A/N: Hi everyone! Hope everyone is having a good 2020 so far! I'm back to the daily grind, but let's still try to make this year matter!

Thanks to bagelcat1 (x2), hectatess, DearHart, CBloom2, BrokenKestral, Black Fungus and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews. Talk about kicking the year off right!

So, this chapter is tagged to 10x14, The Executioner's Song. Awesome episode, and I hope I was able to do something creative or unique for this chapter. Please let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

Desperate Measures

Sam could count on one hand the amount of times Dean had turned to him for comfort.

One

It was Dean's tenth birthday, and John wasn't there. Despite everything John had said and done at this point in Dean's life, Dean had still expected his father to show up.

When he didn't, when Dean was left standing outside of the school where John was supposed to pick him and Sammy up so they could go see that new Schwarzenegger/DeVitto comedy at the local theatre, he sighed deeper than a ten year old ever had the right to sigh, turned around, and went back into the school to grab Sam from his kindergarten class.

"De'!" Sam shouted, racing away from his kindergarten teacher to run towards him when he entered the room.

"Hey, Sam," Dean murmured quietly, his usual excitement at being done school for the day erased by his father's absence.

"De', what's wrong?"

Dean sighed again. "Dad's not coming, kiddo. He got stuck at work."

Even at his young age, Sam knew the code. 'Stuck at work' meant that he and Dean were most likely gonna be on their own all night, but he could never tell anyone that. Ever.

"But it's your birthday!" Sam cried out, sensitive to the injustice. "Daddy said –"

"I know, pal," Dean frowned. "But Dad's gotta work. It's okay."

"No, it's not!" Sam stomped his foot, whining loudly as the kindergarten teacher made her way over to see what the fuss was about. "Miss M, Daddy is gonna miss De's birthday!" Sam cried. The teacher smiled at Dean, knowing that John worked odd shifts, leaving the older brother to take care of her student. It wasn't something she would normally be okay with, but she couldn't deny that Sam was well cared for, and that he adored spending time with his older brother.

"Uh-oh. That's not good, is it Sam?"

"No!"

"But…" she waited patiently for Sam to turn his attention to her. "Dean seems to be okay with it. Now, I know you don't like it, but it's Dean's birthday, right? So, because it's his day, you kind of have to be okay with what he wants."

"But he's not okay with Daddy being gone!" Sam gasped, turning completely towards his teacher. "Dean's sad! I know it! He's sad but he won't tell me because it makes me sad!"

Miss M looked over Sam's shoulder at the newly-10-year-old. She could see where Sam was coming from. Once Sam's attention had turned elsewhere, Dean had looked down, scuffing his shoes across the linoleum flooring with a small frown on his face. What she wanted to do to a father who couldn't be bothered to show up for his son's birthday…

"You're right, Sam," she conceded. "Dean does look a little sad. Now, how do we help our friends when they're sad?"

Sam scampered over to Dean, eyes glowing up at his big brother. "De', are you sad? You can tell me, I'm a big boy now."

Dean smiled, eyes a little watery at the kindness the teacher was showing his brother. With her blonde hair and blue eyes, she reminded him a lot of his mother.

"Yeah, okay, Sammy. I'm a little sad. But it's not Dad's fault, okay?"

Sam ignored that last bit. "How can I make you feel better?"

Dean looked over at the teacher, who nodded encouragingly. "I…uh…I guess I could use one of your special Sammy hugs. Would that be okay?"

Instead of responding, Sam launched himself at Dean, spider monkey style. His arms went around Dean's shoulders, his legs around his waist, and his head buried into Dean's shoulder in a way that was both slightly painful and completely endearing.

"It's okay, De'," Sam whispered loudly, still with no concept of how to speak quietly. "You'll always have me. I'll never miss your birthday."

Two

When Sam was at the airport, ready to leave for college, he had been afraid. On his own, for real, for the first time. First time on a plane. First time cutting that cord that had tied him and Dean together for so long. If he was with Dean, he didn't have to take care of himself. He didn't have to worry about cooking or cleaning or being a responsible adult. With Dean around, he could focus on being responsible for his studies, but not for his life.

Now, he would be separated from that. And he was scared. But it turned out, Dean was even more scared.

Sam had just agreed to lay the salt lines in his dorm room when Dean pulled him into a gruff hug. They hadn't been the most touchy-feely family since, well, since Sam had found out about monsters and life became more about protecting lives than fostering appropriate relationships with each other. But Dean had always been a tactile person. A hand on a shoulder here, a pat on the back there, a noogie when they passed each other in the hallways of school. It was how Dean showed his affection. And, Sam would come to find out, it was also how Dean comforted himself. Those moments with the hand on the shoulder or the pat on the back or even the noogie in the hallway had always been Dean's way of ensuring that he wasn't alone, that someone was there with him, for him.

At the time, Sam thought he was the only one drawing comfort from the hug. He gripped the lapels of Dean's baggy leather jacket tight, breathed in the leather, oil, gunpowder and spearmint scent that Dean always carried with him, and fought back the tears that were threatening to begin streaming down his face.

It wasn't until later that Sam realized that that hug was the first hug Dean had initiated in a long time, that his brother had been searching for comfort in the wake of his departure, and that Sam had, unwittingly, been able to provide it for him.

Three

Sam had watched astounded as his brother drank salt-laced holy water, doused himself in Borax, and cut his arm deeply with a silver knife. Never in a million years had he ever thought he would end up back here, end up back with Dean.

Yet, there his brother was, standing there, flesh and blood, in front of him.

"Alright," Dean grunted, pulling his sleeve down to cover the new cut on his arm. "Well, let's do this."

Sam smiled hesitantly. "I don't know whether to give you a hug or take a shower," he joked, still not quite believing that his brother was standing in front of him after nearly a year's absence.

Dean smiled back. "C'mere," he muttered, pulling Sam in tight. On instinct, Sam ducked down and tucked his head into the space between Dean's neck and shoulder, and Sam felt Dean tighten his grip, hold him closer. Sam tried to ignore the trembling in Dean's limbs as Sam clasped back just as tightly. He didn't know where Dean had been, what he had gone through, how he had gotten out, or why he was back now, but he would be a filthy liar if he wasn't grateful to have his brother there again, especially after the mess he had caused with Amelia. His big brother was back, and that was all that mattered.

Now

Sam stood by the coffee maker in the Bunker's kitchen, watching Dean as he silently downed the contents of the mug that was in front of him. Dean didn't know it, but Sam had made him decaf coffee in an attempt to help his big brother sleep. Sam didn't know if it would work or not, but he was willing to try anything.

"Dean, um, you know, what you did back there, it was incredible," Sam began hesitantly. "You know, if you can do that without losing yourself…" Sam moved towards the table, taking the seat in front of Dean and staring at him earnestly. "…that's cause for hope, even without a cure."

"Yeah," Dean grunted, the word barely a word. "Maybe."

Sam stared at his brother as Castiel walked into the room, remembering how Dean had basically collapsed into his arms after killing Cain. Dean never allowed himself to show weakness like that, not in front of Sam and definitely not in front of an enemy like Crowley.

Whatever had transpired in that barn had pulled down every defence, every wall, every tactic Dean used to keep himself upright and breathing on the hard days. And it had scared him. Scared them both, actually.

Sure, there had been a little bit of pride when Dean had chosen him to sink into after that hard-won battle. Castiel was his friend, the friend who had dragged him out of Hell, the friend he had gone to Purgatory with, the friend who could heal most wounds, but he hadn't chosen him. He had chosen Crowley when he woke up as a demon, but that was then and this is now. Dean had spent whatever was left of his energy and dropped into his arms.

To Sam, it didn't matter that Dean was sweaty and bloody. It didn't matter that the tip of Dean's knife was digging into Sam's kneecap. It didn't matter that Dean's deadweight was doing its best to knock him to the ground. What mattered was that Dean was okay. He was alive and breathing, which meant that, whatever was causing him to collapse could be fixed.

"…I think I am gonna go sleep for about four days."

Sam looked up from where he had been studying the grain of the table during his thinking.

"Of course," he uttered, smiling feebly at Dean as he got up from the table, patted Castiel on the shoulder as he passed him, and exited the room.

Thankfully, Cas waited until Dean was gone to ask, "How is he?" Sam's eyes were rooted to the spot where Dean had disappeared. "Sam?"

Sam could count on one hand how many times Dean had turned to him for physical comfort. There were little times, like Dean squeezing his shoulder or patting him on the back. There were times that he probably missed. But the big moments that came to mind numbered three. The first time John had really, truly let Dean down. The first time Sam had really, truly hurt Dean with limited remorse. And when Dean had come back from a year-long battle with the undead.

Dean didn't reach out for physical reassurances very often. Maybe it was because he had been denied as a child. Maybe it was because he thought he was too brave or strong or tough to need a hug when life got him down. Maybe it was, Sam shuddered to think, because Dean thought he would be denied, just as he had been by John. But Sam knew that, when Dean didn't ask for physical contact, when he just took it, damning the consequences or the possible judgements, things were bad. And this time, Dean hadn't just taken it. He had taken it like a man who was on his last legs, a man who was desperate to know that things weren't completely horrible. Hugging Sam, collapsing into him, had been Dean's last desperate measure.

"Cas…" Sam finally met the angel's gaze, knowing his eyes were glassy. "Dean's in trouble."

A/N: I hope this chapter was decent for you all! And I hope you all have good weeks! Much love!