Author's Note: Thanks to those who have continued to review. This is a really long chapter so hopefully y'all like. I'm glad that y'all are enjoying the analysis because there's a lot of it in this story. Enjoy!!

Sam watched the bathroom window of their motel room from a stolen car in the parking lot, thinking as he waited, unable to believe that he was actually using his brother for bait. Dean was an eight year old and Sam was still following his orders.

He took another sip of coffee from the thermos and asked himself again, what had changed? What had changed that he no longer felt sure that he wanted to run back to Stanford as soon as the demon was dead? At first it was just a desire to be close to his father, closer perhaps in death than Sam had been in life, but now…?

Now Sam didn't know that he could walk away from his older brother. He couldn't imagine going back to Stanford, interacting with those people, people who had no idea about him or his life. Sam couldn't imagine not having Dean to talk to, not being able to see his older brother first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Having Dean as an eight year old was hard enough.

When Sam had first started having those feelings toward Dean, he told himself that it was just because of Dean's looks, that it was just a twist of fate that his brother was so friggin' beautiful but he knew that it wasn't true. When Sam had left he certainly hadn't been thinking about anyone else but himself, but while he was away he found himself wishing Dean were there, wanting to share experiences with Dean.

Sam had expected to miss Dean. Dean had always been there for him, but it was more than that. It was like something was missing. The need faded somewhat, eventually. Sam loved Jess and he clung to her but Sam thought of Dean at the oddest times. He'd wonder where his brother was and he worried about Dean. And then Dean had come back and Sam had known that he was going to give in the moment he saw Dean's face in the light. He had been overcome with an odd sense of longing, a kind of homesickness.

Now that they were back hunting, things were the same and yet they were very different. The hunting was the same, the same graveyards, the smell of rotting flesh, the fear while waiting in the dark, the same sorrow for the victims. And Dean was the same, still sarcastic and immature and over-protective.

But things were different and it wasn't just that their father wasn't with them. It had always been about Sam and Dean, at least for Sam. But Sam was different. He was an adult and he wanted his father and brother to treat him like one, like a partner. He wanted his father to include him in decisions, he wanted Dean to stop throwing himself in front of the bullet for Sam. Like that would ever happen.

But if he wanted to be treated as an adult, maybe it was time that Sam started acting like one, stopped judging his father and brother for every little fault, for everything about their childhood and their life, and realize that they really did do the best they could.

He was always going to be different, even without the psychic stuff, he would always know what was out there in the dark. Even at Stanford, his oasis of normal, he never quite fit in. This was his life and he had better find the bright side or he would forever be in the dark. Dean had always known that, known that it didn't take much to be happy. Dean just needed his family. And if Sam was honest with himself, Dean made Sam happy. Dean always made things better, he always had. That was what was missing at Stanford.

Sam noticed movement, only a shadow moving in the dark but he knew that it was Dean after a glance at the clock showed that it was midnight. He watched the boy climb out the bathroom window with admirable agility, landing silently on his feet and scanning the motel parking lot before taking off again.

It was a struggle for Sam to stay in the car as Dean ran across the parking lot toward the road. They had used bait before, certainly, and Dean had often volunteered. The brothers had even used a child as bait once, to lure the Shrtiga, but then they had carefully controlled the environment.

Sam hoped that a car would swoop by and snatch the boy so that he could follow in his own car. That would mean he only had the human to contend with. But it didn't happen and Dean continued across the silent road and the abandoned lot on the other side.

Hopping out of the car, Sam began to follow. This was what he didn't want to happen, to chase Dean through the woods beyond the empty lot with a monster chasing the boy as well. Why did he agree to this again? Just because they didn't have any other leads…

Sam was trying to be quiet as he jogged along, when suddenly the boy stopped. Ducking behind the nearest tree, Sam watched as Dean slowly turned to his left, a fierce expression on his young features, but not fear. He wasn't surprised that Dean had noticed the monster before him. Dean had a sort of sixth sense about the supernatural that most of the time was better than Sam's psychic premonitions.

Tearing his eyes away from the boy, Sam got his first look at the monster. It was as tall as Sam and vaguely human in shape, but its musculature was like ropes wrapped around a human skeleton. Its face was bird-like and its hair actually appeared to be feathers.

Sam began sneaking up behind the monster while Dean occupied its attention. Now was the time for real stealth, he had to get close enough to slit the Farafew's throat with the silver knife he carried.

He noticed an odd look cross the boy's face, shock and there it was…fear. He saw the boy's mouth open but didn't hear the shout as something hard hit Sam in the back of his head. He had forgotten about the human accomplice.

Falling to the ground face first, Sam was for a moment blinded by scalding hot pain. Trying to breathe through it, he looked up just in time to see Dean sprint away like a jack rabbit, the monster hot on the boy's trail.

Sam struggled to his feet, his own fear overriding the pain and the spots dancing in front of his eyes. He spared a moment to look around, but didn't see the person who had hit him.

Now he wasn't trying to be quiet at all, simply running full out while trying to avoid the trees and low hanging branches and stumps and holes. He couldn't see Dean or the monster but he could hear them, crashing through the woods ahead of him.

And then he heard a scream, the gut-wrenching scream of a child in horrible pain. He practically stumbled onto the scene.

Dean was lying prone on the forest floor, trying to scramble away from the talon that the monster had stuck into the back of the boy's thigh. The boy was pinioned, trapped like a butterfly on a specimen wall. But then he suddenly twisted, in his hand the knife that Sam had given the boy as insurance. Dean stabbed the knife through the monster's hand.

The monster whirled away in a rage…and then it caught sight of Sam. It took off then, retreating into the woods. Sam wanted to give chase, but his first responsibility was the boy lying bleeding in the underbrush. Still, as he watched the monster sprint away, he saw another form out there, a human form that was turning away to leave as well. But Sam had already seen the person's face and he recognized her though he didn't think the person realized she had been spotted.

His attention was jerked back when he heard a choked whimper come from the ground. Dean had curled himself into a fetal ball, his tiny hands gripping the wound at the back of his leg, covered in dark blood. White straight teeth were biting hard into the boy's bottom lip as Dean made a valiant effort to manage his pain.

Dropping to his knees, Sam couldn't help his hands that went out to comfort the boy or the idiotic question that left his lips.

"Dean, are you ok?"

Looking down at a small child, Sam was surprised by the Dean-like response of tiny hands shoving his own massive ones away. Stunned, he watched the boy use his hands to push himself to his feet, like a push-up.

"I'm fine, just need a little patching up."

But when the boy's knees buckled on his first step, Sam didn't hesitate in sweeping Dean up into his arms, heedless of whatever protest might follow. Dean was in too much pain to put up much of a fight though and the boy was quiet in Sam's arms, clutching Sam's shirt in his small fists.

Sam carried the boy all the way back to the motel. Dean was so quiet in his arms that Sam almost thought the boy was asleep except for the harsh gasp of breath when Sam readjusted his grip as he opened the motel room door.

"Shh, Dean. You'll be ok."

The fact that Dean didn't have a snappy comeback worried Sam. He laid the boy down on the nearest bed, Dean's as a matter of fact, and then hurried into the bathroom to get the med kit.

"Dean, I need you to get out of your pants so I can see the wound, ok?"

Sam's heart broke just a little bit more at the sight of Dean's small face, already pale and drawn with pain but becoming distinctly apprehensive at the idea of Sam undressing him. Dean used shaking hands slippery with his own blood to unbutton his jeans. Sam didn't help at first, not wanting to further scare the boy but his assistance quickly became necessary.

Tense and shaking with fear and pain, Dean said nothing as Sam helped pull the boy's jeans off. The boy simply bit his lip again and stared at the comforter with wide, frightened eyes.

Maneuvering the boy to lie on his stomach, Sam took a look at the wound. It didn't look good. It was deep and ragged from the boy's struggles and still bleeding. Sam put pressure on it with a towel as he reviewed his options.

He didn't want to put the boy through any further pain, God knew he wanted to save this little boy from all the pain that he knew Dean had endured but he had no choice. Dean needed stitches.

Dean liked to use alcohol as an anesthetic, but Sam couldn't give any to the boy. Not only would it be bad for a child, but alcohol was a blood thinner and Dean had already lost too much blood.

Standing, Sam quickly got a glass of water from the bathroom and gave the boy half a pain pill from a bottle that Dean had picked up somewhere and put in the kit. He let the boy kneel up to take the pill and then Sam set up what he would need to put in the stitches.

"Hey, you doing ok, buddy?"

"What do you think?"

That was more like it. Sam let out a breathless laugh, pleased that the boy was feeling at least better enough to be annoying.

"I think you feel like crap right now. I'm gonna have to give you some stitches, ok?"

"What would you do if I said no?"

Sam laughed again. "Sorry, tough guy, but this is pretty non-negotiable."

"Figured."

"You're gonna feel a pinch."

Kneeling on the grungy motel room carpet, Sam was practically sweating as he prepared to put the needle through his brother's already red, irritated skin. Dean couldn't hold in the mewl of pain, although the boy quickly grabbed for the pillow, stuffing it into his mouth to stifle any other cries.

Sam finished quickly, the actual puncture was small so it had only taken three stitches. When he was done, he put away the kit and washed his hands, bringing back a wet towel to clean the boy's hands and leg with.

Dean was quiet and this time it wasn't because of the pain or being apprehensive. It looked like his brother wanted to say something. Finally Dean spoke again, having rolled to his side as he let Sam clean his hands.

"When's my dad gonna get here?"

God, Sam really didn't want to answer that question right now. "Soon, Dean. He'll be here soon."

Something must have shown on Sam's face though because that look came over the boy's features. That look that Sam had seen on Dean's face before. He had seen it the night that their father had been kidnapped by the Yellow-eyed Demon, the night that Dean had pulled Sam back from the flames that had overtaken that family's house.

It was the same look that Dean had been wearing when Sam slammed his brother into the wall and Dean had confessed…confessed that he was barely holding it together. That blank look on his features that spoke so much more eloquently of pain than any words. And green eyes filled with agony and desperation, despair so deep that Sam thought he could fall into it.

That look was on the child's face now, pressed as it was into the mattress. Dean never could keep the emotion out of his eyes.

"He's not coming, is he?"

"Of course he is. Dad would never just leave you."

"Then why isn't he here yet?! Why hasn't he called?"

"Come on now. Dad needs you, he couldn't get by without you. Who would take care of Sammy?"

It was the wrong thing to say apparently as Dean started to cry then, curling up into a fetal ball again and shaking with sobs.

"That's all I'm good for. It's just 'do this' and 'do that', 'clean the weapons', 'make Sammy a sandwich', 'watch your brother', 'stay in the room'. I just want…"

Sam didn't need the boy to finish that sentence. He knew what his brother wanted, love. Dean was terrified of abandonment so this was like his worst nightmare.

He picked the boy up, cradling the tiny balled up form against his chest again and sitting against the headboard of the clean bed. Dean didn't protest, didn't even murmur in pain. The boy was too caught up in sobbing to notice that he was in the middle of a 'chick flick' moment.

But after only a moment, Sam could tell Dean was trying to get it under control. The boy was choking on the sobs and rubbing viciously at his tears with his fists.

"It's ok to cry."

"No, it's not." Dean's voice was gruff and certain.

"Why not?"

"It's for chicks. I used to cry for mommy, but Dad shouted…" Tears began streaming down Dean's face again and the boy choked on his words.

"Dad said to stop crying because mommy wasn't coming back."

Sam tucked the boy's face into his chest as the sobs came again. Sam's own eyes filled with tears as he tried to imagine that time after mom's death, that John had to deal with a four year old crying for his mommy, John's dead wife. Of course, John hadn't wanted to think about it, much less talk about it except to plan his revenge. He was filled with his own pain and utterly unable to assuage that of his son. Instead of letting the boy cry it out in his arms, John had told Dean to suck it up unable to listen to the child's pitiable plea.

Sam didn't know what to do, what to say. Things just kept getting worse and worse, he almost wished that he didn't know these things about his brother's life, didn't know the pain that had made Dean the way he was.

Dean could have died. Again. How many times was Dean going to be on death's doorstep before Sam admitted that his feelings for his brother went beyond lust or like or admiration…Sam was in love with Dean. He could no longer picture his perfect 'normal' future or any future for that matter without Dean in it.

And isn't that what love was? When you stopped wondering if there could be a future for the two of you and started wondering how you could possibly spend the rest of your life apart.

Admitting it was like letting the sun into a room. Sam couldn't understand now how he could have missed it. It had been right in front of his face, Dean had been literally right next to him. Sam had been so obsessed with new and different, with normal, that he couldn't see Dean, the real person not the enemy who was standing in his way. It had taken leaving to realize that he already had everything he needed.

Nobody had ever put this boy's needs first it seemed, especially not Sam. He remembered how Dean had begged him to take time off, to take a break to think after Sam survived the demon virus. Dean who didn't beg for anything from anyone had begged Sam, for time and Sam had just disregarded the older man, run away, again. Dean had finally displayed his own concerns and feelings and Sam had shot him down, kept pushing when he knew that Dean was ready to shatter.

The boy's breath had become more even. Dean had finished crying, so Sam scooted down the bed, so that they could lie beneath the sheets. He toed off his shoes and kept the boy in the circle of his arms, not willing to let the boy go. Sam needed this comfort perhaps as much as Dean did.

Sam took a deep breath of the boy's smell. He still smelled like the adult-Dean just fainter, cleaner.

"I miss Sammy." Dean's voice was a whisper of breath, warm and humid against Sam's t-shirt clad chest.

Sam stroked the boy's back, his hand practically as wide as Dean was. "What does Sammy do for you when you're hurt?"

"Nothing, he's just there, ya know?"

Sam did know, Dean drew strength from his family's presence even if he couldn't accept the comfort that he craved.

Suddenly filled with determination, Sam had to stop himself from squeezing the boy in his arms. He would fix this, turn Dean back into an adult, convince the older hunter that a romantic relationship was a good idea, more than that, the only idea that made sense. One day he wanted to hold his adult brother like this. Sam wanted Dean to let him in, he wanted to comfort the older man. Hopefully knowing what he knew now would give him a hole in the armor to work with.