It had started yesterday.

At first the hunter had noticed it out of the corner of his eyes, whenever his brother thought he wasn't looking.

But then Sam grew bolder.

He did it constantly, whether the older man was looking or not.

It was unsettling.

Dean's little brother kept smiling at him.

The older man had noticed at least a dozen times.

It was like the kid wasn't even trying to hide it.

Sam just kept grinning at him.

For no apparent reason.

Even now, as Dean sat diligently tweezing chunks of gravel from the wounds on his brother's arm, he would catch his little brother smiling at him. Whenever Sam face wasn't pinched in a grimace or twisted in pain, his lips were pulled up in a grin. If Dean had more than Advil to give the kid, he would have thought the younger man was flying high. Unfortunately their med-kit was running a little low, due to the flurry of injuries the two brothers had been obtaining recently, and the older hunter had nothing to give Sam that would properly relieve his agony.

And still, the little shit kept smiling.

"Stop that." Dean growled, not removing his gaze from the injury stretched out across the mattress in front of him.

"Stop what?" Sam rasped, a spark of curiosity diminishing some of the pain that clouded his hazel eyes.

"Staring at me."

"You've got me lying on my side, dude, there's not much else I can look at."

"Then close your eyes."

"You may not be much of a sight, Dean, but I'd rather stare at your ugly-mug than the inside of my eyelids." Sam retorted with a smirk.

"Then close your eyes and get some rest." The hunter suggested with an exasperated sigh, as he plucked another large piece of sediment from the bloody gash that ran almost the entire length of Sam's arm.

"There's no way that's happening. Not while your pulling crap from under my skin." Sam grit out between his teeth, as the tweezers re-entered the wound.

"It's not under your skin." Dean tossed back distractedly, carefully working to snag the pebble he could see embedded into the laceration.

"It would be, if I had any skin left." Sam grunted.

Dean grimaced at the statement, disliking it, regardless of its accuracy.

"You're such a drama queen." He mumbled.

"Says the guy who told me not to look at him." Sam huffed, amusement flavouring his pained tone.

"I don't have a problem with you looking, but the smiling is creeping me out." Dean admitted. He hadn't pointed it out until now, mostly because he wasn't sure his little brother knew that he was doing it, and because he didn't want to embarrass him.

Sam didn't make any attempt at denying the claim, his smile simply widening as he stared up at his big brother.

"Well, pretty soon you'll be digging all the crap out of my back, and then you won't have to be tortured by my grin a moment longer." The younger man offered optimistically.

Dean didn't even have it in him to continue with the banter. He found no humour in his little brother's current state of agony, and couldn't even bring himself to fake it. Not now.

Sam was a mess.

His back and left arm were shredded. There were large chunks of skin that had been ripped off, other pieces were hanging, and what little remained even remotely intact was stained with blood.

"I should have shot that fucker before he had the chance to drag you half way across the parking-lot." Dean seethed, picking out the last of the gravel and setting the tweezers aside before reaching for the whiskey.

"It wasn't your fault, Dean. Neither of us saw it until my foot was already in its mouth."

"Good thing you were wearing your steeled-toes, or that fugly creature would have sunk its damn teeth right through your foot."

"Yeah, shoes are ruined now, though." Sam stated mournfully, as though the work boots were his favorite pair of sneakers that had to be thrown out after a particularly messy hunt back when he was thirteen.

"Don't worry about the shoes, Sam. I'll buy you a new pair." Dean assured.

"As long as it's not out of guilt. Because none of this was your fault." Sam admonished.

The hunter took that moment to liberally pour the alcohol over the eviscerated limb. The younger man released a string of curses that he so seldom used, they sounded foreign falling from his lips.

"Still think I'm an innocent man, Sammy?" The older Winchester inquired with a smirk.

"You're far from innocent, Dean, but that doesn't mean you are guilty for everything."

"I never said I was." Dean tossed back, as he applied butterfly bandages to the few lacerations that were both deep and thin enough for the small medical strip to reach across it. He would stitch it he could, but there wasn't enough skin left behind to stitch together. Which was way too many levels of fucked up.

"No, but you act like it. And I wish you wouldn't. Sometimes shit just happens, and there's nothing you can do about it." Sam recited.

"Don't quote me to me, kid, that's just weird." Dean mumbled, gently wrapping the roll of gauze the younger man's left arm, covering every scrape and contusion, mummifying the limb.

"If you didn't want me quoting you, you shouldn't have taught me so much." Sam commented, a tight smile pulling at his lips, his long body twitching in discomfort as he shifted on the bed.

Dean frowned, his brow creased in concern as he caught on to all of his little brother's tell-tale signs of pain. The wrinkles around his eyes, the press of his lips, the pale pallor of his skin, the tension in his limbs; all of them evidence of Sam's struggle to control his pain. Dean inwardly berated himself. He never should have allowed the med-kit to run so low. John would have had his head for being so unprepared, but Dean didn't really give a shit about what his father would think, because his little brother's agony was all he could focus on.

"Cut it out, Dean."

The hunter frowned down at the younger man stretched out across the lumpy motel mattress.

"I didn't do anything? I'm just taping the gauze down."

"You're blaming yourself for us not having any of the good drugs."

Dean squinted over at his little brother, wondering –not for the first time – if the kid's psychic abilities had expanded into the art of mind-reading, because there was no way the older man was that transparent.

"Don't give me that look. I've been able to read you since I was four, just like you have always been able to read me."

"I ain't giving you any look." Dean defended weakly.

"We are partners. Restocking the kit is both our responsibilities. So, you don't get to take all the credit for us being out of some supplies." Sam lectured evenly, levelling Dean with a stern look, even as his face with creased in pain.

The hunter swallowed the emotion that always welled up inside of him whenever his kid so freely offered him complete absolution.

"You feeling preachy today, little brother?" Dean quipped, as he carefully climbed over the slender frame and settled behind it on the mattress.

"You feeling deflective today, big brother?" Sam responded smoothly.

"No, I'm just a little preoccupied trying to piece you back together, Humpty Dumpty."

"Humpty Dumpty fell off the wall, he wasn't dragged across it." The thin man supplied with a tired sigh.

"Maybe he was dragged first. You don't know. You weren't there." Dean retorted distractedly, as his clinical gaze swept over the ruined back and he thought up the best way to treat the damage.

"No, Dean, you're right. I did not witness that fictional event." Sam stated flatly, in his I-can't-believe-I-actually-have-to-explain-this-shit tone.

"See? Now was that so hard to admit?" Dean joked, hoping the banter would distract his brother from the fucking stone that was being dug out from his back.

The choked-off whimper told him that he was out of luck, or rather, Sam was.

"I can't believe I missed it." Dean fumed under his breath.

"I thought we went over this. I didn't see it any sooner than you did." Sam rasped out, each word clipped short with pain.

The older man splayed his hand over his little brother's spine, willing the quivering muscles to still so that he could continue to dig out the grit without causing more damage.

"Maybe not, but I saw it once it grabbed you and it took me three damn shots to hit it."

"That's because it was fast and low to the ground, and my body was blocking your shot." Sam explained through gritted teeth, as the hunter at his back slid the tweezers into a particularly deep laceration.

"It wasn't that low. I missed the first two bloody shots and because of that you got dragged across the whole fucking parking lot and torn to hell." Dean spat, furious with himself, disgusted with his failure. If he had done better, if he had been better, Sam wouldn't be stretched out in front of him, shredded apart and trembling in agony.

What was the point of a lifetime worth of training if Dean couldn't keep his kid safe?

What was the point of anything if Sammy wasn't safe!?

How could Dean possibly fail his little brother in such a crucial way?

How could he be such a monumental screw up?

He was so fucking useless.

"Dean."

The gentle call calmed the storm of self-recrimination whirling inside of him, and settled his mind, if only for a brief moment.

"It's okay. I'm okay. You can't control everything and you can't be everywhere all the time. But you still always do everything you can to protect me. And that's enough. That's always been enough, and it always will be."

Dean had heard that before. He had heard the soft earnest tone many times, but he had also heard those exact words from his little brother years ago.

And they had meant just as much to him then, as they did now.

Dean watched as his little brother shifted in discomfort on the couch.

The pain was making him restless.

The poor kid couldn't place any pressure on his back because of the bruising, and he couldn't lie on his front or his left side because of his busted arm; which left him curled up on his right side staring listlessly at the television.

The teen distractedly flipped the grilled-cheese on the motel hotplate, as he kept his eyes on the young boy in the other room. Sam didn't look as distressed as he had earlier. He was no longer sniffling or holding back tears, like he had been. The emotional hurt had been taken care of, now just the physical hurt remained, which Dean was unable to repair.

He hated that.

Healing Sam's emotional hurt was never easy. It always took some coaxing to get him to open-up about things, and then there was the search for the right words, the ones that would break through the insecurities that Dean's kid carried around inside him.

The insecurities that those bastards had targeted.

The insecurities that had Sam thinking he wasn't enough.

The insecurities that made the youngest Winchester believe that he didn't matter.

That he didn't have any worth.

That he wasn't special or important or worth fucking everything.

The insecurities that Dean had every intention of hunting down and demolishing one-by-one.

No, helping Sam to heal emotionally has never been easy.

But at least it was do-able with attentiveness, patience, and understanding.

Physical hurt didn't work the same way. There was nothing Dean could say or do, no chic-flick moment he could engage, that would take away the pain. He could dole out meds and apply ice, he could utilize all his medical training and even enlist the help of professionals when necessary, but sometimes that wasn't enough. Sometimes you just had to wait it out.

And Dean was okay with waiting, but not when his kid was hurting.

The teen placed the sandwich on a paper plate, emptying two ketchup packets onto the edge of the disposable dish. Dean snagged an apple juice from the fridge, opening the straw and popping it threw the hole. It was better to have everything prepared, that way Sam didn't feel so incapable, having to watch someone squeeze out his ketchup and open his juice-box for him.

"Alright, little man, it's chow time." Dean announced, pasting a smile on his face as he entered the space.

Sam looked his brother's way and began to push himself vertical, wincing as he did.

"Hold up, buddy. Let me help you out."

"It's okay, Dean. I'm not busted."

"No, but you're hurt. So, just let me help you out."

Sam released an exasperated sigh, but didn't shake off the large hands that slid beneath his shoulder and lifted him up into a seated position. The younger boy hissed as he moved to lean back against the couch, and hunched himself forward to keep his spine from pressing against the surface.

"Dean." Sam croaked.

Dean had been watching closely, as he always was, and already had a solution prepared.

"I gotcha, buddy. Just hold tight for one second." The teen stated, squeezing the slender shoulder, swallowing the anger and self-loathing that came alive at the sound of Sammy's shallow inhales and his pained call for help.

Dean leapt over to the bed closest to the door and grabbed the two pillows off it. He returned to Sam and slid the cushions in behind him.

"Okay, let's try that." The older boy suggested, keeping a steadying grip on Sam's right arm as he guided him to rest back against the pillows. "How's that?"

"Better." Sam sighed, his dimples flashing up at his older brother, as if Dean had done anything of significance.

As if he had done something great.

As if he hadn't allowed the kid to be victimized by his asshole friends.

As if he wasn't the most useless big brother to ever walk the earth.

"Dean? Are you okay?"

The teen blinked himself to attention and nodded down at the child staring up at him with his head cocked to the side.

"Yeah- yeah I'm good. How about you? Do you want me to grab your sling for you? I know that your arm is still pretty sore."

"No, It's okay. I like looking at it." Sam declared, indicating the drawing on his cast.

And, damn, if the kid didn't beam up at Dean with a brilliant grin and a face glowing with adoration. Dean couldn't stop the swell of his heart or the smile that pulled at his lips. The older brother knew he was in no way deserving of all the love Sam willingly granted him, but he couldn't help his body's reaction to it, he couldn't help accept it.

He needed it.

More than he had ever needed anything in his life.

But he didn't deserve it. Maybe if he had been there. Maybe if he had stopped it. Maybe if he had protected his kid. Then maybe he would deserve it. But that wasn't the case.

Dean was all-too aware that he didn't deserve his little brother's adoration or unconditional love.

But it meant the world to him.

"Dean? Are you sure you're okay?"

The questioned pulled the teen from his wandering thoughts.

"I'm good. I'm just going to grab you a pillow for your arm." The teen announced, glancing around the room, lost for a moment, before snapping back into focus and moving to grab another pillow. He placed the cushion on Sam's left side and carefully situated the busted limb on top of it. Dean could feel his little brother's eyes on him, but he ignored them as he placed the dinner plate on the knobby set of knees and balanced the juice-box on the arm of the couch.

"There you go. You're all set, little man."

"Where's yours?"

"I'm not that hungry right now, I'll eat later." Dean reported with a shrug. It was true. How could he even think about food when his mind was so preoccupied? When all he could think about was his kid brother being threatened and abuse. When every time he looked at Sam's cast all he saw was the hateful inscription that had been there.

"Not hungry? You? Are you sure you're okay?" There was humour in the young boy's tone, but an even stronger concern.

"Yes. Stop asking already. I'm fine." Dean immediately regretted his harsh response as he watched his little brother shy away. He reached out and gripped Sam's chin, tilting his head back up. "You don't need to worry about me, kiddo, I'm okay." He assured softly, even trying for a smile.

"You don't look it." Sam muttered, pulling his chin from his brother's hold and staring down at his lap.

"What do you mean by that?" Dean questioned, moving to sit on the coffee table directly in front of the youngest Winchester, their knees touching.

Sam shrugged evasively as he picked at his sandwich.

"C'mon, kiddo. Don't shut me out now." The teen prompted gently, tapping the kid's thin legs.

The shaggy-headed child glanced timidly over at his older brother, hazel eyes peaking out from beneath brown bangs. He chewed on his lip, uncertainty emitting from his small frame, before he released a reluctant sigh.

"You don't seem okay. You seem sad or upset. Not okay." Sam whispered.

Dean frowned. On occasion he forget how perceptive his little brother could be, how well he could read Dean even at his young age. The teen did his best not to be too transparent, he always did what he could to hide any fear and distress from his little brother, but he had a feeling that Sam had been seeing through his charade for years.

Apparently, he had spent more time in him mind than he thought he had, because Sam began to speak again.

"You don't have to tell me anything. It's just…" He faded off, snagging his bottom lip between his teeth.

"It's just what, Sammy?" Dean encouraged softly, intentionally knocking his knees against his little brother's.

"It's just that you always want me to tell you when I'm not okay so you can make it better. And you always make it better." Sam added with a twitch of a smile.

Dean grinned in return, feeling his heart fill as joy erupted from within him. He had always wanted to be the one that made things better for his kid. He had always wanted to be the person who could return that brilliant dimpled smile to the young face, and bring forth the sparkle of the wide hazel eyes. There was no skill he possessed – no hunting or mechanical talent – that he was more proud of than his ability to make his brother feel safe and happy, to make things better for Sammy.

"And I just wish that—" Sam sucked in a deep breath as he returned to fiddling with his sandwich for another minute, before looking back up. "I wish that maybe sometimes you could tell me when you're not okay…and maybe I could try and make things better."

And wasn't that just so fucking Sam? He was the one who had been bullied, belittled, and abused and yet the selfless little munchkin was wanting so badly to make things better for Dean. Dean who had not only gotten away entirely unharmed, but had failed to protect the youngest Winchester the way he was meant to.

Dean who hadn't protected Sam from having his armed snapped by the last supernatural fugly the hunted.

Dean, who seemed to be constantly fucking-up his most important job.

"Never mind. It was a stupid idea. Just forget it." Sam mumbled, his gaze dejectedly dropping down.

"It's not stupid." Dean objected.

The younger boy glanced back up, apprehension lining his features.

"It's not stupid." The teen repeated, before taking a breath. "It's just not easy for me. The sharing and caring bit has never been in my skillset."

"It's okay, Dean. It's fine. I know you deal with things differently. It's alright. I probably wouldn't be as good at making things better as you are anyway." Sam stated, giving Dean an understanding smile, but he couldn't hide the disappointment shining through his eyes.

How the hell could this kid only be eleven-years-old?

His maturity lever superseded any other kid his age, Dean, and quite possibly even John at times.

Sam trusted Dean with his fears, his emotions, and his life.

No matter how many times the older boy failed him, Sam's faith in him never wavered, and that was one of the things that had kept Dean going through the years.

It was only fair that Dean return the favour.

"I'm angry that those assholes messed with you." He confessed gruffly, watching Sam nod along.

"Yeah. I know, but it's not just that. There's something else."

Of course Sam knew. The kid could always see right through his big brother.

"And I'm pissed that I wasn't there to protect you."

"Dean—

"You got hurt on my watch, Sammy, by scumbags I was actually friends with. That's on me." Dean interrupted before his little brother could make excuses for him.

"No, it's not. It's on them." The younger boy declared.

"I should have seen it." Dean dismissed.

"You should have known they were going to hurt me? Not being a fortune-teller is a stupid thing to feel guilty for, Dean." Sam grumbled.

The teen smirked. Sometimes he saw himself shining through his kid – only the good parts - and it always made him glow with pride.

"I should have known they were capable of that. How could I be friends with douchebags who would pull shit like that with any kid, let alone my little brother?"

What the hell does that say about me? was the question that remained unspoken, but Dean had a feeling that Sam heard it anyways.

"Dean."

The teen raised his head up from where it had been hanging in shame, meeting the soft hazel gaze that patiently observed him.

"You're nothing like those guys. You would never treat anyone like that. And you would never ever hurt me." The young boy announced with all the conviction in the world.

Dean nodded, his body physically reacting to the truth of those words.

"I know." He rasped after a moment. "But I still should have protected you."

"You did. The second you knew something was wrong, even before I told you what happened, you protected me."

Dean's lips flattened into a line as he hopelessly shook his head.

Because it wasn't enough that he had made it better after the fact.

It never should have fucking happened.

"Dean."

Sam had moved closer, his dinner placed to the side as he shifted forward to the edge of the couch and ducked down into his older brother's lowered eyesight; it was a move that had been demonstrated and perfected by Dean over the years, one which Sam performed flawlessly. The teen gave his little brother the requested attention, swallowing at the compassion and love pouring from the puppy-dog eyes.

"It's okay. I'm okay. You can't control everything and you can't be everywhere all the time. But you still do everything to protect me. And that's enough. That's always been enough, and it always will be."

It was as though Sam had repaired every broken piece inside of Dean.

The unwavering faith.

The absolution.

The adoration.

The love.

It all swam through the older boy, filling every crack in his heart, mending each fracture in his soul, making him whole once more.

All the teen could do was nod and slide his palm to the back of his little brother's neck, squeezing softly as he rested his forehead against Sam's, giving as much comfort as he was absorbing.

Later that evening when Dean was seated on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table, he would think about the child stretched out across the couch and nestled into his side.

Sam was the good down to his very core. He had the gentlest spirit and the most compassionate nature. He was the kindest and most forgiving individual Dean had ever known, or would ever know. He had no reason to be sweet or soft or gracious, he just was. Despite a life of trauma, pain, and violence, Sam remained so goddamn good.

Sam had more virtue in his little finger, than Dean had any hope in hell of having in his entire body.

And if someone like that, if someone like Sam; someone who oozed compassion, someone who was gentle and kind, someone who was mature and intelligent, someone with a heart of gold, if someone like that wanted to be around Dean, if someone like that could forgive Dean, if someone like that could look up at Dean with unabashed adoration, if someone like that could love Dean…than Dean couldn't be all bad. Could he?

If his kid could maintain faith in him, regardless of his countless flaws and failures, then that had to mean that Dean had worth.

That he mattered.

And maybe only Sam saw value in Dean, but that was all he needed.

Sam was all he needed.

Sam was his brother.

His best friend.

His anchor.

His whole world.

And if Sam saw enough worth in him to try and protect him from bullies, and to want to heal Dean's hurt, and to trust him, and fill him with an adoring and unconditional love; if Sam could do all that for Dean without it being required or demanded of him, then that had to mean Dean was special to him.

That Dean mattered to him.

That, according to Sam, he had worth.

And that was everything that Dean could ever want or need.

"Dean? You okay back there?"

The concerned inquiry pulled the older Winchester from his reflective state.

"Yeah. I'm good." He stated, shaking the memory off as his focus returned to the task at hand.

"What were you thinking about?" Sam questioned, flinching as Dean pulled more sediment from his wounds.

"Nothing." Dean evaded, as he carefully proceeded ridding his brother's bloody back of gravel.

"Dean." The younger man grit out.

The older man huffed, wondering how he was so transparent to his little brother, but anyone else he could fool without issue, including his father.

"The same thing you were thinking about yesterday." He grunted.

"Vague much? I think about lots of things over the course of a day."

"Yeah, cause you're a dork."

Dean could practically hear Sam roll his eyes.

"What thing, specifically?" The injured man grit out between clenched teeth.

Dean wasn't keen on bringing it up, especially since he had previously insisted his little brother not think about that particular event, but it might provide a sufficient distraction from the pain, and he knew Sam well enough to know the kid wouldn't drop it.

"Those assholes that messed with you outside of the high school."

"I thought we already went through that?"

Dean shrugged, knowing his brother couldn't see him, but Sam must have sensed the ambiguous reaction.

"What those assholes did wasn't your fault." Sam stated strictly. "And you're nothing like them, you never were." He added with just as much certainty.

Dean made a non-committal noise, as he picked more debris from Sam's shredded skin.

"You weren't. And you protected me. Anytime I think about what happened back then, I always remember how you protected me." The younger man announced softly, fondness pouring from his husky tone.

"Is that why you've been staring at me so much?" Dean questioned, wondering if the memory and the intent gaze were at all connected.

Sam chuckled.

"Yeah, probably. I guess I just remember how lucky I am." He rasped, as smile in his voice.

"Lucky?" Dean repeated, baffled by the idea. Sam was a lot of things, but the kid sure as shit had never had a goddamn lick of luck on his side.

"Having a big brother who has always been willing to stand between me and the scumbags of the world? Yeah, I'd call that lucky."

Dean swallowed at the words, thankful that the kid couldn't see the girlie emotion that was probably written all over his face.

Sam always knew how to do that to him.

To take one simple phrase and use it to make Dean fucking melt.

His kid had always been the only one who could do that to him.

The only one who could transform him into sentimental mush.

The only one who could overwhelm him with emotion.

The only one who could make Dean feel loved.

Absolutely, completely, and unconditionally loved.

Dean was the lucky one.

He knew that.

No one had a little brother like his.

A little brother who protected him.

A little brother who cared for him.

A little brother who wanted to make things better for him.

A little brother who trusted him.

A little brother who saw value in him.

A little brother who had faith in him.

A little brother who made him whole.

Dean would never be able to do enough good in his life to be deserving of having a little brother like Sam. But he would never stop trying.

Because Sam gave him worth and purpose and hope.

Sam gave him everything.

And it was only fair that Dean give as much back as he possibly could.

He wanted to give Sammy everything, because Dean's kid deserved everything.

"It's true, not every guy would spend their Friday night picking pebbles out of their brother's back. They broke the mold when they made me, kiddo." Dean joked with a smile, responding to heart-swelling emotion the only way he knew how.

Sam released an exasperated sigh, his breath hitching at the end of it, as a shudder tore through his long limbs. He had been sweating as his arm was treated and now that glistening moisture was drying in the cold air. Dean reached down and tugged the comforter up further over Sam's legs, but had to leave it at his hip.

"We'll get you warmed up right after I deal with your back, buddy, alright?"

"It's okay, Dean. Do what you've got to do. I'll wait."

The older man smiled.

God, he loved his kid.

"And Sam?"

"Yeah."

"You're not the only lucky one."

The End


Note: There is the final half. I really hope you babes enjoyed it :) I would love a comment/review if you have a spare moment. Thanks for reading!

Also, If you could do me a quick favour, for this class I am in I have to list my writing strengths and weaknesses and I had no issue coming up with a hole page of weaknesses, but if you maybe had any idea for some of my strengths that would be super helpful! You could leave it in the comment or pm me :) Thanks so much! - Sam