Author's Note -I was reading a review on someone else's story this weekend and something the reviewer said bothered me and inspired this story - Sam gives as much to Dean as Dean does to Sam. Just in a different way... I think it iseasier to see what Dean givesbut what Sam gives is equallyimportant - just a lot harder to define...

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this short story and let me know what you think. Phoenix

Recognition

-The Story-

Twenty one year old Dean Winchester put the black car into park outside a rundown motel room and turned off the ignition. For a few minutes he just sat back in the seat and closed his eyes. Man he was tired… His whole body throbbed and ached, desperate for some rest and relaxation.

He was more than tired, actually. He was exhausted; emotionally and physically worn down and feeling much older than his tender years…

Usually the life he and his family lived was okay with him, but every now and then, times like tonight, and for no particular reason, it would catch up and he would find himself dispirited and something scarily close to despondent.

Sometimes he just found it hard to remember why he did all this. What was the point? For every evil and nasty thing his family killed in their quest, there was always something even more evil and nastier hanging out around the corner.

Why bother?

Oh Dean understood the logic of it all, but on days like this it was just a little bit harder to feel the emotion, or to garner any pride or sense of accomplishment in his life.

Of course his father's reasons were his own; taken to heart by a four-year-old little boy. They hunted for the thing that killed Dean and Sam's mother. For Mary. But sometimes that motivation felt as vague as a dog-eared and badly faded photograph of someone you felt you should know but couldn't quite remember –

And sometimes he wished… Dean shook his head. It didn't matter what he wished.

He and his father had just finished up a particularly brutal wraith hunt and now he just wanted to grab a hot shower, toss something edible into his painfully empty gut and then crawl into bed and forget the world existed for the next eighteen hours, at least.

Dean's father, demon hunter John Winchester, had a few loose ends to tie up and sent the young man home, promising to be back sometime tomorrow.

Maybe he sensed his son's weariness, maybe he was worried about the other son he'd left behind, maybe… maybe there was no reason behind what his father did other than the obvious. Dean wasn't needed so Dean was sent home.

Sighing wearily, the young man pulled the key out of the ignition and shoved open the car door. The lights in the motel room lit up the autumn evening, already dark though it was only 5 o'clock and he knew his younger brother was there.

Sam hadn't gone on the hunt with them, this time; his left arm was still in a cast from the prior weekend when, during a sparring match with Dean, the seventeen year old had literally tripped over his own feet and fallen hard. The sickening sound of the bone breaking was something Dean would never forget…

Uncharacteristically, their father had been quietly sympathetic, saying nothing more than 'Damnit Sammy!'; knowing that the four inches the gangly teen had shot up in a month and a half were playing havoc on his coordination. The kid was all legs and arms for pete's sake now – how the hell was Dean supposed to grapple with that?

The corners of his mouth twisted into something suspiciously like a fond smile as he thought about the horrified look on Sam's face when he tried on every pair of jeans he owned, only to find out that he now owned a collection of Capri pants!

Dean shivered. It was actually scary that Sam knew enough about fashion to know what they were called…

A true smile graced his weary face as he thought about the younger boy. Sammy. Dean was looking forward to seeing him; that thought being the only bit of brightness in this darkened evening… Of course he'd never admit that out loud to the kid, not even on pain of death. It was a Winchester thing. Feel much but admit nothing.

Dean and John had left early yesterday morning and the young man hadn't seen his brother since then, only now realizing just how much he missed having him around. Tormenting Sammy was his most favorite pastime.

Even their father had grumbled last night, at about two in the morning as they shivered their asses off waiting for an angry spirit to show, that he wished Sam was here. Dean had been surprised at first and then pleased. Things had been a bit tense between John and his youngest son of late, but that one exasperated admittance gave Dean more comfort than he cared to admit.

Sam hadn't pissed their father too badly… yet.

"Honey, I'm home," Dean called out as he unlocked the motel room door and stepped inside inhaling deeply as the strong aroma of something cooking tickled his nose. "Yo Lucy, what'cha cooking?" he didn't see the teen right away but noticed the closed bathroom door as he dropped his overnight bag heavily on the floor.

This particular unit was very nice – it had a large room with two double beds, a kitchenette, a bathroom and a small round table with four chairs. He and Sam flipped a coin most nights to see who got the sleeping bag on the floor unless, like tonight, their father wasn't going to be here. Dean couldn't help but notice that he won the coin toss on most nights and wondered about that. He knew he wasn't cheating…

"Sam – did you die in there or something?" Dean pressed as he slowly moved towards the kitchenette, wincing as his hip jarred with every movement. Damn that thing had been fast… He lifted the lid off a pot that was simmering on the hotplate and sighed in appreciation as he grabbed a spoon to do a taste test. No one made spaghetti like his brother did.

Savoring the lasting taste of the thick garlic flavored sauce, Dean glanced around the room, noticing how tidy and well kept it was. It hadn't been like that when the two older men had left, that was for sure. His kid brother had been busy while they were gone but it didn't really surprise him – Sam was like that.

Since turning twelve, the kid had taken on much of the more menial life tasks such as cooking and cleaning, particularly since there were occasional hunts that their father still deemed Sam to be too young to go on. And Dean had to admit, it was nice – not that his brother had was left behind from time to time, but to coming back to a clean place and good food.

"You'll make a wonderful wife someday you know… once you grow some boobs that is," he teased as he moved to a chair, sat down and slipped his feet out of his boots. He wriggled his toes and exhaled loudly. It felt so good to get them off.

The sound of the door opening made Dean glance up and he actually managed a grin at the surprised look on his sibling's face as Sam stepped out of the small bathroom and momentarily just gawked at him. Disbelief was quickly replaced by a flash of familiar dimples and Dean felt something catch in his throat. God he had missed this kid…

"Dean!" Sam moved towards him his whole face lighting up, "You're back! When did you get here? Why didn't you call? How was the hunt - "

"Whoa – one thing at a time," Dean said as he held up his hand to slow his brother down. He stood, noting with a tinge of something that they now stood eye to eye – what did it mean when your baby brother was as tall as you or, heaven forbid, got taller? Dean brushed that thought away firm in his resolution that that wasn't going to happen! "I just got here, and what are you, getting deaf in your old age or something? I've been having a whole conversation out here… apparently by myself," he gave the teen a playful shove when he got close, his dark mood starting to lighten. "You missed some of my best stuff!"

"Sorry," Sam ducked his head, sheepishly. He stepped back from his brother and appraised Dean critically. "You okay?"

Dean did a slow spin, careful to keep how sore he really was feeling from his sibling. Sam was the family worrier. "Does this body look in any way damaged to you?"

"Well…" Sam started slowly and then back peddled when his brother took a swipe at him. Normally Dean would have tackled him but didn't out of restraint for Sam's injured arm, and with his own aches he didn't trust his ability to properly control the roughhousing this time. The dark haired boy glanced around and added. "Where's Dad?"

"He'll be back tomorrow," Dean said as he eased himself into one of the chairs and let out a heavy sigh. He cast a look at the younger Winchester, "How's your arm?"

"Still broken," Sam admitted, turning back to the simmering pot and flipping off the hotplate. "You sound tired. How was the hunt?"

"You know. The usual," Dean said forcing a casualness into his voice and watching his sibling out of habit. Sam glanced over his shoulder briefly and then asked:

"So… what'd you get thrown into this time? A wall – bookshelf - "

Dean scowled. He hated it when Sam did that. The kid had a way of seeing around most of the masks his elder wore. Well… maybe more like seeing through the cracks. "Linen closet," he admitted begrudgingly.

"Ouch," smoothly, the teen reached into the freezer of the small motel room fridge, pulled out a pack of frozen peas and then held them out. Dean scowled. "Here put this where it hurts the most."

"Friggin' mother hen," the young man groused but took the impromptu ice pack anyway. He pressed it against his back and stifled a relieved groan as the ice helped numb the throbbing. He closed his eyes and mumbled after a moment. "I'll spare you the inquisition for now."

"The inquisition? For what?" He knew his younger brother had turned to look at him without the visual. The kid was a bit too predictable at times. "Did you hit your head?"

Okay maybe not…

"No," Dean denied forcing his eyes open and wondering where Sam came up with some of this stuff. A head injury. As if! "About how some evil peas got in our fridge, moron. I'm sure as hell positive they didn't walk here themselves."

The teen rolled his eyes and turned away, reaching up and pulling down two bowls. "Whatever," he said and then added. "What have you got against vegetables any way?"

"I'd tell you but than I'd have to kill you," Dean adjusted the frozen peas as his brother placed a bowl of steaming hot spaghetti on the table in front of him. "Looks good."

"Yeah well," Sam shrugged as he sat down across from his brother. "It'll taste better tomorrow. Sauce is always better the next day."

For a few minutes the brothers ate in silence. Sam with difficulty because of his cast, and Dean a bit more slowly than usual thanks to wraith inspired bruises.

The older hunter was just getting ready to ask for a second plate when Sam sighed. Glancing at his sibling, Dean stifled a grin and goaded instead. "Geez Sammy, sigh a bit louder there, buddy. I don't think the people in the next state quite heard you." God how he loved tormenting this kid!

"Bite me."

Dean raised an eyebrow and then yawned instead of making his planned retort. Ah shit. Just when things were getting good…

"Go to bed, jerk," Sam said standing up and moving both their empty bowls to the small sink. "If you pass out at the table, you're shit outta luck 'cause I'm not hauling your heavy ass to bed."

Of course they both knew he'd try…even with a broken arm.

"Insensitive bitch," Dean managed as he briefly struggled to his feet, Sam's suggestion reminding him of just how tired he was. He made it the few feet before dropping heavily onto the bed closest to the door, his eyes shut before his head even hit the pillow.

Dean vaguely felt the sensation of someone – Sam obviously – shoving him further onto the bed, probably to keep him from falling off, and then pulling a blanket over him. The blanket was soft and his last memory of consciousness.

Dean might have mumbled a 'thank you' but he wasn't sure…

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Sam watched his brother sleeping, more relived than Dean would ever know that he was home. Not that the seventeen year old minded staying by himself – but he always just felt better with someone around. Especially when that someone was his older brother.

Lately things had been getting a bit tense between the teen and his father as Sam's yearning for independence and acceptance as a young adult conflicted with his father's almost overzealous need to control everything in his life – in both his and Dean's life.

And while he understood on some level that it was his father's way of caring, he chafed under the restraint, and with increasing frequency butted heads with the veteran hunter; often times cruelly putting Dean in the middle of their emotional tug'o'war; a veritable 'pick me, pick me' contest. Sam hated himself for doing it but he didn't know how to stop; always wanting his brother to have his back, forever knowing Dean would never let him down.

And Sam did what he could to try and be as much an everything to his brother as Dean was to him, but four years did make a lot of difference, regardless of what Sam tried to tell himself. He just wished…

Well it didn't really matter what he wished.

Moving from where he had been sitting on the edge of the bed watching Dean sleeping, Sam went into the bathroom and closed the door. As he brushed his teeth, he couldn't help the goofy grin that peeked out from around the toothbrush and foamy toothpaste.

Dean was home!

Home and safe, and that was all that really mattered to Sam right now.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

It was still dark when Dean woke. He lay on his back, his hands under his head and stared up at the ceiling. Across from him in the other bed, he heard his brother snoring and that soft sound made him smile.

Sam.

It truly hit him then as a contented feeling stole across his face. What was the point of all this? What was the purpose?

He did it for his brother; to make the world a better and safer place for Sammy and for people like him.

It gave him an importance few other men could claim…

The kid was his rock – his tether on empathy.

No matter how bad it got, how disconcerted he might feel – when the darkness threatened to remove all rhyme or reason from him – his brother's bright light always led him back; Sam was a reminder of the goodness and heart that still existed in spite of what lurked in the shadows. It was something precious to be protected and to fight for…

That smile, those dimples, the unabashed worship and faith that Sam held in him – the confidence his little brother entrusted him with – they restored the hunter and drove his purpose.

'I might protect him,' Dean realized in an unnerving moment of raw comprehension, 'but he guards my soul...'

And with that clarity he smiled – almost giddy in the darkness. He couldn't have asked for anything better…

Well… maybe there was one thing. An extra couple of inches would be nice.

-The End-