A/N: Thank you guys so much for continuing with me on this shameless, indulgent, absolutely wretched account of two fictional cuddle-bunny brothers toughing it out in the face of a series of extremely unfortunate events. I love you guys so much.

Sam was propped against a mountain of pillows in bed with his plate of ham and cheese rolls. Dean had made several so the eldest was eating them too as he sat beside his brother.

They were both quiet for awhile, thinking their own thoughts as they snacked. Dean had absentmindedly asked if they were good and Sam nodded as he'd taken another bite. In truth, Sam still wasn't hungry but Dean needed to see him eat.

After a few minutes, after Sam had finished his third and reached for a fourth, he had to admit he was feeling better. That hollow in his stomach he'd mistaken for pain relating to the trials had actually been plain old hunger. It eased his worries as he munched. Things were clearing up. His confidence was coming back and he knew the next time Dean would furtively glance at him he'd return it with a smile.

Sam reached for the bottle of water on the nightstand and shakily brought it to his mouth.

"So what do you want to do now?" Dean asked, startling Sam enough to have him dribbling water. Sam took a few gulps and set the bottle back on the table before answering.

"I wanna move," he finally said.

"What d'you mean?" Dean asked, mouth full.

"I wanna move back to your room," Sam stated with casual surety. He didn't want to be sheepish about it. That'd give his brother too much of an opening. He wouldn't meet Dean's eyes though and he knew his cheeks were reddening so he just kept looking down, suddenly meticulous about folding his paper towel.

Dean didn't say anything, letting the silence hang until it got awkward at Sam's expense. Finally, Sam glanced up to see Dean's eyebrow raised, an amused, sly smile playing on his face.

"Shut up," Sam said wearily as he rolled the paper towel into a ball. He looked up again to see the same stupid knowing grin on Dean's face. "Shut up," Sam laughed and threw the ball at Dean's face. Dean laughed but surprisingly held his tongue. Sam, peeved that Dean's silence alone could still make him feel like a sap, failed to stifle the urge to justify himself. "If you didn't want me in your bed then you shouldn't have put me there," Sam defended, his lips tipping into a sideways smile. It was a good tactic. Unfortunately, a good tactic is only as good as its audience deems.

"Uh huh," Dean said knowingly, totally ignoring Sam's excuse as he continued to laugh at little brother's expense. Sam cinched his mouth to the side, trying not to smile. Dean's laughter was infectious.

Dean relaxed and leaned back, smiling. He picked lint off the bed sheet.

"It's cool. I'd prefer it if we moved you back too." Dean offered. Sam smiled, this time pleased and relieved, before launching into banter.

"So you can nag and bully me."

Dean looked back up.

"...into getting healthy," Dean protested indignantly.

"Yeah whatever. You're mean."

"Well you're weak so suck it up," Dean replied easily, his smile somehow kind despite the insults.

Sam made a face and moved the plate off his lap. He sat up straighter and started to assess his own strength while gauging the effort it'd take to get up under his own steam.

"What're you thinking?" Dean asked, seeing the determination that'd started to emerge on Sam's face.

"I... I think," Sam leaned forward and pushed the covers off while moving his feet to touch the floor. Dean sat up, eyes like a hawk watching but not altogether worried. "I think I can get up. I feel like I can," Sam said as he sat up straight against the edge of his bed, his feet planted firmly on the ground. Only then did he look to his brother, a tacit request for permission. Dean's eyebrows lifted.

"You sure?"

Sam nodded and shrugged.

"Yeah," he huffed a laugh, acknowledging how unbelievable it seemed. It felt like years since he'd been able to walk around on his own. Dean pursed his lips in consideration and got up.

"Okay let's take it one step at a time," he coached as he faced Sam and held his hands out.

Sam shook his head and leaned back. Dean was crowding him so he couldn't stand up on his own even if he wanted to.

Sam shook his head. "I don't need your help," Sam said and immediately regretted how he'd worded that.

"Tough," Dean shot back. He didn't sound mad though so that was good. Sam looked up at Dean, his eyes wide and plaintive.

"Don't give me that," Dean laughed.

"Dude seriously I don't need a walker," Sam promised.

"Well last few times you needed a wheelchair. And also I'm not a walker," Dean added matter-of-factly. He stared Sam down, arms outstretched. Sam sighed heavily in capitulation and grasped Dean's forearms.

"You are," Sam said, readying himself to get up. He gave Dean a double-take when he realized his older brother looked confused. "You're gonna be my human walker," he grumbled in clarification as he felt Dean's grip adjust and tighten. It was easier for Sam to hold onto Dean instead of the other way around; his older brother was only wearing a plain white shirt that allowed him a skin-to-skin grip whereas Sam was wearing a couple sleeved layers courtesy of Dean's dressing skills.

"I'll let go once you've got it," Dean said evenly, ignoring his brother's tease. Sam idly wished he could blow off Dean's teases that easily.

"Okay." Sam leaned forward and put his weight on his right leg, his strongest side, to get up. He felt Dean's arm give a little under his weight but then steady out as he made his way upright.

"Good job, you got it," Dean encouraged as Sam sorely lifted himself up with his brother's help. "Dude that's awesome," Dean said as Sam reached his full height. He was shaky and leaning into his brother but he was standing on his own two feet.

Grinning, he angled his head down at his brother. "You're short again," he breathed then started what could only be described as raspy cackling as Dean's empathetic expression of delight turned to a sullen glare.

"Don't try my patience, Sammy," Dean warned without heat. Sam looked away to finish laughing at his own joke. The mischievous glint in his eyes remained and Dean couldn't have been happier.

"Okay... think you can walk?" Dean asked, resuming business. Sam's expression grew pensive as he looked down at his socked feet. They were both clad in lightweight sweats - Dean's were a slate gray and Sam's were maroon. Paired with the sweatshirt he was wearing Sam looked like he was back in college.

"Yeah," he said, starting to take a step with his left. Dean coordinated, backing up with his right.

"Good," Dean murmured, watching Sam shift his weight and plant his foot. "Now right," Dean instructed even though Sam was already halfway there. "Very nice, good," Dean kept it up as they moved past the foot of Sam's bed.

Sam found it unsettlingly easy to receive Dean's praise. It'd been years since Dean had taught or coached Sam on anything but he supposed it was just ingrained. Most of Sam's 'firsts' were taught by Dean: how to ride a bike, how to swim, make forts, brush his teeth, use a microwave, lock doors and put down salt lines, play sports, board games, and even how to read and write. Dean's teachings had given him an edge for years in elementary school and beyond. Later in adolescence, it was Dean that'd always had the patience and tenacity to teach his recalcitrant little brother sparring techniques he hadn't gotten the hang of when Dad had been there. How to shoot, how to drive, how to talk to girls, how to just generally handle their dad. That one Sam could never really get right though.

Dean continued the litany of positivity and instead of embarrassment or shame, Sam found himself just automatically shifting back into his role as student, his hope naturally boosting every time his big brother reported he was doing well. It was a weird reenactment of nostalgia that wasn't entirely unwelcome; surprisingly pleasant, more like. Sam kept his head down to watch as his own legs carried him in a shaky but rhythmic pace, Dean's supportive commentary lifting him at every step.

It occurred to Sam then that Dean had been there for another crucial and relevant, given their current circumstances, 'first.' Dean had been there when he'd taken his first steps as a child. He didn't remember personally but he'd read in Dad's journal his first steps were into Dean's arms. Sam wondered if Dean remembered, if Dean was thinking about that too.

Dean wasn't. Instead, Dean was very focused on the present. Sam was using Dean more for balance and navigation than strength now and Dean would be dancing with joy if he wasn't still needed. He had to look over his shoulder a couple of times as he walked backwards but they were in the zone.

Sam was looking at his feet which gave Dean a clear view of the kid's miserably knotted and tangled hair. He had no idea how to solve that problem aside from cutting the whole rat's nest off. Odds were low Sam would allow that. Dean just had to settle for being grateful that Sam was at least clean now.

They were in the hall, having cleared several feet from the doorway when Sam spoke up and broke Dean out of his thoughts.

"What the hell?"

"What?" Dean looked down and saw his pillows against the wall where he'd been camped out. He'd have claimed he must have dropped them at some point or another were it not for the walkie-talkie standing perfectly upright nearby. "Oh uh..." Dean tried to stall.

"Were you-?"

"Shut up."

Sam laughed quietly, still putting determined effort into their walk.

"I can't believe you did that."

"Dude, I was pissed. Wanted to make a point. Didn't mean I'd actually go AWOL on your sorry ass."

Sam's brow furrowed but he kept walking. A few seconds later and his balance went off-kilter, his emotions getting the better of him as Dean's words sank in and the significance of Dean's hallway camp-out really hit him.

"Whoa hey - you okay? Sammy?"

Sam nodded and barely managed to answer in the affirmative.

He'd really thought Dean had left him to deal with the trials alone. Dean had been so angry and then so distant. Sam had thought the whole thing was about Dean signing off on him, not wanting to take care of him anymore because it was too much.

Sam could admit to himself now that he'd felt lost and scared at the turn of events, at Dean's belligerent then dismissive attitude. And now Sam was learning Dean had only been four yards down the hall while Sam was trying to reconcile how Dean was making him face his worst fear. Because Sam's worst fear wasn't really dying from the trials. It was dying from the trials in a room that held no comfort, with no one to care enough to witness his last breath if it came on suddenly.

Mostly just dying from the trials without Dean.

Dean, who'd been on the opposite side of the wall the whole time.

Sam faltered again and squeezed his brother's arms.

"Hey, okay, hey Sammy?"

Sam didn't respond and Dean stopped them, worried.

"Sam?" Dean asked, dipping his head down to see Sam's face. His hair concealed his eyes but Dean heard him sniff and swallow. "Sam! Is something wrong - are you hurt?" Dean asked suddenly, his voice razor sharp.

"No," Sam responded immediately, always responded immediately to that tone of voice. Sam's 'no' had been raw though and Dean winced. He straightened and looked around.

"Okay, ahh..." he hummed, weighing his options, "okay yeah let's just... just take a breather, okay?" He suggested calmly, angling the kid's back against the wall. Sam's grip on Dean lessened now he had the wall for support. Dean kept his hold.

"Sammy?" Dean tried again, gently squeezing Sam's arm. "Sam?" He tilted his head to get a glimpse of his little brother's expression. Sam sniffed again, his eyes watery.

"I thought you'd really gone," Sam croaked quietly, still looking down.

A/N: Originally published on FFnet 2/9/2014, revised 8/10/2019 (yay, my birthday! 😊). Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time! ~ Alex