AN: Well, this is the final chapter and MAN have I enjoyed writing this fanfic, my longest ever! I love to share my writing, though it took me a long time to get there, but in the end I write because I love to write and love these characters and this show. Having a few people on the ride with me just makes it so much better, and I appreciate every single person who has commented more than you know. I wish I got my email alerts so I could communicate with people better, but I don't know how to fix that. Oh, well.

This ostensibly ties in to season 15, episode 9, The Trap, but only in a very minor way. Really, I had to have the final chapter about the nickname. I've known that since I started writing this. If I'm exploring Dean Winchester, I have to write about the word Sammy and what it means to him. So this is mostly flashback. I'm not sorry.

Kathy: your comments give me a smile, no matter how many times I read them over. You also have the greatest name, of course!

Shazza19: you and I always seem to be on the same page! At least once, you've asked about something I had in mind but hadn't even written yet. Thanks for your faithfulness in reviewing!

Stormysea-breaks: another person with a wonderful name! Your comments / reviews are always so well thought out, and every time you give me something to think about and consider. I have used your thoughts and ideas throughout this fic especially. Thank you!

CHAPTER 21: Sammy

"This is your baby brother, Dean. His name is Samuel, but he's pretty small, so we're going to call him Sam."

Dean stared at the tiny bundle that Daddy put on his lap. He was confused about why he was supposed to care about a pile of blankets with a tiny, scrunched face inside it. He hadn't asked for a baby brother, and frankly, he'd much rather have a puppy.

"You are going to be such a good big brother, Dean," said Mommy, smiling and sort of crying at the same time, and Dean understood that this was important to her.

"What does a big brother do?" he asked, still looking at the bundle on his lap.

Daddy was kneeling in front of him, as if he thought Dean might drop the baby. "Well, Dean, it means you're bigger and you help take care of him, make sure he's safe. You look out for him."

As Dean began to ponder that, the bundle began to wiggle and squirm. The blanket slid to the side, exposing an impossibly small body and Dean really realized for the first time that this was a tiny human being. "He'll get bigger, right?"

Daddy and Mommy both smiled. "Yes, Dean. Then you can have fun together and play together. But you'll still be bigger," said Daddy.

Then the baby opened his eyes. They unerringly met Dean's, and something shifted irrevocably in the four-year-old's life. "Sammy," he said, smiling with no small amount of awe. "I got you, Sammy."

Then Mommy did cry, and Daddy was proud, and nothing was ever totally the same again. But that was okay, because Dean knew what he was. He wasn't just Dean any more; he was a big brother.

Dean had been inordinately proud when Sam told Gordon Walker, "Only he gets to call me that." He knew Sammy didn't mean it when he told Dean to drop the nickname, not really. Others might use it; their parents had adopted it when Dean refused to call his baby brother anything else. But when it came down to it, Sammy was Dean's name for his brother, and his only.

"Sam? It's safe to come out now. Sam? Where are you?" John was calling. He wasn't a man to panic, but fear was beginning to creep into his mind. All three Winchesters had been hunting in a craggy canyon in northern Texas when a pair of winged figures each the size of a large man had come right at them, sending Sam sprawling, shotgun flying out of his hand, and separating him from the other two.

John had yelled at him to hide, recognizing that they were facing a mated pair of spring heeled jacks, one of the rarest monsters. The creatures were almost never seen, but would sometimes settle and start picking people off when the female had a clutch of eggs. They weren't terribly dangerous to a man unless he was caught unawares, but they were strong and difficult to kill. You couldn't be sure one was dead until its heart was cut completely out, and at 10, Sam simply didn't have the strength to fight one off. So John commanded him to hide, knowing he wouldn't come out until ordered.

The battle was long and bloody, and by the time John and Dean had killed the male, then tracked and finished the female too, they had no idea where they'd been when the first attack had come. Everything looked the same, and the red dirt was disturbed over a huge area.

They were working their way up and down the gorge, calling Sam's name over and over again. They ate and drank as they searched, not willing to stop, but knowing that dehydration was a real danger. John had to force Dean to take anything. The food sat like a brick for both John and Dean, as their thoughts ran to Sam. At best, he had been alone all day without anything to eat or drink. At worst, the female had found him while they were fighting the male, which they couldn't even really consider.

Sam had stuffed himself into a small cleft in the rocks and had climbed up into the chimney it formed as high as he could wedge himself into its narrowing passage. It was too small for the spring heeled jack to follow, but she could just about reach his feet, so he had no choice but to hold himself up. She had tried to find a way to get him down for quite a while, her clever eyes evaluating everything. She'd pounded on the rocks, thrown pebbles at him, screamed at him loud enough to make his ears hurt, and tried numerous times to climb up high enough to reach him. She really didn't like being denied her prey.

Then she had done something worse. Looking up at him with those creepy, solid-silver eyes, she said in a perfect imitation of Dad's voice, "Sam! Get down here right now. That's an order, son." It was a direct quote from early that morning, when a sleepy Sam had dawdled before climbing down into the first canyon. Sam's blood ran cold. No wonder the spring heeled jacks were so good at luring people to them. If the female had stepped out of his sight before doing that, he would have climbed right down, assuming that Dad and/or Dean had killed her.

She blinked up at him, then spoke in Dean's voice. "What's the matter, squirt? Scared?"

Suddenly, Sam was very angry that this monster would use his brother's voice. "Shut up!"

Instead, she moved out of sight and began to call him again, switching back and forth between the two voices. "Sam? You okay, son? Hey man, I need you to cover my back. Look out! Did he get you?" On and on it went, as the sun heated the space like it was an actual chimney. "Look out!" yelled Dean's voice again, and Sam jumped. He had nearly dozed off despite his painful and precarious position. Grabbing the wall, he sliced the palm of his hand open, bad enough that blood dripped all the way to the ground.

Great, he thought, recognizing that his injury and growing weariness just made things even more dicey. His eyes skipped over his hiding place, evaluating his options. There was only one, unless he wanted to become food. He climbed even higher, wedging himself in the rocks tight enough that he couldn't draw a full breath. Now he was a lot less likely to fall, he consoled himself. He was starting to feel light-headed from the heat, but he just had to wait for Dad and Dean. He could do that.

Below him, the female pulled out all the stops. She cried like a baby, screamed for help in a child's voice, and went through her entire repertoire of phrases from Dad and Dean. By the time she finally fell silent or left, Sam was drifting in and out. He would doze until he slid a little or his forehead bumped the wall in front of him. Sometimes, he thought he could still hear the monster calling, but mostly there was nothing but the wind. As hard as he tried to stay awake, the world was getting very fuzzy.

After about 2 hours of searching, Dad and Dean were getting desperate. They had traversed the entire area Sam could have been, so there had to be some reason that he couldn't answer. It was going to get dark soon, and it would soon be impossible to see anything. Feeling a rising panic, the 14-year-old raised his voice again. He was getting hoarse, but he didn't care. "SAMMY?? Sammy answer me right now!"

Sam jerked up, hitting the back of his head. Could that really be Dean? The real Dean? Thing were pretty foggy, but he didn't think the spring heeled jack had ever actually called him Sammy. And she hadn't spoken with that particular combination of big brother annoyance tinged with fear. Sam had heard that tone only a few times, and it compelled him to answer.

"Dean?" That was pathetic, weak and hoarse. He coughed as much as he could in his cramped spot. "DEAN?"

Outside, Dean and Dad both froze, not believing their ears. "Sammy? Sammy, where are you?" called Dean, at the same time Dad said,

"Call again, Sam."

"Dean? Dad? I'm," he coughed, "I'm stuck."

Just a moment later, Dad found drops of blood and looked up. "I found him!" he called, not even complaining when Dean shouldered him out of the way to see for himself. "Sammy, climb down."

"I'll try." Sam gave a tired smile, his pleasure at actually seeing his family palpable, but his body feeling very numb and useless. He began to wiggle and squirm without much success. In the end, Dean had to climb up and pull on his ankles to get him loose. He did his best to climb, but fell the last six feet, knocking Dean down so both of them fell on top of John. To everyone's surprise, including John's, he began to laugh. He was exhausted and it certainly didn't feel good to have close to 200 pounds land on him, but his relief brought his emotions unusually close to the surface. He didn't let them roll off him immediately either, wrapping an arm around each boy for a few long seconds. That may have surprised the boys even more than his laughter, but they knew better than to comment. When Dad did show his emotions, nobody, but nobody called him out on it.

Sam ended up being highly dehydrated and certainly had low blood sugar, but other than that was fairly unscathed. He was also covered in scrapes and bruises and John put three stitches in his palm, but he fortunately avoided heat stroke. He drank Gatorade and ate every protein bar they had along as the other two doctored him while he sat on the hood of car, deciding their field medicine would be sufficient. And Dean not only sat in the back seat with him for the whole two-hour drive back to their motel, he didn't say one word of complaint when Sam fell asleep leaning against him.

When Dean had heard that weak, thready voice call his name, he'd been struck by a relief so profound that it was nearly painful. Over the years, he would feel that too many times. Sam's voice on the phone after he'd been shot by a werewolf. Sam walking into camp in Apocalypse World, covered in his own blood. And seeing Sam when he'd been snatched by Chuck himself. Nothing was quite right when Sam wasn't there. "Sammy!" Dean had yelled in that canyon, unaware that it was that one word that had broken through the boy's haze and delirium. That name, in Dean's voice, was Sam's anchor, his lighthouse. Although others might say "Sammy" sometimes, usually in a derisive way, it was Dean's word really, and it would be Sam's tie to reality, to life, for many, many years to come. Whatever Dean couldn't articulate, he would infuse into that word: grief, fear, concern, joy, or love. He could convey any of them with simply: Sammy.

"Sammy" was Dean's anchor, too, his golden thread. When the Mark had clouded Dean's mind, stripping him of all compassion and humanity, he had been ready to kill his brother. He had seen the acceptance and trust in Sam's eyes, and had felt a stirring of something that the Mark had tried to kill. Afraid that he'd lose his resolve, he'd told his brother to close his eyes, and what had slipped out was the word Sammy.

And then he made the choice that he'd make every single time. Sammy. Always Sammy.