Driving through another town in another state for another job, same old same old, but I was feeling pretty good because my baby was running beautifully and I had a shaggy haired kid in the passenger seat.

We were in that particular town because, apparently, a very pissed off spirit was hanging around. At least we are pretty sure that was what was going on, but of course Sam wanted to do more research.

That was why I was dropping the dork off at the library so that he could research to his little heart's content while I scouted out the town to find a motel, hopefully a diner, maybe even chat up a hot waitress before I had to return to pick-up Sammy.

"Alright kid, go get your geek on! I'll be back to get you in an hour." I said, pulling up in front of the library.

I smiled as Sam rolled his eyes and climbed out of the car, dimples making a momentary appearance before he shut the door and turned to walk into the building of books.

God I loved those dimples...god I sounded like a total chic.

I grabbed a room at the only motel in town, it was pretty decent; it at least didn't look like it had flees or any other sort of infestation.

I spent about half an hour transferring our stuff from the car, chucking Sam's duffel on the bed furthest from the door and grabbing a shower.

Now it was time to find some grub. Hopefully I could get Sam to eat more than rabbit food.

I swear if that kid had to go one notch tighter on his belt in order to keep his jeans up, I was going to have to start cramming food down his gullet.

My little brother hadn't eaten a whole lot since Jessica died a few months ago and when I harassed him enough to go through the effort of digestion all he wanted was some nasty lettuce shit.

I understood the grief thing, I mean really I did...well I didn't, but I did... it was complicated.

I got it because I had seen it, not because I had been through it.

I had watched Dad after mom, the drinking, the obsessive behaviour, the recklessness...I couldn't remember him ever having a problem with food, but hey, him and Sam were pretty fucking different so I guess I could hardly make that comparison.

It wasn't like Sam was ever that good with eating when he was younger.

He ate fine when he was really little, could never seem to get enough, that or we never had enough. Then there were times where neither of us could really have a hearty appetite because Dad was late coming back from a hunt and we had to make a loaf of bread and spaghettios last another week.

I supposed those experiences had a different effect on Sam then they did me.

Now that I didn't have to stretch food and worry about not having enough to last until Dad shows up, I felt free to eat all the time, I loved eating, because I could.

Sam just sort of lost his appetite, lost interest in food, would rather be playing than eating. When he got older it was reading and homework that he chose over food. By the time the kid was a teenager I would have to constantly remind and force him to put the book down long enough to shove a sandwich in his mouth. Now, with no schoolwork to pour over, he had his grief as a reason, or possibly an excuse, not to eat.

Grief or not, Sam needed some meat on his bones. No way was I allowing my baby brother to go all anorexic right under my nose.

Apparently, we had finally found a town that is diner-less; but thankfully I had discovered something ten times better, something that might have resulted in Sammy eating some human food for a change.

With a smile of triumph, I made my way back to the library.

"Ready to go bookbug?" I asked as Sam dropped into his seat.

"It's worm, Dean." Sam replied.

"What the hell you talking about?" I questioned, guiding my girl back onto the road.

"The term is bookworm...not bookbug." Sam sighed in exasperation.

"You see, that's something only a dorkface like yourself would know."

"Everyone knows its bookwarm, except you apparently. And dorkface? Really?" Sam inquired with curious smile.

"Would you rather dorkbutt, or dorkizoid, or dorkenstien, or dor..."

"Nope, dorkface is fine thanks." Sam surrendered.

"Good, cause it suits you." I grinned smacking my brother on the leg before returning my hands to the wheel.

Sam immediately began me in with all his research, history of the town and every other thing he had read about.

I never understood this kid's excitement over research. For me it was the worst part of the job, I just wanted to gank the monster. Sammy wanted to learn every single thing he could about it.

He was so in to telling me all about what he read that he hardly noticed when I pulled in to a parking lot and stopped the Impala.

"Sounds very interesting Sammy and I..."

"It's Sam."

"Sam, Sammy, dorkface, same thing. Anyways, before you bore me to sleep with all your bookbug talk, let's go grab some dinner." I suggested while exiting the Impala, smirking when I heard Sam mutter, "Worm, bookworm, geeze, how hard is that?"

"I thought we were getting something to eat?" Sam asked as he stood glancing around the parking lot.

"Obviously, that's why we're at a restaurant, dumbass." I responded.

"Montana's?"

"Look at that, it can read!" I quipped sarcastically.

"Why are we eating here?" Sam wondered, ignoring my jibe.

"Cause they serve food Sammy, good god you're as dumb as you look." I joked, holding the door open for my brother, "Geeks before beauty."

Sam rolled his eyes but marched through the entrance anyway.

Once we were seated I eagerly opened the menu and began viewing my options, Sam spent more of his time looking at me than he did the menu open in his hands.

"Sam, stop staring at me, I'm trying to concentrate here man."

"Am I missing something?" He asked.

"What?" I questioned, looking up over my menu at my little brother.

"Well, it's not Christmas, or Thanksgiving, or either of our birthdays... is there some anniversary I'm missing?"

"Anniversary? No wonder people always think we're gay, with you spouting shit like that!" I exclaimed, thoroughly enjoying the young man's apparent confusion.

"Dude, there is nothing going on. You didn't miss anything. We are only here because this town didn't have a diner and we haven't eaten anywhere this nice in ages, don't over think it alright?"

Sam gave me a disbelieving look, but nodded his head nonetheless.

"Oh and by the way, if you order any of that lame-ass rabbit food of yours, I'm not paying for it. And I happen to know that you have no money...so I guess that means no salad for you Sammy boy." I chirped, hiding my face in the menu, as though I could hide my motives as easily.

"Oh ya, and how are you planning to pay for all this, did you rob a bank while I was at the library?" Sam commented sarcastically, as he finally gave the menu in front of him some attention.

"Okay, so Darren Wendall, will not be paying for any rabbit food." I stated, recalling the name off the credit card of the day.

"God I love credit card fraud."

"Probably something you shouldn't express in public Dean." Sam muttered.

A few minutes later a waiter came by...that's right... a waiter, the male version of a waitress, the one and only reason not to go to Montana's. He took our orders and I attempted to keep the smile from my face when Sam ordered rotisserie chicken with mashed potatoes, real people food.

I was about to permit Sam to continue telling me about what he had discovered during his research, when I was distracted by a very loud, slightly irritating rendition of Happy Birthday.

I looked over to see some of the restaurant staff surrounding a table clapping, singing, and holding a candle lit birthday cake directly in front of a young boy. The boy looked to be about 10, he was sharing a table with his family. His parents were both smiling at him as a young girl, I assume is his little sister, giggled along with the song and an older teenage boy, older brother I'd say, was ducking his head in embarrassment.

As I watched this happy scene play out before of me, my mind took me back to a birthday years ago.

Sammy was finally turning twelve, I always felt he was older, mostly due to his oddly large vocabulary and absurd amount of intelligence, but everyone else always thought he was younger because he was such a short, little, twig of a thing.

Twelve, the kid had been pumped. Practically a teenager, he'd been counting down the days. I was pretty psyched to, not because he was turning a year older...wasn't really going to change anything, but because I had fucking missed seeing this kid get excited about something.

Dad left for a hunt last Friday right after we rolled into town; he paid for a room, got Sam and I enrolled into school, left some money on the counter, and was gone before we made it home from class. He had called a few days ago, saying that the hunt was more difficult than he thought, but I not-so-subtly reminded him that it was Sammy's birthday on Thursday and he needed to make it home. Dad promised he'd be back Thursday evening, said he would take us for dinner and if the hunt wasn't done he would head out again Friday morning.

He promised.

He promised me, but worse, he promised Sammy.

He called while I had been in the shower Wednesday night to check in and say that he wasn't through with the job yet, but swore to Sam that he would take a break from it and take us all for dinner Thursday night. He promised and swore up and down to the kid that it wouldn't be like last year, that he didn't forget and he wouldn't miss it.

He lied.

Thursday came around, I made Sammy chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast, packed some sugary snacks in his lunch, and then after school we went and spent hours playing arcade games. I hadn't been worried about our dwindling funds, knowing I could just grab some extra cash from Dad when he returned this evening.

After playing and achieving almost every high score on all the arcade games in town, Sam and I made our way back to our room and waited.

We waited for hours.

I put the t.v on to try and make the time go by faster, but my little brother spent most of the time staring out the front window, waiting for Dad's truck to make an appearance.

Dinner time came and went, I tried the best I could to show I was confident Dad would arrive, constantly reassuring Sam with words as well as my relaxed attitude; little did the kid know that I was trying hard not to start chewing nervously on my bottom lip.

I had lost all hope by nine pm and tried to talk Sam into eating some dinner.

He had refused.

The only thing I got out of him the rest of the night was a small dimpled smile and a quiet "thanks Dean" when I gave him his present, some book he had had his eye on a while back.

It was midnight before Sammy stopped staring out the front window.

Midnight before he hung his head and allowed his floppy hair to curtain his eyes.

Midnight before he silently crawled into bed and buried his face into the pillow.

I watched as my little brother's small frame managed to become even tinier when he curled himself up into a ball atop the bed covers.

I remained on the couch a few moments, trying desperately to swallow the lump that had appeared in my throat as my heart ached for the little kid I adored so much.

The little kid that deserved so much, including having his fucking father at his fucking birthday.

I sucked in a deep breath before locking up, checking the salt, switching off the t.v. and the lights, and then paused on the way to my bed making a quick decision before travelling across the room and sliding into the bed farthest from the door instead.

I lay quietly beside Sam for almost half an hour before he turned to face me, eyes wide and full of moisture, but I noticed that no tears had escaped. He said nothing, just stared at me with those dreadfully sad puppy dog eyes.

I let out a sigh as I lifted my arm, pulling my little brother closer to me, allowing him to burrow his head into the side of my chest and stick his cold feet under my legs. This was getting dreadfully close to cuddling, and even though I loathed girly-chick flick scenes, sometimes exceptions had to be made.

When I noticed the younger boy's breathing was beginning to even out, I reached across the small gap between the two motel beds and pulled the comforter from mine, placing it over Sammy and I, settling in for the night.

It was 2am when my cell went off, I reached over to grab it off the side-table and placed it to my ear without opening my eyes.

"Yeah?" I answered groggily.

"Hey Dean."

"What do you want?"

I knew who it would be the moment I had heard the ring and was not in the mood for a casual conversation.

I heard my father clear his throat awkwardly and take in a deep breath before he replied.

"Just...uh...wanted to make sure you boys were alright."

"We're fine." I stated.

"Good, well, I should be done sometime next week, be back no later than Saturday." He announced gruffly.

"Kay." I mumbled.

There was silence for a while, I knew my Dad was trying to come up with some liable excuse that didn't make it look like he had put hunting first...again. And that was a task at which I knew he would fail, because regardless of how bad-ass John Winchester might be, he couldn't lie worth shit and I sure as hell wasn't in the mood to listen to some lame-ass excuse.

"We done?" I asked after a couple minutes of just listening to him breathe.

"Dean, I..."

I could practically hear the rest of the sentence already.

'I just couldn't abandon the job, lives are at stake.'

'I lost track of time.'

'I tried.'

I'd heard them all before, 100's of different times and was disgustingly sick of every damn one.

"Save it Dad." I interjected, my tone flat, but stern.

"Sam there?" He asked, no doubt hoping that his bullshit would work better on his younger son.

What he didn't know was that Sam may have been a naive child once, but he wasn't anymore, and he could see through Dad's lies and lame excuses almost better than I could by this point.

"He's sleeping." I lied, knowing full well that my little brother had woken the moment he heard the phone and though he hadn't moved, I knew that he was listening intently to the conversation.

"Dean I just want to..."

"Talk to him? So you can make some more promises that you're never going to keep? So you can get him all excited for something that is never going to happen? I don't think so Sir." I replied, struggling to maintain a level, respectful tone while my anger rose.

Not because I didn't want my Dad to know I was angry, the man could be dense but there was no way he wasn't aware of my fury by this point.

The reason being that my father disregarded emotional arguments, he was a generally rational man and the second any emotion or passion entered an argument, all was lost; this was probably the reason his and Sam's disagreements always turned to full-out explosions, because Sam was all emotion and passion.

"Dean, that's enough." Dad ordered.

"Fine, but no more making promises to Sam, no more getting his hopes up and not coming through. I didn't care when you did it to me, but quit doing it to Sammy." I demanded.

"I had every intention of..." He tried to defend himself.

"I know, but it's not fair to him when you make all these promises and then never show up, so quit doing it. He's not a child anymore. He won't bounce back as easily and he certainly isn't going to buy the lame excuses and crappy apologies any longer."

"Dean!" The older man barked.

"Sorry Sir." I apologized.

I didn't mean a word of it, but I said it to keep the peace, something I had to do more and more of lately.

I was waiting for a dress down, a lecture about respect and the importance of the job and the unimportance of trivial things like birthdays, and was shocked when I didn't receive one.

"Will you boys be good until I get back?" Came the shockingly soft reply.

I suppose something I said must have had some sort of effect on the man.

"Yeah, we'll be fine." I replied with certainty, even though I knew we only had like $20 left and apparently a whole other week to try and make it last; but I could handle it. I would probably have to get some part-time work bagging groceries or something. We had the credit cards but those should only be used on the road, when you are long gone by the time they find out that card isn't yours.

"Good, I'll call back in a couple of days." Was the last remark my father made before hanging up.

I closed my cell and placed it back on the bedside table before wrapping both my arms loosely around the young boy still nuzzled into my side.

"Sorry Sammy." Was all I said, knowing how lame it was.

Because sorry never mattered, which, I suppose, is why Winchesters rarely bothered with the word.

Sorry didn't fix things.

It wasn't an action and it sure as hell did not make anything better, but it was all I had; because I could not control our father, I could not force John to be home whenever we wanted or needed him to be, I could not erase the many broken promises of the past and I could not bring back Mom to make this all better.

Sam didn't say anything, there was really nothing to be said, all I got in reply was a slight sniff and my little brother squishing himself even further into my side as he wrapped his skinny arm around my torso.

Now this was cuddling, but what kind of jackass would take away the only comfort there was to offer?

"You always made them better you know."

I was brought back to the present by the quiet statement made by my little brother. It took me a couple seconds to understand what he was saying and then a few more to understand how this kid always managed to figure out what I was thinking.

"What?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

"Birthdays, Dean. You always made them better." Sam stated clearly, "Even when we were broke and stuck in some sketchy motel, in a dead end town, on our own...you always managed to make everything better."

"I tried." I admitted quietly.

"You did, every time." Sam insisted, imploring me to believe him with those wide, adoring eyes and that ridiculously genuine expression.

"Oh god you're such a girl!" I insulted in feigned exasperation. Thankful the food had arrived so I had an excuse to look away from those soulful puppy dog gaze.

I tried to hide my grin as I watched Sam immediately start in on his meal that consisted of actual people food. This kid was going to be okay, because I was going to make sure of it.

I took a glance back across the restaurant at the birthday family sitting there eating cake in all their white-picket fence, cookie-cutter, perfection.

I smiled, because sure Sam and I didn't have a mom, and our father was part time at best, and we certainly didn't have any memories of expensive dinners, or birthday cakes, for that matter.

But we had everything we needed.

I've had Sam and Sam had me and we may not have had much else, but we are each other's everything.

And as long as we stuck together, we could make it through anything.

Note: Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment if you have a moment!