How do a 37-year-old man can break your heart just by pouting?

Oh no! I am one tough son of a bitch! I can behead a rogue vampire with one swift move without even hesitating. You would be amazed how I can kill demons just by a sharp kick to the gut and a demon-killing bullet to the head. To the head, mind you! I am a man with a cooking skill most chefs would be jealous of. And yeah, maybe sometimes I lack the bookish knowledge of my geek brother on every supernatural related or unrelated thing there is to know about. But when it comes to myths and local lore I can kick Sam' ass!

No. Not anymore. I can't kick his ass.

What has life come to now!

When you can't prank your brother!

When you can't ridicule for his music tastes!

What's the point in living a life where no-teasing Sammy has been issued! Guess what by whom?

By me! Yeah, by this pathetic softie!

Okay. Where was I?

Oh, yeah, how can a 37-year-old man break your heart just by pouting? Because right now my heart is breaking. The most dangerous badass killing machine of both angels and demons alike (hey I don't discriminate) have to hug and cuddle his brother. The pouting has started a moment ago when I refused to cuddle.

Hi, my name is Dean Winchester and this is my little brother Sammy.

And he just woke up from a horrible nightmare and I have to soothe him just like I had to do when I was 10 years old.

Because Sam's mind has reverted to a five-year-old boy while physically he'll still remind you of a moose (ah! Crowley! We miss you, buddy. Your mother rules the throne now. Will that make you happy? Ummm, maybe not).

Anyway now Sammy has tears that are trimming down his face and he wants a hug. From me.

And he mocks me for still having "I wuuve hugs" T-shirt! Huh! Figures!

Previously… Three days ago,

It was just run in the mill Werewolves hunting. Sammy and I were handling it just fine. So what one of the weres was this close to biting Sam's neck and maybe my side was clawed too. But we're handling it just fiiine. There were three, we took down one in a matter of seconds. Okay. Maybe it was minutes. But who's counting?

Anyway. Now, where was I? Yeah, so Sam was fighting with one as I was with another. Sam killed that one ultimately and I was distracted by the wound on my side but I drove that knife right through his heart. But in the meantime one that we thought we killed at the beginning of our hunting was not so dead. He was coming after me with a wooden chair, directed at my head and my back was to him. So I didn't hear a thing but Sam did. And that fool instead of attacking the wolf came between the Were and me. The Were didn't hesitate and at the shout of Sam's warning, I turned around. But it was too late…

Wooden chips shattered against Sammy's left side of the head. And he went down. Right in front of my eyes. Unmoving, so still… laid there my Sammy. Sam who got hurt because of me. As usual all I saw Sam on the ground and the cause of it before me was sneering. I put all of the silver bullets left in my gun into that son of a bitch.

I am man enough to admit that I was scared. Sam was unconscious and I tried to wake him up. But it resulted in a hyperventilating me and no signal to call 911. It has been almost seven minutes and under bruises and cuts to the left side of his face, I couldn't detect any injury in the head. But there was a very thin line of blood trickling down his left ear. That was enough for me to panic. I was just about to pray to Jack when his eyes fluttered open and he groggily looked around for his whereabouts.

I kept rubbing his mop of hair and tried to coax into full wakefulness.

The first thing he said when he came to was, "What the hell Dean? What were you thinking?" And he tried to sit up with a sour look on his face.

Okay… not so groggy then!

But I kept my mouth shut as a good big brother should and kept saying to a disoriented Sammy to take it easy.

Sam was like a dog with a bone! "Where was your attention, Dean? That Were could've killed you! The last words sounded like a shriek!

Now, I wasn't so good big brother. I was angry brother now. I pointed to my clawed and bloody side and said, "My attention was here. And who told you to throw yourself at me instead of attacking the Were? You moron!

By the time my statement was finished (okay, it was more like yelling) Sam's eyes have gone soft, regret and guilt took place of righteous anger. I never meant to make him feel guilty after all the kid took a big hit for me. Now I was feeling guilty for yelling at my wounded brother who just saved me. It's like feeling guilty is our default mode!

However, a grumbling Sam was constantly massaging his left side and whispering under his breath, "You're a moron!"

"I heard that!" I said.

Sam at least looked sheepish but continued his journey to sit up and explain himself, "I just saw he was going to hurt you and my brain kind of froze…"

Now, that I could understand. Even after all these years of hunting when it comes to saving our brothers, we make insane choices! Like me making a deal with a demon or Sam's drinking demon blood just to avenge my death!

But still. I took his arm and helped him get up, "Making knee-jerk choices is my speciality, not yours!"

Sam just snorted and we moved towards Baby...

To be continued

Note: I hope you enjoy reading the story. Have a great day/night...