Sam let his hands roam over Dean's back. Dean was all above him and kissing him thoroughly and Sam let himself dissolve under his brother's touch. He felt Dean's hand travel down his chest and then grasp his leaking cock.

"Oh God, Dean," he moaned.

"God's got nothing to do with this," Dean rasped into Sam's ear in a low, rich voice and then he nibbled on Sam's ear.

"Yes...yes...," Sam breathed out.

Sam was always proud of his skills as a sexual partner. He believed he was wild, fun and unpredictable. But Dean had a way of making him throw this all away and just lie down and melt in pleasure. Dean never passed the opportunity to rub his face in it, too.

Then suddenly Dean stopped moving. He propped himself up on his elbows and his face started to melt. Sam stared at him in horrified shock and before he knew, he had his brother's ten-year-old self's naked body on his.

"Sam?" the boy had a sense of concern in his voice. "Sam, wake up. Wake up!"

With a jolt, Sam did. He was sweaty, his breathing was shallow and he thanked Heaven that his painful erection was hidden underneath the blanket.

His brother was kneeling by his face, gently shaking his shoulder.

"Nightmare?" he asked.

"Err, no, not a nightmare," Sam shook his head and swung his legs on the other side of the bed, so that there wasn't any chance of his brother suspecting anything.

"Oh, sorry," Dean got up. "You were trashing on the bed and making these noises like Sammy sometimes, when he has a nightmare."

"Thanks for the thought, but it wasn't a bad dream, actually."

Dean studied him for a moment. "What did you dream about?"

"Nothing," Sam said maybe a little too quickly. He was so not having this conversation with his little big brother.

"You said my name," Dean said matter-of-factly, but continued his scrutiny.

Shit.

"I...uh," Sam seriously didn't know what to say. "But you can't laugh at me!"

This was ridiculous. He was twenty-three years old. Dean was ten. Yet, Dean was the big brother here. He even got Sam to whine!

Dean just raised his eyebrow, waiting.

"I had a dream, that you were my brother," Sam said finally. It was the furthest from the truth, without it actually being a lie.

"You what?" Dean was obviously taken aback by that.

"Well, you were older, of course. We were hunting together." Yeah, hunting. "It was fun."

Dean didn't look entirely convinced, but shrugged and plopped himself back on his pillow.

"Sorry, there's only one place for a brother named Sam in my life," he said with a wicked grin. "I'm sorry I woke you up. Mind if I sleep in a little?"

Sam looked to the window. The sun was already starting to creep in, but it was still way too early.

"Sure, you do that," he glanced at his brother.

His only answer was the soft, even breathing from Dean's bed.

Just as well, Sam thought. At least he could go to the bathroom to take care of his raging hard-on, without being scared of what his brother might think.

His brother didn't wake up until the afternoon, and even then, it was probably only thanks to the smell of the bacon cheeseburger, Sam brought for lunch.

"You let me sleep in late," he accused Sam, when he rose from his bed.

"You were sleeping like a baby, didn't want to ruin your beauty sleep," Sam chuckled.

Dean glared at him for a moment.

"Dad would never let me sleep this long," he said then.

"Well, your dad's not here, is he?" Sam asked.

Dean's face fell and he turned around to enter the bathroom.

"No, he's not," he said so softly, that Sam almost didn't catch it. Almost.

-xXx-

Sam spent the rest of the day, trying to dig out something from Dean's personality, before he changed into the soldier he knew.

But Dean seemed to guard his personal space at the age of ten just as carefully as at twenty-nine. The only thing that was able to allow him to let go of his self-protection, was talking about his brother.

Dean practically cracked fireworks, when he was talking about Sammy. Sammy likes to do this, Sammy's favourite whatever is that and Sam loved him for it, he did, but the more he listened to him, the more miserable it made him feel. When did Dean get the impression, that Sammy mattered more than him?

"Dean," he interrupted softly his brother's ramble about how Sammy learnt to read all by himself. "I know you love your brother, I can see it. And I really think you're the best big brother in the world. But I'd like to hear something about you, too. What is your favourite football team? How do you handle the constant moving and school-changing? I want to get to know you."

"Why?" Dean looked up at him with genuine surprise.

"Maybe cause we're sharing a motel room for a start?"

He heard the sharp intake of Dean's breath, though he didn't quite understand what caused it.

"Are we...will we be sharing the room for long?" he asked with something in his eyes, that Sam couldn't recognize.

"Dunno," he shrugged. "Until your dad gets back."

"Yeah..." Dean looked down at his hands and then got up. "Look, I'm tired. Can I just call it a night? Besides my life's not that interesting."

"I'm sure that's not true," Sam hurriedly stood up as well.

Dean yawned. It had to be the fakest yawn Sam had ever seen, but it got the point through.

"Okay. Take the bathroom first. I think I'll hit the bed too."

-xXx-

Sam was woken up from his slumber by the nagging feeling, that something was wrong. He immediately reached for the knife under his pillow and listened. There was nothing out of the ordinary. No one trying to break the door down, no screeching noises by the window. So what was it then?

Sam was almost ready to fall asleep again, when he heard the quiet sound of somebody sobbing into their pillow. There was only one somebody, who could be crying themselves to sleep.

"Dean?" he touched his shoulder tentatively, when he got up and moved to the boy's bed.

Dean's body went rigid and Sam was sure he even forgot to breathe, but he didn't acknowledge Sam.

"Dean, I know you're awake. Come on, buddy, what's wrong?" Sam sat on the edge of the bed.

Stiffly, Dean turned around and sat up. He managed to wipe the tears away, but even if the dark room, Sam was able to make out his puffed eyes.

"N-nothing, Sam," he whispered, probably because he didn't trust his voice. "Go back to sleep, I'm sorry I woke you up."

He tried to lie down again, but Sam stopped him by gripping his shoulders gently, but firmly.

"Dean," he tried again with the best impression of Dean's big brother voice that he'd used, when they were little and Sam was too embarrassed to tell him something.

It seemed to work both ways.

"I-I," Dean stuttered. "I just...Dad isn't coming, is he?" he pierced Sam with a look strapped of all barriers or false bravado. It was just a scared, lonely ten-year-old boy, looking for his dad. It almost broke Sam's heart.

"What are you talking about, of course he is," he reassured him. "I talked to him. He's coming. Promise," he said and wished now more than ever that their dad would just burst through the door, right this second.

"He's not, because," sniff, "because he loves Sammy more. He won't come back for me, when Sammy tells him, he doesn't want me there," Dean let the tears fall freely from his eyes.

Sam just stared at him with open mouth. None of this made any sense to him. Why on Earth would Dean think something like that? There wasn't a second in his life, when Sam wouldn't love his brother, no matter how pissed at him he might have been.

"Dean, are you talking about the same Sammy I know? The little brother that looks up to you? Why wouldn't he want you there, he,"-

"He hates me!" Dean hissed out and then clamped a hand over his mouth. The fear in his eyes gave out that the sound of it being said out loud just made it even more real. "He hates me..." he repeated.

And then he just fell apart.

Sam didn't give a damn about personal space anymore, he pulled Dean into his lap and hugged him tightly, rubbing soothing circles into his back. He wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or frightened, that Dean didn't fight him.

Dean was trembling and sobbing in his arms and Sam's heart was aching. If this Dean was so sure, that his younger brother hated him, then maybe, the older one was too. It would explain why Dean always seemed to expect Sam to just up and leave. Well that, and the fact that he actually did leave once. But that was long ago. Sam shuddered at the memory.

Dean probably took it the wrong way, because he pulled away and wiped his face with his sleeve quickly.

"Wow, I'm so sorry," he tried to chuckle. "I swear I don't cry like this often. Dad says that it's something only girls-"

Sam was gonna have some serious talk with his father, once he got here.

"Dean, listen to me," he interrupted him, hopefully not too harshly. "One of the reasons I don't get along with your father is, because I don't share his beliefs. I think everyone should cry every once in a while. Especially, if you're ten. And I don't think you're a little boy or anything, even I cry sometimes. Hell, I feel like crying right now, because you're torturing yourself over something, that can't possibly be true!"

"I heard him, alright!" Dean spat out, a little angrily. "Sam has nightmares sometimes. And sometimes, he says my name. Like you did. Only he's begging me to stop. Stop what, I have no idea, but then-," he choked and continued in a whisper, "then he screams 'I hate you' and then he wakes up." Dean bowed his head down and the shaking of his shoulders told Sam, that he was crying again.

He pulled Dean once more in a hug and once more, he wasn't denied.

"He cries and I hold him through it, but I'm too scared to ask why he hates me. What did I ever do to him to make him hate me? I love him so much. I never wanted him to hate me," he choked out and then he just sobbed into Sam's chest.

"You should try to ask him. I think he'd tell you what those nightmares were about and then you'd know that he doesn't hate you. I know he doesn't."

"How could you possibly know..." Dean sniffed.

"One look at you two together, and everybody would know," Sam said with a smile. They used to hear it all the time, that they were closer than any brothers anyone else had ever known. It had always warmed his heart.

Dean relaxed in his arms and his breath seemed to even out. It would make sense, if he was so emotionally wrecked, that he'd just fallen asleep. Sam carefully tucked him in and when he was sure, Dean was asleep, he kissed his forehead softly.

"I do love you, big brother," he whispered. "More than you can understand, right now."

-xXx-

It was late, but not too late for a bar to be opened. And Sam could really use a drink. Quite an amount of them, actually. This was getting to him, the taking care of his brother, who didn't know they were brothers. The waiting for their father. It was like being a kid all over again. And he missed Dean. The adult version of him, that is. He loved the brother, that was sleeping in their motel room, but that was not the person he grew up with. Or worse, it was and Dean got so good at hiding his true feelings, that Sam had never known.

Dean was hurting. He was scared and insecure. And probably a little angry. And Sam didn't know how to deal with it. It was all he'd ever wanted, to have Dean open up for him completely and now that he'd got a glimpse of how delicate Dean really was, he was scared. One wrong move, wrong word and Dean might fall apart.

Before he knew it, he was downing his fifth shot of whiskey and ignoring third female trying to get his attention. He was too lost in himself to care, so he just ordered another round.

Sam's brain wheels were working overtime to figure this out. The whole 'Sammy hates me' thing. He used to have nightmares; that was no secret. And Dean used to calm him down afterwards. Whenever he'd fallen asleep in his brother's arms, he slept like a baby, no matter how old they were. But he didn't remember having a nightmare about Dean doing something to him, that would make him say he hated him, let alone feel that way. He did, however, get nightmares with Dean in them quite often. Dean usually died in them, or at least got hurt pretty badly. He remembered clutching at Dean's shirt and breathing in his scent, listening to his heartbeat, just to assure himself, his brother was still alive. Sam probably yelled 'I hate you' at the monster that hurt him. That must have been it.

As he remembered the images of Dean's various deaths, it brought out memories of his actual ones. Dealing with them required more liquor. He started laughing, when he realized he was thinking of his brother's death in plural. Welcome to the life of Winchesters.

"You've had enough," the bartender said dismissively, when Sam ordered one more shot.

"No, I'm fine," Sam slurred.

"Sure, go to the bathroom and back to prove it, then we can talk," the bartender retorted.

Sam got up to comply, but the room started spinning and he had to sit down.

"That's what I thought," the bartender snorted. "Go home."

Home. Dean. FUCK!

Sam was out of the door, but not before he bounced into two chairs and one table. He was gonna have bruises later, but he couldn't care less at the moment. Dean was in his room, judging by the dawn that was breaking, he would be up in a few hours and Sam just drank himself off his ass. He let his misery take the better of him and now he was drunk and unable to protect his brother, useless...

He wailed in his self-hatred long enough to reach the door of their motel room. He managed to open it on the fifth try and stumbled into the room. He slammed the door much harder then he'd intended and when he turned around, Dean was already stirring and sitting up.

"S-Sam?" he asked in a sleep-croaked voice.

"'S fine, Dee," Sam mumbled. "Just stumbled over someth-" he didn't finish as his feet tripped over themselves and he fell to the floor.

With a sigh, Dean got up from his bed and helped Sam up.

"Okay. Let's get you on the couch," he guided him carefully, but firmly.

"You don't have to take care of me," Sam slurred.

"I'm used to taking care of my dad, when he's drunk," Dean answered, as Sam sank down to the couch. "Seems like everybody needs a lot of alcohol to deal with me," he said more to himself than to Sam.

"Don't say things like that..." Sam waved him off, fumbling with his pants and leaving them on the floor. "And don't let me fall asleep," he said after a yawn. "When I wake up, the hangover's gonna be a bitch."

Dean looked around the room.

"Black coffee usually helps dad. I saw a machine outside. I'll get you a cup," he said and got up.

"Money's in my back pocket," Sam said, pointing at his pants on the floor. He already felt the pull of the sleep and hoped Dean would hurry with his coffee.

He had never been more ashamed of himself.

-xXx-

It felt as though he just blinked his eyes to Sam, but when he opened them, the stray of sunlight hit him full force through the window. Sam groaned, because the thumping headache was killing him and preventing him from thinking straight.

Okay, Winchester, think. What happened yesterday, except that you got drunk like a skunk? Sam scolded himself.

He remembered getting back to the motel room, Dean helping him on the couch...Shit, he'd woken Dean up. And Dean said something...something disturbing, something sad. What was it?

He looked at Dean's bed, hoping that the boy went back to sleep after Sam had fallen asleep. But wait, didn't he ask Dean not to let him sleep? Wasn't he supposed to bring back coffee? Holy shit, he was!

Sam was up and moving toward Dean's bed, before his body could have protested. There was a lump in the sheets, that he first assumed, was his brother's sleeping body. But when he yanked the sheets away, there was no one.

Sam froze for a minute, his hung-over brain trying to wrap itself around what it was seeing. Then his legs took over, carried him to the bathroom and his hands splashed some cold water in his face, to sober him up.

He couldn't even look his reflection in the eyes, but he decided, he'd leave the deserved self-hatred for later. It wouldn't do Dean any good now. Dean went outside to get coffee. Because Sam was drunk. Fuck! And he never made it back. Please, Dean, be alright!

Sam was out the door in a heartbeat. The coffee machine wasn't hard to find. And there it was. The cup with coffee splattered on the ground. The proof, if Sam still needed one, that Dean didn't just walk out on his own, that he was taken. The cup wasn't in front of the machine, though, it was on the corner of some back alley. Why in the world would Dean go even close to it? Even at ten, he was well aware of all the dangers that awaited him there.

Sam picked the cup up and crumpled it in his hand, furious with himself.

"I'm so fucking sorry, Dean," he whispered. Then he threw the remnants of the cup as far away as possible and punched the wall next to him really hard. All it did was blooding his knuckles and he was pretty sure he heard something crack, but he couldn't care less. It didn't even hurt that bad.

He walked into that alley, not knowing whether he was supposed to look for the evidence of some supernatural presence, or of a human kidnapper. He wasn't sure which would be worse.

He found a knocked over garbage bin. It didn't have to mean anything, but Sam didn't have any other leads. There was a window, probably to a basement of the nearest house, with a stain on it. When Sam took a closer look, he could make out the shape of a hand. Hand the size of a ten-year-old boy. Sam backed away quickly and his breathing quickened in panic, when he realized, what the handprint was made of. Blood.

Sam ran his hand through his hair and looked around, desperately searching for any sign of where Dean was now.

His blood froze in his veins, when he heard a muffled, tortured scream from inside of the basement. He wasn't sure, if it was even his brother, but he was worried sick of what could be happening to him, so he quickly searched for the door to the building. Only he couldn't find any. How did the fucker get inside? Maybe the door was on the other side...

But Sam didn't have time to run around the block, so he used his knife to unhook the small window from its hinges and with a great effort managed to pull his body through.

When he jumped on the ground, the heavy thump resonated through the walls, but he couldn't see anything, it was too dark. He stood completely still, all his hunter instincts on full alert, trying to catch the quietest sounds.

He heard something, so he followed it, he himself sneaking around the basement as soundless as possible. After a while, he was sure he heard a male voice and sobbing. He all but ran towards the sounds.

There was a dim light coming from a cellar. It was created by a lantern in the middle of it. Sam pressed his back against a wall and very carefully peeked inside. He stood frozen in horror.

Dean was tied to some kind of pole; the rope was so tight around his wrists, that Sam could see blood. His mouth was duck-taped; there was dried blood under his nose, and tears streaming down his face. He had also a really nasty looking bruise on one side of his ribs. He was kneeling on bloody knees and he was shivering in fear and cold, because he was just in his underwear.

"Such a pretty little boy," the man circled Dean with a knife in his hand. "If you could just play nice, we could be so good to each other. But no. You had to kick and you had to bite. Someone has to put you back in your place. To teach you a lesson," he hissed.

"Get the fuck away from him," Sam yelled and stepped into the room. He cursed himself for forgetting to take his gun, but at least he had his knife.

Both Dean and his kidnapper turned their eyes his way, when he spoke. Dean's face was a mixture of surprise and relief and he started crying even harder. The kidnapper took a few steps towards Sam. In the light, he was able to make out the black eye and split lip the guy was sporting. If it was Dean's work, Sam had to show him some respect. After he got him out. And got rid of this perverted sicko.

"And who are you, may I ask?" the man said with a grin, that made Sam's stomach churn.

I'm his brother and you should have never touched him in the first place, Sam wanted to scream.

"I'm the last person you wanted to meet," he said instead. "The last person you will meet, too," he added and launched himself at the guy.

He wasn't easy to take down. But he was no hunter, either, and Sam soon gained the upper hand. He beat the man unconscious. He knew he should step away now. The man was no longer a danger to him or Dean. And he was human. Crazy, sick and perverted, but human. Sam should just walk away from him. But then his mind supplied him images of what could have happened and would have and this man had taken his brother and Sam just couldn't fight the urge to end his life once and for all.

"Close your eyes," he said to Dean, waited for him to do so and then stabbed the kidnapper in his heart.

He stood up, wiped the knife clean and then cut the ropes on Dean's wrists and ankles. Dean slumped against him and in one quick motion; Sam got rid of the duct tape. Dean just clutched at his shoulders and cried.

"Shh, it's okay, Dean," Sam whispered. "Everything's okay now. I got you," he let a few tears slip out of his eyes, but wiped them away, before Dean could see them. He took off his shirt and wrapped Dean's body in it. "Let's get you out of here," he stood up with Dean still in his arms and proceeded to go back the way he came in.