One of the most distinctive, early memories Sam has is of leaves. What had seemed like a mountain of them, towering over him, threatening to block out the sun. Must have been at one of the baby sitters, he would think later, to be in a place with so many trees shedding their leaves.
He remembered laying back in the dying grass, the leaves falling all around him, and feeling so small. Like the whole world would just bury him under those falling leaves and he would sleep for years and years, like Rip Van Winkle.
But then Dean's there too. His big, strong brother who picks him up and twirls him around, laughing at Sam's happy yell. Holding him and protecting him as they both fall back into the leaf pile together.
Sam stops feeling small, then. With Dean looking at him like that, like he is the world, green eyes vivid and smiling against the gold and orange avalanche around them, how could he feel small?
Sometimes Sam thinks about that memory; when he's tired and miserable and feeling sorry for himself. There have been enough wrongs and bloodshed between them that he doesn't know the last time Dean looked at him like that.
At least he can remember.