AN: Lots of Weechesters here, because I adore Weechesters. Kathy, I know you're with me! Tags to season 10, episode 23, Brother's Keeper. It's a pretty heavy ep, but ended up being a pretty light chapter for the most part.

As an aside, I really wish I could see the newest reviews!

CHAPTER 17: Hang the Stars

The summer that Sammy turned 3, tragedy struck his young life for the second time. Bear, his nearly constant companion, accidentally got mixed in with the laundry. And in the industrial strength dryer, the faded and worn creature simply exploded.

6-year-old Dean was helping their dad, so he was the first one to open the dryer. Seeing a coating fluff covering everything, he immediately comprehended that he was looking at poor Bear's guts. Dad was at the next dryer over, Sammy propped on one hip because left to his own devices, the toddler wouldn't stop crawling on the nasty floor.

Panicked, Dean began to gather every bit of fluff that he could while keeping his actions out of Sammy's sight. Fortunately, his brother was very distracted by a juice box, which was a rare treat for him. It was still very hot inside the dryer, but Dean worked as fast as he could, painstakingly collecting it all.

Finished, he pulled out the clothes as he'd initially intended and there, at the bottom, was a very flat, pathetic Bear with a hole in his abdomen that looked straight out of Alien. Dean hastily zipped his coat and stuffed Bear's remains inside, then filled every pocket he had with fluff. Dad was looking over at him, but Sammy was still blissfully ignorant. "Dad, I gotta talk to you," Dean informed him urgently. He cut his eyes to his little brother exaggeratedly.

Brow furrowing, John nevertheless took Dean seriously and pulled a picture book from the duffel he used for Sam's things. He plunked it on the table behind him and plopped Sammy right next to it. There was nothing that distracted the active child like a book.

Seeing Sammy was busy, Dean opened his coat like he was selling watches on the street and showed Dad poor, flat Bear. He tugged at the front of his dad's jacket until the man leaned over so he could whisper. "Dad, I got all of Bear's stuffing and I can sew him back together if you let me use the kit, but you hafta keep Sammy away."

A rare smile tugged at John's face. In a life full of fear and evil, his sons could sometimes still show him light and laughter through their innocence. He crouched down to Dean's level, putting one hand on Sam's leg so he could make sure the younger boy stayed put. "Dean," he whispered, "Sammy will notice that Bear is flat, don't you think?"

"Oh, no, I got all his fluff." Dean showed his dad one of his pockets, prompting yet another smile.

"Well, Buddy, I can probably sew him up faster than you can, and you are better at distracting Sammy. Why don't you put, uh, Bear's stuffing back in now, then when we're back at the hotel you can play with Sammy while I sew Bear up."

Dean nodded fervently. And that's what they did. They when bedtime came and the hunt for Bear was on, Dean produced him triumphantly. Sammy noticed the stitching immediately. "Wha's wong with Bear?" he demanded, touching the neat row.

John had expected this. He turned away from his journal and pulled up one sleeve, showing a long scar. "Remember when I had a cut and got stitches to help it get better, Sammy? Bear had that too."

Sammy's little brow creased in thought. He did remember when Pastor Jim had sewed up his dad, because he'd been scared at the blood and the smell and everything. Seeing the expression on his face, Pastor Jim had promised that he was helping his dad get better, not hurting him. "Go in the other room with Dean, Sam. I'll take care of your father."

"Who took care of Bear?" Sammy wanted to know.

"Dean did," answered John, because it was essentially true. And he knew already that Dean was Sam's touchstone, the one who was always there.

Sam turned his gaze to his big brother, who made everything better. Clutching bear in one hand, he threw his arms around Dean's waist and grinned up at him. "Fank you, De!"

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

When Sam was in kindergarten, the class spent a gym class playing with Frisbees. A sweet little girl named Brianna who was cool because she'd already lost 3 teeth, was shocked to discover Sam had never thrown a Frisbee before. Determined to rectify that, she had brought Sam a Frisbee as a gift the next day. She said her parents didn't care because they had others and she'd gotten it for free at a parade.

It was bright yellow and dirty and had the name of a local realty company printed on top, and Sam loved it fiercely. He played with it every chance he got and repaid his new friend's generosity by defending her against a few mean second graders who called her a vampire for her lopsided smile. In fact, Sam defended her vigorously enough that John was called, and that was not a pleasant conversation. But it was totally worth it to the 5-year-old. He would have slept with that old thing if he hadn't been afraid that he or Dean would roll on top of it and break it, since their temporary home had only one bed (luckily a double) for the 2 of them to share.

Then tragedy struck. Sam and Dean were playing in the playground behind the school while their teenage babysitter flirted with her boyfriend instead of watching them. Sam was practicing his Frisbee throws, trying to hit certain targets, like a certain swing or pole, while Dean did the same thing with a handy rock he'd found. A rogue gust of wind caught the Frisbee and tossed it nearly straight up – into the tree.

Horrified, Sam had run over and tried uselessly shaking the tree. Then he'd jumped to try to reach the bottom branch, but it was far above his head. He hated crying – hated it – but Sam could feel tears welling in his eyes.

Then there was a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong, Squirt?"

Sniffling, Sam pointed up in the tree. "M-my Frisbee is stuck. Can you lift me up to the branch, De? Pretty please?" He looked up with tear-filled eyes, having no idea of the lethality of that look, especially for Dean.

"I got a better idea." The 9-year-old, who was tall for his age, waved his brother back. Then he jumped up and grabbed the lowest branch, pulling himself up onto it without a lot of effort. He stood up to reach the next handy climbing branch. From a ways away, the babysitter yelled at him to get down, but instead he glanced at the hopeful face of Sammy and kept climbing. In a matter of minutes, he was high enough to reach the branch that held the Frisbee prisoner. He shook it, sending the ugly yellow thing down to the ground.

It took just another minute before he was safely on the ground too, and almost lost his balance when his pint-sized brother grabbed him in a hug. "Thank you, De! Thank you thank you thank you!"

Dean grinned and ruffled Sam's hair, feeling like he'd won the lotto. "Don't you forget it, Sammy."

The babysitter was standing a few feet away, and she'd opened her mouth to yell at Dean, no doubt. Instead, she turned to her boyfriend. "Damn, that's pretty cute."

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

There were a hundred other instances in which Sam turned that look on his brother. It might be less often than when he was little, but there was no doubt that Dean was still his hero. Dean had lived for that look. Bobby said Sammy looked at Dean like he'd hung the stars, and there was no greater feeling in the world than that seeing it.

Who knew that look could hurt? It had hurt, Dean remembered, when Gadreel had killed three of Abaddon's demons and Dean had lied and said he'd done it so Sam wouldn't know about the angel. "You are pretty awesome," Sam had said, that look on his face. But now, as Sam knelt at his feet, arms loosely at his sides, resigned and accepting, Then the look was more than that. It was resolute, but also absolute trust. He wasn't going to fight, because Sam accepted that Dean would somehow beat the Mark on his own some day. You can win, Dean, the expression said. You are the best man I know.

How dare Sam look at him like that with bruises blooming on his face from Dean's fist? How could he spit out blood and maybe even a tooth then defend Dean, looking at him with complete forgiveness? How could Sam give him permission to kill him with serenity and understanding and most of all that damn that's my big brother look on his face. "Close your eyes," Dean ordered, unable to look at it for one more second. "Sammy, close your eyes."

And Sam stopped him, not to plead for his own life, but to give Dean something that could help him later. When you come back, he said, not if. Bobby's words from so many years before echoed in Dean's mind. He thinks Dean can do anything. Sam believed Dean was stronger than the Mark, and he was willing to give his life to give Dean that chance.

And Dean couldn't live with never seeing that look again.