When Sam was nine years old, John took Dean on a hunt with him. They said it wasn't going to be dangerous at all, and instructed Sam not to leave the motel room. Two days later, they came back.

Sam gasped when he saw his brother. Dean's face and arms were covered in cuts. For a second, Sam sat frozen in the chair he had been reading in, just watching as John helped Dean over to one of the beds, where he collapsed. Then, Sam ran over to him. "What happened, Dean, are you okay?"

Dean nodded.

"He'll be fine," John said, not unkindly. "He's not hurt badly. Sam, I need you to take care of him for a minute while I go and get some supplies." Sam nodded, and John walked quickly back outside.

"Dean, talk to me, what happened?" Sam pressed.

Now that John was gone, Dean stopped keeping a brave face. "Sammy, it hurts," he said weakly. Sam responded by sitting down next to him and wrapping his arms around him. Dean actually started to cry. Sam hadn't seen him cry in…well, forever. That scared him.

"It's okay, Dean. You're safe now," Sam said. "Hold on, I'll be right back." Sam ran to the bathroom and got a clean washcloth and then got it wet. When he got back to his older brother, Dean had stopped crying but was still shaking. "Here," Sam said, starting to clean off the cuts on his face gently.

Dean flinched and tried to pull away.

"'m sorry, sorry," Sammy said, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's okay. It's okay, you can keep going," Dean murmured. Sam did so, even more carefully this time. Dean closed his eyes.

"Please tell me what happened."

"Promise you won't freak out."

"Hey, of course I won't."

"Got tortured."

Sam had promised that he wouldn't freak out, so he didn't. His hands shaking with anger, he continued washing the cuts. He didn't say anything. Just then, John came rushing back into the motel room. "Here, Dean—" That was as far as he got. Sam whirled around and started shouting at him.

"How could you let this happen? How the hell did you let him get hurt like this?"

"Sam!" Dean cried. "It wasn't his fault."

Sam wouldn't listen. "How could you?!"

"You're too young to understand, Sam," John tried to say, but Sam exploded again.

"I'm only four years younger than Dean. I can't understand but he can go on these hunts with you and you let him be tortured?"

"Sam!" Dean tried again. "Sammy, it wasn't his fault!"

"Show me some respect, Sam," John shouted. "You don't think I did everything I could?"

"He shouldn't've been on the hunt in the first place! You shouldn't've let him get into a position where he might get hurt," Sam yelled back.

"HEY!" Dean said loudly. "Stop it, both of you."

They stopped arguing and turned to look at Dean guiltily. "Dad, could you maybe leave for a minute so I can explain what happened to Sam?"

John didn't want to leave, but he turned and walked out the door without another word. Sam turned to Dean.

"I don't need you to explain. I don't care exactly what happened. The fact is, you shouldn't have been on a hunt."

"Maybe you're right. Sammy. But yelling at Dad isn't going to fix anything. Please, Sammy, I need-" Dean's voice broke. "Please."

Sam tried to calm down. "Okay. I'm sorry, Dean."

"Did Dad leave the stuff he brought in?" Dean asked" changing the subject.

Sam glanced over. The bag of first aid supplies was sitting on the motel desk. "Yeah."

"I think I'd prefer you helping rather than Dad."

Sam tried not to feel too proud. He grabbed the bag. "Okay, what do I get out?" he said, suddenly realizing that he had no idea what he was doing.

"Bring it over here, Sammy," Dean instructed. Sam did. Dean ruffled through the bag. Wincing as the edges of the bag brushed against his cuts, he pulled out cotton balls and a bottle of clear liquid. "Here." He showed Sam how much of the liquid to put on each cotton ball. "I could do it myself, but I'd rather you helped 'cause it stings a lot."

Sam's hand hovered anxiously next to Dean's face, clutching the first cotton ball. "I don't want to hurt you, though."

"Don't worry, Sammy. You'll be gentler than Dad would, I'm sure," Dean replied calmly.

"Okay," Sam agreed nervously. As he touched the cotton ball to the first slash, Dean gasped slightly and winced, squeaking a little. "Sorry!"

"Quit apologizing." Dean grimaced. Sam kept going, Dean doing his very best to stifle any pained noises, but he couldn't stop a single tear leaking out of his eye. Sam caught it and wiped it away with his thumb.

"Hey, saltwater probably stings more than this stuff," he said sincerely.

Dean couldn't help laughing a little. "Yeah, you're right." Sam smiled. He was glad that even now, he could make his brother laugh.

It didn't take long to finish his face. "You good?" Sam checked. Dean nodded.

"It feels a little better now." Dean rolled up one sleeve. There were cuts covering his skin almost all the way to his shoulder. "Can you do the rest?"

"Oh, Dean!" Sam exclaimed as he saw the extent of the injuries.

"I'll be fine, Sammy."

"I know, I know. Still. I can't believe this happened. I should have been there." Sam started cleaning out the slash marks on his brother's arm.

"No, no, no, no, no," Dean protested. "You definitely should not have been there."

"But I might have been able to protect you," Sam replied innocently.

"No, trust me, Sammy. You couldn't have done anything to help. I wish you never ever have to go on a hunt. But Dad's gonna take you with us eventually. Please promise me now, Sammy, that you're never gonna blame yourself for something that to me on a hunt," Dean begged.

"Yeah, okay."

"I mean it, Sam.

"I promise. You too?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope. I'm not making a promise I can't keep. I'm the big brother, Sammy. It's my job to look after you, and if I can't, then I've failed at my job. That's my promise, Sam. As long as I'm around, nothing bad's gonna happen to you."

"I know."

That night, after John had come back into the room to say that they were leaving the next morning, Sam refused to even speak to him. They all went to bed. Sam pretended to fall asleep, but he didn't want to actually fall asleep.

"Dean?" came John's whisper. "Are you awake, son?"

"Yeah."

"Is Sam asleep?"

Sam felt the mattress move as Dean shifted to look at him. "I think so," Dean whispered back.

"I hope you managed to talk some sense into him, though I sincerely doubt it, from the way he was acting," their father remarked.

Dean was quiet for a second. "I don't think he's really mad. He was just worried about me."

"Should he be?"

"I'm alright."

"Good. Goodnight, son."

"Goodnight, sir."

Half an hour later, Sam was still awake, but Dean and John were asleep. Sam wriggled deeper under the blankets. He felt so much safer when Dean was around, rather than when he was alone in a motel room for days at a time. He decided that he could fall asleep now.

He was awoken by a slight whimper from next to him. Sam sat up and looked over at his brother. Dean's eyes were moving wildly underneath his eyelids. Nightmare, Sam thought. Dean didn't have nightmares very often, at least not that Sam knew about, so he was a little worried.

"Hey," he whispered, making sure he wouldn't wake up their father. "Dean, wake up." He placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Dean." Sam shook him gently.

Dean gave a sharp intake of breath and sat up, trembling. "Sammy?"

"Shh," Sam hushed him. "It's okay, it was just a bad dream." He moved his hand to Dean's back and rubbed softly. "You're okay. You're safe."

Dean's shoulders shook. Sam pulled him into a hug as he started to cry for the second time that day. He buried his face in his little brother's shoulder, and Sam could feel how hard he was trying not to break down. "You can cry, Dean, it's okay," Sam whispered. "I won't tell anyone."

Dean let out a muffled sob. "I was so scared," he murmured into Sam's shirt. "I thought I was gonna die, Sammy, it hurt so much."

"I know, I know. You're okay now." Sam really didn't know what to do other than to hold him and keep making reassurances. He was only nine years old, and it wasn't like this happened every day. Seeing his older brother so broken was terribly hard. "I'm right here now. Nothing's gonna happen to you again."

"Sammy."

"Shh, shh." Sam let Dean keep crying for another minute or two. "Shh, you've gotta calm down soon, Dean. We've gotta get back to sleep."

After a couple more sobs, Dean took a shaky breath and lifted his head off Sammy's shoulder. Even in the dark, his green eyes were puffy and red from the tears. "I'm okay, I'm good now, Sammy, I think. Sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

Dean shook his head. He flopped himself back onto his pillow, lying on his side, knees brought up slightly so he was halfway curled up with his back to Sam. "I dunno," he muttered. "Waking you up, I guess."

"It's not a big deal," Sam replied, confused. He lay back down, too, mirroring Dean. "Can you go back to sleep now?"

"Yeah…I think so. Will you wake me again, if…" Dean didn't say any more.

"Mm-hmm…Of course." Sam was already drifting off again.

"Thanks." Dean's breathing evened out soon, and both of them fell back asleep. Dean didn't have any more nightmares, and the next morning, neither of them mentioned the one he did have. And if Dean was a little quieter than usual, and Sam a little more protective than usual, well, it was just their ways of hanging on.


Well that was different. Much longer, too. I can't say it was easy to write, but I can't say I didn't like writing it, either. It's interesting to imagine the boys before they've had all of the experiences they have in their difficult existence. I hope you enjoyed reading it! I'd love it if you dropped a review, tell me what you think of it all, or suggest later chapters of this story. I'm totally open to suggestions! Love you all.