days—which was the truth. The boy had been so taken with fever that Dean and Maester Luwin could only coax a couple sips of the broth every few hours.

"Who're you?" Sammy asked, noticing Bran for the first time, sitting on the same chair that Dean to sat him two days previous.

"Bran. My brother is Lord of this castle." Bran replied.

"Wow!" Sammy looked on the boy with awe.

Bran chuckled. "Dean saved my life, you should be very proud to have a brother like that."

"I am, he's my hero!"

Dean looked awkward at that statement, staying silent. "You should thank, Bran, Sammy. It was his word and Measter that helped make you better."

"Thank you, Lord Bran. Thank you for taking care of me and my brother!" Sammy called.

"It was a pleasure, Sammy." Bran murmured.

Now Dean looked embarrassed. "Sammy, finish your soup."

"Okay!" Sammy went happily back to it.

"Robb will want to speak with you now, word that Sammy has woken will already have reached him." Bran told Dean.

"I know, just a little bit longer." Dean murmured, gazing as his small brother.

Bran offered to stay with Sammy while Dean went to speak with Robb. The older boy was reluctant, but not because he didn't trust Bran, but because he did not wish to leave him brother again.

Bran found that he liked Sammy. He still had that innocence about him like Rickon did, was smart, perceptive and was really good at games. Bran liked Dean too, and wished that the both of them could stay at Winterfell. When Hodor had taken him back to his bedchambers after supper for bed, Bran thought about why that couldn't be.

From his experience with Dean, he knew that asking him if he wished to stay would put the boy on the defensive and suspicion, so he took his idea to little Sammy, and Robb afterwards.

Xx

They were given seperate bedchambers, but Dean had refused to leave his brother's side until he knew that the boy would be alright; he slept in the chair at his bedside.

"Dean?" Sammy murmured, his voice coated with sleep as Dean sat on the edge of the bed.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Can we stay, D?" Sammy asked, his voice small but hoping.

Dean sighed. "We can't, it's not our place."

"But Bran—Lord Bran said..."

"Sammy," Dean brushed the soft curls from his brother's forehead, "we weren't meant to live in castles."

Sammy's chin trembled slightly, his lips pressed tight as he was about to cry, but tried to hold it back. It broke Dean's heart to crush Sammy's hope, to not be able to give the boy the things that he deserved.

"Baby brother, I know that you made friends with Bran and Rickon…"

"They saved us!" Sammy cried. "They saved me! They didn't have to, and now Bran wants us to stay, he said so himself. Why can't we stay, Dean? Why?"

A pained expression flashed through Dean's eyes as Sammy sobbed, hating himself because he was the one who caused it. He reached over and cupped his brother's chubby cheek. "Sammy, is this what you truly want? To stay here? You'd be Lord Robb's ward, maybe even become Bran or Rickon's server when you're older. And I would be in his service. If this is the life that you want, then I will do what I must to make is so."

Sammy sniffed and nodded.

The next morning, Dean asked if he could speak with Robb and was escorted to the Lord's solar.

"My Lord," Dean greeted, with a bowed head.

"Dean, we speak once more." Robb said from behind his father's desk.

Dean nodded, his shoulders set as he stood in the middle of the solar, waiting.

"You have the kindness of knowing my family name, but not me yours."

"Winchester, if it pleases my lord." The blond boy replied.

"I don't believe I heard that name."

"It's a commoner's name, my father's, my mother was a Lady."

"As bastard then?"

Dean gritted his teeth briefly. "They wed under witness of the Old Gods."

Robb just nodded. "Are you a Northerner then?"

"Yes."

"What was it that you wished to see me about, Dean? You told me last that when Sammy was well enough to travel, you would be off once more."

He took a deep breath. "I wish to pledge myself to you, My Lord." Dean said, kneeling on the stone floor, his head bowed and fist crossed over his heart.

"You wish to serve under me?" Robb felt a flicker of surprise.

"My name and my body, for what those are worth. You cared for my brother, took us in, treated us with kindness when you did not have to. You saved my brother, I owe you my thanks and am in your debt."

Robb was silent for a long moment as he looked down at the other boy, Bran had already brought this up to him once before. "Bran says that you are good with a bow,"

"Yes," Dean answered, glancing up. "A sword, danger, spear and many else." His tone wasn't bragging, but fact.

"We shall see," Robb said, but nodded. He lais stell on Dean's shoulder, "I, Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell, in the name of the old gods, the heart tree, the direwolf, on the House Stark, I accept your pledge of service unto me. You will be a master-at-arms under my command until the end of your days, or I release you from your duties." He continued, "I, Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell, take your brother, Sam Winchester, as my ward under protection of the Stark House and walls of Winterfell, until such days that he may join my service."

"Your command will be my will on this day, to the end of my days." Dean pledge.

"You may stand," he returned his sword to his belt.

Dean did and looked into the eyes of his future Lord, for Sammy. This would be their home now, and he would due his duty to his fullest, his word was sacred and law unto himself. He would not betray the Starks' trust in him. Not this day or to the end of his days.

"Welcome to Winterfell. Winter Is Coming. May the cold protect its servants."

-the end-

********Game/of/Thrones********
********Super/Natural********

Note:

So, what did you think of this crossover? I hoped you liked it. I haven't written for Dean in a really long time, and never in this kind of setting, I hope that he wasn't too OOC. And this was the first time really writing in the setting of "Game of Thrones", with Bran as a main character as well. Please tell me what you think, don't be afraid to rag on my if there's something you don't like, or maybe a mistake of some sort that I made.
Don't Worry, I have the plan to do more with Got/Spn crossover, in The Hunter of the Realm universe, so keep an eye out.

Thanks for Reading!

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