Note: Okay, so I'm like a day late with this one, but in my defence I didn't start it until late on the 31st and I had it finished by 7 this morning but I had to go to work and didn't have time to edit - and I know how testy ya'll get when I don't edit (though, fair warning, I've been away for 37hrs so the editting is likely sub-par at best). Anyways, sorry it's late.


Sam shifted closer to the middle of the front bench seat, trying to keep his right shoulder away from the door it kept bumping into. It was a relatively short drive to the variety store, but for some reason Sam's shoulder always tended to throb more at night; plus, he hadn't been wearing his sling all day and his injury was bound to be sorer because of that.

"You okay?" Dean asked, glancing down at Sam to his right, obviously noticing that the kid had slid closer to him.

"Yeah." Sam stated with a nod. He was being honest, because though his shoulder was throbbing pretty hard, everything was okay. Because he had Dean. He hadn't been okay when he had been sitting alone in the motel thinking about how lonely he was and how terribly he had treated his big brother, but then Dean came back and he made everything okay – just like he always did.

"Your shoulder pretty sore?" Dean questioned, guilt and concern written all over his face.

Sam barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He didn't know what else he had to do to get his brother to stop blaming himself for dislocating his stupid shoulder. He had told the older teen a dozen times that what happened was not his fault and he thought he had finally gotten through Dean's thick head, but then Sam had been an absolute idiot and - in his frustration - blamed his brother for his injury. So it really wasn't any surprise that Dean was feeling guilty again and Sam was going to have to work twice as hard to convince the man of his innocence.

"Things always hurt more at night." Sam responded simply, shrugging his good shoulder.

Dean grunted, because he knew it was true, but his expression remained shadowed with guilt.

The younger boy gave his head a hopeless shake, staring out the windshield as they arrived at the variety store.

"Alright, let's go stock up on sugar." Dean announced as he put the Impala in park and climbed out.

Sam grinned, glad his brother was smiling, even if it didn't completely erase the lines on his face.

The young teenager managed a graceful exit from the vehicle, which was harder than usual with his right arm secured to his chest, but he failed to hide the shiver as he was hit with the cold air.

"Tomorrow after school were getting you a new jacket." Dean grumbled.

Sam did roll his eyes this time, because Dean had been after his coat for the past two months. Sure, it was a little worn – one of his brother's hand-me-downs that actually remained unstained and intact long enough to be handed down – but it fit okay, actually it was still a little big because for the life of him Sam couldn't seem to get any taller.

"I'm serious." The older boy added.

"Really? I couldn't tell, it's not like you haven't mentioned how shitty my jacket is seventy-two times." Sam responded, marching through the door his brother opened, hearing the high-pitched ding-dong that announced their entrance.

"Smart-mouth." Dean responded, gently swatting the back of Sam's head, it was hardly a swat at all really, more like a tap. Sam figured that would be the new norm for awhile, his big brother being overly cautious with him physically, even in his jesting actions. It would be that way until Dean finally forgave himself for accidently injuring his little brother. It would take some time before the two could return to their playful contact, it would be far longer before they would be sparring again.

"I'll get the candy, you get the chips." Sam called out as he made his way to the aisle he knew held the treats he was scouting for. He spared a quick glance at the only other person occupying the dimly lit very dirty, corner store, a disinterested man who was focussed very intently on the small TV set up behind the counter.

"Fine, but you better grab me some M&M's and licorice!" Dean hollered as he moved closer to the very front of the store where the chips were placed.

"Gross, Dean. Licorice is disgusting."

"If you want to watch movies all night, I need my licorice."

"Puke." Sam mumbled under his breath as he arrived at the candy section situated at the back of the store.

"Hey! I heard that. Don't be disparaging a classic, Sam."

"Figures he'd save his five dollar words for important things like movie snacks." Sam remarked under his breath, a fond smirk on his face even as he rolled his eyes.

"Just for that, I'm not getting you Cheetos." Sam heard his brother declare from across the small empty store.

Sam shook his head, he couldn't tell if his brother's supernatural hearing came from hunting or from raising a kid – he was beginning to believe it was from the latter, he'd heard from classmates at school that mom's all had insanely good hearing, and his dad was a hunter but he didn't hear nearly as well as Dean did – which was good because if John heard half the shit Sam mumbled under his breath he would tan his hide…if Dean were ever to allow that.

Sam was distracted from his thoughts and the assortment of junk food on display, by the electronic sound that accompanied the door opening. Sam froze as he watched three figures enter the store. They all had baggy sweatshirts on with their hoods up and all of them were wearing masks. They were Halloween masks, gory and misshapen, and though it was the proper night for that sort of thing, Sam knew that they were not here to trick or treat. Sam watched with wide eyes as one of the masked men stood at the front door, staring out in the parking lot – he was the lookout, a job Sam was all too familiar with, but on a far less sinister scale…or atleast a slightly less sinister scale. Both of the other men approached the counter, one hanging further back, closer to Dean, while the other marched right up to the man behind the cash register.

Sam's wide eyes tracked to Dean, his heart pounding in his chest as he could feel the tension fill the small store and he knew immediately what was about to happen. The look on his older brother's face told Sam that he wasn't the only one who knew exactly what was about to go down. Dean looked keyed up and ready to fight, but Sam didn't miss the shine of fear in the older teen's green eyes as they locked on to his hazel ones. Dean looked as panicked as Sam felt, though the experienced hunter was much better at masking his emotions. He could easily tell though, that Dean wanted to be near Sam just as badly as Sam wanted to be next to his big brother. He wanted to run across the store to Dean, but knew better then to go through with such a foolish plan of action, no matter how badly he wanted to.

Dean held a finger to his lips and signalled for Sam to duck down, before a hollered demand turned his focus back to the hooded figure at the counter. The younger teen crouched down, thankful for once that his lack height didn't make it the least bit difficult to disappear behind the shelving, which he was just able to see through.

"Empty the fucking register." The masked man demanded, as he tossed what looked like a pillow case onto the surface in front of him.

The guy sitting behind the counter finally removed his eyes from the television, his expression nearly comical as he realized what was going on.

"What the fuck?" He shouted, sounding both furious and terrified.

"I said empty the fucking register!" The man repeated, pulling a handgun from the front pocket of his sweater and pointing it at the cashier, who was surprisingly slow to respond, but eventually popped the register open and reached for the pillow case.

Sam glanced back over at Dean, his heart thudding as he saw the guy that was near his brother had also pulled out a firearm, as well as the one who was positioned at the door.

"Hurry the fuck up!" The robber hollered, punching the air with his firearm on each syllable.

"Hey, take it easy man, he's working on it." To a stranger Dean's voice would sound nothing but level and calm, but Sam had no issue detecting the angry and fearful undertones.

The thief at the counter turned, his gun aimed at Dean as he screamed. "Shut the fuck up!"

Terror ricocheted through Sam, he could barely breathe, the taste of blood in his mouth as he bit down hard on his lip to keep from making a sound.

"Alright man, just take it easy." Dean placated, his palms up in the air. The gunman swung back to the cashier, who had finished filling the pillowcase with money.

"We still clear?" The man Sam was assuming to be the leader, called back to the one stationed at the entryway.

"Yeah, we're good." He returned gruffly, his focus on the outdoors not wavering.

"Good. Where's the safe?"

The cashier pointed shakily to the door behind him.

"Jay, take this fatass to the back and have him empty the safe."

The third member nodded, following instruction without hesitation or comment, as the two disappeared into the room that looked like an office, the leader's attention returned to Dean, as did the aim of his weapon.

The man behind the mask seemed jittery and paranoid, his gun and his body turning around in a circle as he seemed to be scanning the store, Sam was thinking that these guys, specifically the leader, were definitely on some sort of narcotic.

"Where the fuck is the kid?" He yelled.

Sam flinched at both the volume of the question and the fact that he was now officially on the angry man's radar.

"Where is he?" He repeated louder this time, his movements growing more erratic.

Sam held his breath, his eyes on Dean as his brother watched the leader with a look that the older teen usually reserved for monsters.

"What kid?" The guy at the door asked, without moving from his post.

"There was a fucking kid in here before. Where the fuck did he go?"

"He didn't leave. Nobody went out this door." He stated, sounding almost proud of himself.

"Then where the fuck did he go?" The leader shouted out.

"What's going on?" That was Jay who had just returned with a pillow case full of cash and the variety store employee ahead of him being guided with a gun to his back.

"Go find the fucking kid! He was in here. Go find him!" The shot-caller demanded.

The other man nodded, handing the bag of cash over to the leader before making his way through the aisles.

"You have what you came for. Just go." Dean's words sounding like an angry suggestion.

Sam glanced around, knowing he had nowhere to go and only a matter of seconds before he was found.

"Hey! Take your money and get the hell out of here!" That was an order, and a furious one at that.

"Shut the fuck up!" The leader nearly screamed, his entire body shaking as he shook his gun in Dean's direction.

Sam was so distracted by the threat to his brother, that he didn't notice he had been found before a rough hand grabbed the back of his jacket and yanked him violently to his feet.

"Found him." Jay declared, as he shoved Sam in front of him, towards everyone else.

Sam winched at the rough treatment, his shoulder flaring in pain, but the feel of the handgun digging into the back of his head made it easy for Sam to forget his discomfort.

"Leave him the hell alone!" Dean commanded, no trace of calm left in his voice as he glared lethally at the man standing behind Sam and marching him to the front of the store.

"What the fuck do you care?" The leader questioned.

"He's just a kid. Just take your money and leave." Dean had gone from a suggestion to an order and had just arrived at a warning – and when it came to Dean Winchester, you only got one warning before it was game over. Sam wondered if he should share that information with these assholes.

The leader ignored both Dean and his warning, as he made his way to Sam.

"What the fuck were you doing back there, kid? Huh? You hiding like a little chicken shit? Thought I wouldn't notice?"

Sam shook his head, not sure how else to react as the masked face hovered inches from his, he tried to move back but the firearm pressing into the back of his head put a stop to that.

"You a mute? Or just a retard?" The man taunted, pressing the barrel of his gun up under Sam's chin, forcing the kid's head up into an unnatural angle. Sam tried to shift away, but a hand that had to belong to the man behind him clamped down onto his injured shoulder and squeezed remarkably hard. The smaller boy released a pained cry, resisting his body's desire to pull away from the pain as he felt the increase of two metallic barrels against his skin.

His attention and that of the two men surrounding him was shifted as a loud thump sounded through the enclosed space. The leader turned, allowing Sam a view of what had happened. The man who had been standing watch was laying unmoving on the ground and Dean was standing a few feet away with the lookout's weapon held firmly in his hand and pointed steadily at the masked man who had been calling all the shots.

"Get the fuck away from him before I blow a hole through your fucking skull." Dean demanded, his tone nothing short of lethal.

"Holy shit." The shocked whisper of the cashier was barely noted as the standoff continued.

Sam kept his eyes on his brother, sucking in a sharp breath as he felt additional pressure from the gun pressed up under his chin and the grip on his shoulder only intensified.

"Take the cash and go, or decorate the floor with your brains. Your choice." Dean seethed.

Sam cried out as he was dragged by his right arm to stand in front of the leader, who did what he could to crouch behind his small form, clearly trying to use him as a human shield. Sam jumped as he heard a gun go off, and glanced to his left in time to see the guy Jay fall to the ground. He was groaning and holding his shoulder, his gun discarded on the ground as blood began to seep through his sweater.

Dean's aim was steady and tracked the leader.

"You're next." Dean promised, sounding every big as dangerous as John Winchester ever had.

Sam squawked out an embarrassing sound as he was jerked forward, being steered by his injured shoulder to move across the store towards the entrance.

"You shoot at me, you risk hitting the stupid mute you like so much." The leader jeered as he hid behind Sam, the bag of cash hitting the kid in the back as he walked, the thief holding it and the gun in his left hand. The barrel still pressed against Sam's cheekbone now, shaking as the weight of the money-filled pillow case prevented the masked man from holding his weapon steady.

Dean tracked their movements, the borrowed handgun never wavering as it followed them across the filthy tiled floor. As they neared the door, Sam knew he had to make his move, it was now or never. He didn't know how far this asshole was planning to take him but he didn't want to find out. He wasn't in the proper position for any skilled moves, he knew he wouldn't be able to take the guy down, the size difference was far too great and Sam was down to one good arm – but he could give his brother a clear shot.

Sam waited for Dean's intense gaze to shift back to his hazel eyes, before going deadweight and dropping bonelessly to the ground, feeling pain seer through his shoulder as it connected with the unforgiving floor. He flinched at the noise of the shot and had the oxygen forced from his lungs as a heavy weight toppled onto him.

"Sam!" The call was accompanied by familiar hands that pulled the smaller boy from beneath the masked robber. "Sammy, kiddo. You okay?" With the danger incapacitated, Dean had finally allowed himself to panic, Sam could hear it in his voice and see it clearly on his pale face.

"M'okay." He rasped, sucking in a lungful of air as he tried to ignore the pain pulsing though his right shoulder.

"You sure?" Dean asked from his position squatted down in front of his little brother, his hands shaking as he brushed Sam's bangs to the side and grazed his thumb over the indents the younger boy knew had been left by the barrel of the handgun on his cheekbone and under his chin.

Sam nodded, still working to inhale a sufficient amount of oxygen.

Dean opened his mouth, but the sound of sirens had him slamming his jaw closed and bolting to a stand.

"Dude! That was fucking insane." The corner store employee exclaimed as he glanced around at the three men all laid out on the floor moaning, groaning, and bleeding – except for the lookout who remained unconscious.

Dean paid not mind to the comment as he guided Sam towards the door.

"Hey, where you going? The cops are going to want to talk to you." The cashier said.

Dean paused at the door, glancing back. "Yeah, umm, I can't – we can't, umm, we can't stay." Dean stuttered, sounded more like an unsure teenager then the badass hunter that had just been on display a moment ago. Sam looked up at his big brother, watching as the young man's complexion became nearly ghostly, his freckles stark against their pale backdrop, as his weary gaze surveyed the damage he had done.

It wasn't until that moment, taking in Dean's lost and panicked state that Sam realized his brother had never shot a human. Dean had gotten in to a lot of fights, he'd kicked plenty of 100% human ass, and there'd been a several scumbags that Sam had known his big brother had wanted to kill, but it had never come to that. Dean had killed a lot of things, he'd shot plenty more, but never a human being.

Until tonight.

The men would live, the wounds were all superficial, but still, shooting humans was different then shooting targets or the things that went bump in the night. Sam glanced from the shocked teen to the confused employee, motivated by the sirens he could hear coming closer. "We can't talk to the cops." He supplied vaguely, hoping the cashier wouldn't ask for details.

It took a minute, but the other man appeared to arrive at his own conclusions and nodded his head in what Sam was sure he thought to be some level of comprehension.

"That's cool, man. Don't worry about it. I'll make up something for the cops. It's the least I can do, you saved my ass, kid."

Dean nodded, before glancing up at the security camera hanging by the door.

"Oh hey, don't worry about it. Those haven't worked in years, boss is too cheap to fix them." The employee declared confidently.

Dean nodded again, sending the older man an almost grateful look, before his gaze tracked back to the three men still groaning and rolling about on their floor – all their weapons a significant distance a way from where they lay, Dean must have kicked them out of reach at some point.

The sirens were approaching quickly, a sound that Sam had grown-up conditioned to run from.

"C'mon, Dean." He prodded softly, tugging on his brother's sleeve.

Dean responded immediately, appearing to snap out of his daze, gently splaying his hand over Sam's back as he ushered him from the store and quickly to the Impala. He opened the driver's side door and helped steady Sam as he dropped inside, Dean waited for the smaller boy to shift over before dropping in behind the wheel. Dean pulled quickly out of the parking lot and drove in the opposite direction from which the sirens could be heard – it was the long way back to the motel, but Winchesters and cops didn't mix, so the precaution was necessary.

Sam stayed seated close to Dean, remaining pressed up against his brother instead of moving over to the passenger seat he usually chose to occupy.

"You cold?"

The question took some time to get to Sam's brain, but once it did he glanced to his left with raised eyebrows.

"You're shaking." Dean explained softly, reaching forward to turn up the heat. Sam frowned, he hadn't noticed.

Once they returned to the motel, Sam followed his brother out the driver's side door, not wanting to be more than a few feet from the only person who had ever made him feel completely safe. He followed the older teen on the short trip to the door, accidently knocking into him when he failed to notice that Dean had stopped and was unlocking their room. Dean opened the door and gently guided Sam into the stuffy space with a hand on the back of his neck. Sam stood and watched as Dean closed the door and slid both locks back into place, before moving around the room, pulling the blinds and turning the heat up. Sam just stood in the center of the small space, feeling slightly numb and unsure of what to do.

"Fuck."

The teen looked up at the whispered curse, watching as Dean dragged his hands through his hair and over his face, the young man looking about twice his age.

"We're okay, Dean." Sam rasped, feeling exhausted and pained and cold, but needing to do something to comfort his big brother. Though he wished he had managed to make the comment sound more like a statement and less like a question.

Dean's gaze locked onto his brothers, the green eyes had lost their threat and fight and fire, they looked faded and tired.

"Yeah, Sammy. We're okay." Dean replied, moving forward and reaching out for the younger boy, checking him over once again. "You sure you're good?" He asked, his thumb swiping gently at Sam's bottom lip where he knew he had broken the skin with his teeth.

"Yeah."

"How's your shoulder?"

"Sore."

"I bet. Let me take a look."

Sam stood silently and allowed Dean to slide off his jacket and his sling, followed by his shirt. He shivered as his bare skin was exposed. Once the older teen was satisfied that no further damage had been done and had dossed the kid with a sufficient amount of Advil, Sam moved to slide his shirt back on, but Dean snatched it away.

"Wha—" He didn't have time to finish his complaint before a warm sweater was being slid over his head and onto his thin frame. Sam fed his arms carefully through the sleeves and allowed himself to absorb the warmth of the soft fabric. It was Dean's sweatshirt, a new one that Sam had got Dean for his last birthday because all his other sweaters were either ruined or had been unofficially adopted by his little brother. "It's soft." He whispered.

"I know, softest one I got." Dean commented, slipping out of his own jacket as he lead Sam to the couch and gently pushed him down onto the cushioned surface before sitting himself across from the youbner boy on the warn wood coffee table. "You hungry?" He asked.

Sam shook his head, he didn't feel much like eating.

"Thirsty?"

Sam shook his head once again.

"What do you need, kiddo?" Dean questioned, his voice impossibly soft as he leaned forward.

Dean had been a violent hunter such a short time ago, lethal and rageful and frightening. There was no trace of that hunter now. No, now Dean was gentle and caring and soft, he was comforting and loving. Sam needed both versions of his brother equally, and he loved both sides of Dean unconditionally.

"Hey, you need anything, Sammy?" Dean repeated, ducking down closer, probably assuming Sam had zoned out on him.

The younger boy nodded in response.

"What? What do you need, kiddo?" Dean inquired in a tone of voice that told Sam if he asked for the fucking moon, his brother would find a way to get it for him.

But Sam didn't need the moon.

He needed the one person who made him feel safe, who had always made him feel safe.

He needed his protector.

He needed his big brother.

"You." Sam answered simply.

Dean's forehead crinkled. "What?"

Sam just nodded as he reached forward with his left hand and wrapped his fingers in Dean's flannel shirt and tugged him forward. He continued pulling until Dean was situated on the couch next to him. Sam gave the teen a moment to get settled before collapsing into him.

Dean grunted, but quickly adjusted himself to accommodate Sam's small form, allowing the younger boy to rest against his chest. Dean's right hand rested against Sam's ribcage, helping to support Sam's arm and keep his shoulder stabilized.

Dean tugged the blanket off the back of the couch and spread it over the two of them, before reaching for the remote and turning on the television. There were loads of horror movies on, but for some reason the older boy landed on the cartoon network. Sam figured it was because the two had experienced enough violence for one night.

"Fucking Halloween." Sam grumbled as the night's events bombarded his mind.

"Hey, language." Dean chastised, but Sam could hear the smile in his voice.

"Think the cops will come talk to us?" He wondered, glancing at the curtains covering the window out to the parking lot.

"As long as that guy was being real about those cameras not working. I wiped my prints off the gun. The cashier won't say nothing. We'll be fine." Dean stated, sounding pretty sure of himself. "Besides, if they do show it's not like we did anything wrong. It's just better not to have them sticking their noses into our business."

Sam hummed in agreement.

"You going to tell Dad?" The younger boy queried, not caring either way, simply curious.

Sam's body lifted as he felt his brother shrug.

"Don't know, maybe when we see him next. Maybe not." Dean sighed, sounding worn out by the very thought of it. Sam nodded, agreeing with whatever his brother wanted to do, but dropping the subject because he hated when Dean sounded so depleted. He was too young to sound that way.

A part of him wanted to thank Dean for what he had done that night, but Sam knew how his brother would hate that. So he didn't. Because that was the very least Sam could do for the person who had just saved his life…again.

"We never got any candy." Sam sighed, allowing himself to fully relax into his big brother as he stared blankly at a vaguely familiar episode of the Flintstones.

"No, we didn't. I'm sure if we go in tomorrow we could get some for free." Dean offered.

"I don't want to go there tomorrow." Sam mumbled.

"We won't." Dean assured.

"Do we have to go to school tomorrow?" Sam asked, usually he'd be all for it, but he was so exhausted – he knew it was an adrenaline crash, but still the mere idea of having to function filled Sam with dread.

"No, buddy, we don't have to go to school."

Sam nodded, his hair sliding against Dean's shirt as he sighed in content relief.

They both silently stared at the television, neither speaking again until some time had passed, an old episode of Scooby-Doo now playing out on the screen.

"Fuck, Sammy. That asshole could have killed you." Dean spoke, his words hushed and haunted.

"He didn't." Sam assured softly.

"I know, it's just – he was so hopped up on shit, and his hand was shaking so much. Fuck. He damn near shot you by accident." Dean croaked out.

Sam knew he was one of the only people on the planet who got to see Dean's fear. Growing up he knew his brother was Superman, and that hadn't changed when he'd learned how to read Dean and see through his tough-guy act, and it hadn't changed when the older boy finally let his guard down and was honest with Sam about his emotions – the few occasions that actually occurred. Sam never saw weakness in Dean's fear or distress. He never judged his brother, not once. Dean was the best, strongest person Sam knew, he was his hero – and that would never change, no matter what. Sam's only reaction to his brother's fear or distress was the desperate desire to rid of it.

"We're okay. Both of us. We're okay." Sam affirmed, wishing he had something more significant to say, but knowing that he had said what mattered most.

"Yeah. We are." Dean agreed, his calloused hand rubbing Sam's chest as he released a heavy sigh.

"You can stop feeling guilty now." Sam pointed out, after a few moments, his eyes lazily viewing the TV screen as Shaggy and Scooby wandered off on their own and found themselves in a heap of trouble, as per usual.

"What?"

"About my shoulder, you can stop feeling guilty."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah."

"And why is that?"

"Cause it's not your fault—

"Sam, come on, man. If I hadn't—

"Doesn't matter, it wasn't your fault." Sam dismissed, not caring much for his brother's reasoning, because he knew the truth. "And you saved me."

"Huh?"

Sam could sense Dean looking down at him so he angled his face to look up at his brother's.

"You saved me, tonight. You saved me, Dean. So you don't get to feel bad about my shoulder anymore." He reasoned simply, smiling softly before resting his cheek back against his brother's chest.

"Oh really? Is that how it works?" Dean inquired, Sam could hear the amused smirk in his voice.

"Yup. That's how it works." Sam affirmed with another nod.

"You're ridiculous." Dean remarked with a disbelieving laugh.

"Your face is ridiculous." Sam retorted with a yawn.

Dean snickered, his fingers running through his little brother's tangled mess of hair.

Sam sighed at the comforting feeling, a slight shiver running through his frame as he turtled deeper into the sweater and nuzzled impossibly closer to his big brother.

"We do have to go one place tomorrow." Dean stated, as he brought his legs up onto the couch and lied down, shifting Sam only slightly in the process.

"Where?" Sam whined.

"We've got to get you a jacket."

"I have a jacket."

"It's shit." Dean declared through his own yawn.

Sam rolled his eyes, his big brother was like a dog with a bone, but Dena's exhaustion spiked Sam's sympathy. He knew the older teen hadn't been sleeping very well lately – which he suspected had something to do with their sparring accident.

"We are getting you a new one tomorrow. A good one." Dean declared, apparently taking his brother's silence as objection.

"Okay, Dean." Sam sighed, willing to let his big brother have this one.

Dean hadn't had the greatest couple of weeks, besides having to fight off three assholes tonight, Dean had been damn near devastated after Sam had accidently been hurt when his brother had pinned him during training. The teen had been straight-up mortified when their father had congratulated him for accomplishing such a smooth take-down and it had resulted in an angry confrontation outside of Sam's hospital room shortly after his shoulder had been set and while the two older Winchester's thought the youngest had still been asleep.

John hadn't meant to piss Dean off, but the man didn't seem to get why his praise had enraged his eldest in such a volatile way. Sam got it, but seeing as how no one had bothered to include him in the conversation, he didn't bother trying to explain it to his father - that and John never listened to him anyhow.

Dean had been upset that Sam had gotten hurt at his hands - more or less - and his father's accolades had only added insult to that injury, because for Dean to be praised for doing something he found to be most egregious, would feel like taking a dagger to his very soul. Dean hadn't seen the takedown as a skilled maneuver or even an innocent mistake, he had seen it as a betrayal to everything he stood for.

That was why his father's congratulations had made Dean absolutely livid.

Sam knew that. Because he knew Dean, better than anyone else in the whole world.

He could see Dean's fury even as his brother's gentle hands had helped him off the ground and carefully loaded him into the car. He saw it in the waiting room even as Dean was nothing but supportive as allowed Sam to lean up against him. Sam saw Dean's rage when he was standing nervously outside the x-ray room, and he saw it when he held his brother's hand and tried not to cry while his shoulder was being set. But John, well John didn't see it until Dean unleashed on him. Sam nearly felt bad for their father who was blindsided by his son's anger the moment Dean thought they were alone and out of his kid brother's earshot. Dean hadn't blamed the eldest Winchester for the accident that had occurred, though Sam knew if their father hadn't been pushing them – especially Dean – so damn hard, that Sam wouldn't have been hurt. But Dean didn't blame John. Didn't accuse him of being unfair or pushing too hard. No, Dean was furious with their father because of the praise he had given. Sam could recall the rage and disbelief in his big brother's voice as he had spoken to John. The confrontation hadn't resulted in much, Dean had been able to release his anger and their father had stood there and been his defensive self, until eventually he left. When the boys got back to the motel late that night, Sam exhausted and his recently re-located shoulder tucked in a sling, John's duffel and truck had been gone. Which wasn't abnormal, as much as the older man always ran to a fight, he seemed to run from conflict just as often. Neither brother mentioned their dad's departure, there was no need. He would come back when he pleased or summon the boys when it was time, and that would be that. The money he left on the table and the lack of orders and chores he left behind for the boys would be as much as an apology as John Winchester would ever give.

But that was okay, because Sam had Dean, and Dean had Sam.

And as Sam fell to sleep that night to the sound of his big brother's heartbeat and steady deep-sleep breathing, he knew that was enough.

It always had been enough.

And it always would be.

The End (like, probably - at least until next Halloween)


Note: Did you like it? I hope so! I sacrificed my sleep for this sucker. Lots more writing to do, hopefully I'll find the time soon to get it done - if you have any desire to aid me on that endeavour there is a link on my profile to help sponsor my writing so I can finally finish all my multi-chap stories and give you more new fics like this one! Thanks for reading! - Sam