Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland Sound and Vision, Warner Bros. et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

Sam cast his gaze about in search for the waiting room and was aided by a helpfully pointing finger of the front desk receptionist. Mouthing a quick thank you he gently herded Dean over there – nearly literally tripping over HOW FAR he had to reach down to do it. The little boy went willingly enough but kept glancing back over his shoulder in the direction his mother had disappeared in. Once inside the mercifully empty waiting room Sam made him take off his blue coat and hung it and his own jacket on the rickety coat rack. By the time he turned around again Dean had clambered up on one of the chairs and was staring forlornly at the door.

And Sam was once again struck by how FRAGILE his strong and capable brother looked as a four-year-old.

He shouldn't be, he knew. He had seen the photo Dean had stashed away as one of his most treasured possessions – though his big brother would never call it that, the stubborn jerk. Mom having an arm around a Dean looking just like this boy across the room, both of them smiling into the camera … something constricted Sam's throat, forcing him to swallow heavily. Because he knew the photo had been taken just before the demon came. Just before mom died. Just before the world of this earnest little boy had been shattered into a million pieces.

Picking up a magazine from the table by the coat rack at random he walked over and sat down next to his too silent brother.

"So, uhm, Dean, what do you say I read to you while we wait? About –" He squinted at the magazine, and yes, right, Lawrence, Kansas "– tractors and farm machinery?"

Dean's eyes finally left the door to look at him, head tilted a little to one side as he considered the offer. Then he solemnly agreed "okay" and scooted over until he was practically tucked under Sam's arm because apparently that was the appropriate position for a small boy about to get read a story. Punching any breath right out of Sam's lungs.

For an endless second he sat frozen like a deer in the headlights, arm raised halfway in the air, then lowered it gently, oh so gently around the thin shoulders. Felt the delicate, almost bird-like bones as they rose and fell with each breath and, OK, totally different than seeing something in a photograph, totally. Biting his lips he opened the magazine with trembling fingers and cleared his throat.

"Good, let's see. Well, Ford has brought out a new model of the – uh – that one and the specifications are…"

Two magazines about farm machinery and one aborted one about livestock later (because, seriously, what the HELL) they looked up as Nurse Ellie poked her head through the door.

"Hey, Dean. You can come see your mother now."

Dean was off the chair in a flash though truth be told, Sam was not much slower.

"Is she alright?"

Ellie took Dean's hand and nodded in quick reassurance at Sam. "Well enough."

They went down a corridor and finally turned into a room where Mary reclined on an examination table with a single crutch leaning against it. She immediately held out her hand, a smile brightening her entire face.

"Dean."

"Mommy!"

The little boy ran to her and she drew him into a one-armed hug, kissing the top of his head.

"I'm alright, honey. Nothing broken, no harm done, I just reeeally bumped my butt when I tumbled down on it."

Dean giggled into her side as she smacked a second loud kiss on his head then drew back and shyly extended a hand towards her bulging belly but only touched it when she gave him silent permission. He turned beseeching eyes back up to her face.

"Mommy, is the baby okay?"

Mary brushed his cheek softly with the back of her fingers.

"We are fine, Dean. We are both fine. And!" she added in a deliberately brighter tone, "We are even allowed to go home now! So where is your coat?"

"Uh, we left it in the waiting room," Sam said, speaking up for the first time, "I'll go and get –"

But Dean had already dashed back to the door, stopping short and holding up his hand to be taken. Sam blinked and then carefully closed his – in comparison huge – hand around the tiny fingers. He threw his mom a crooked grin.

"Well, I guess WE go get it."

"I'll meet you at the exit."

"You sure? I can –"

"Yes," Mary interrupted firmly, already reaching for the crutch and swinging her legs off the table.

Sam traded a quick glance with Ellie the nurse-and-friend who only rolled her eyes. So Sam wisely decided a tactic retreat was in order. Back in the waiting room he helped Dean into his blue coat first and had just finished putting on his own jacket when he felt an insistent tugging at his pant leg. Looking down he found the four-year-old staring up at him.

"Yes, Dean?"

The boy only tugged again until Sam crouched down so he was level with his worried little face.

"What is it?"

"I'm going to be a big brother," Dean whispered, like it was a secret just between the two of them.

"Oh, yes, you are." And Sam couldn't help a little laugh of wonder as he thought of Mary's belly, because, just, wow. Then he frowned when his brother's face remained creased with worry.

"Dean, what is it?" he repeated, "You can tell me."

Dean pulled in his lower lip and started chewing on it and, god, Sam KNEW this nervous habit, had grown up with and exploited it for years until Dean had trained himself out of his tell…

"What if I'm not a good one?" Dean finally whispered in a sudden rush, his earnest eyes so concerned.

Sam felt his breath stutter in his chest. He swallowed once, twice, a whole flood of emotions nearly choking him, and, oh, he could just imagine how that talk must have gone, his parents in the time-honored fashion all over the world telling their son that from now on he would be the oldest and had to be the responsible one and would have to look after his soon to be younger brother … not for a second considering the terrible BURDEN they had just placed on Dean's shoulders and for a moment Sam was so absolutely FURIOUS –! But this was not the place, this was not the time, this was not about him. Could not be about him and clenching his fists hard he fought to keep his voice calm, keep it steady, heard it tremble nevertheless.

"Dean. Listen to me now. You will be an AWESOME big brother. AWESOME. And don't you ever let anybody tell you otherwise, especially not your little brother!"

"And if I get a little sister?"

Sam opened and closed his mouth several times, probably giving a pretty accurate impression of a fish out of water, then chuckled helplessly and shook his head. Trust children to put things into perspective. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before meeting Dean's gaze again, willing him to believe, to trust.

"You will be a great big brother no matter what. I promise."

Dean didn't look entirely convinced but nodded anyway, and it just about broke Sam's heart. Because this was the Dean he knew down to a T, putting on a brave face and soldiering on through the things that scared him. And for one moment he wanted nothing more than to grab Dean and run, hide him away somewhere save and protect him from all the terrible things life was about to throw in his way … but then Ellie's voice called from outside the room and the moment was gone. Sam's shoulders drooped in defeat.

"Go on." He gave Dean a little nudge towards the door. "Everything will be fine."

The lie was bitter in his mouth.

Thank god Ellie accompanied them to the car. Sam was feeling way too unsteady and gloom to make conversation. He was even grateful for the icy roads so he could pretend they needed his full attention, a convenient excuse to continue his silence. Though his mother was silent too, gazing out the window lost in her own thoughts while absent-mindedly stroking her belly. Thinking about dad, maybe – had their marriage already become strained? – or all the things that could have gone so much worse today. Sam could have reassured her on that account, since Michael and the other angels would never allow anything to happen that might spoil their precious apocalypse, but whatever Death was doing to shield Sam's presence from heaven, it probably wouldn't last once Sam returned to his own time. And he would not be responsible for them manipulating their mother's mind again. His eyes strayed to the rear-view mirror but he could only see the top of Dean's bowed head. The little boy was also very quiet in the back seat, probably still worrying about his future responsibilities and even that Sam had failed to make better. Just as he had failed anytime he tried in the future. Gritting his teeth against the dark despair threatening to swallow him whole he brought the Impala to a gentle stop in front of his parents' home.

Mary stirred like one startled and gave him a tight smile, fumbling with her crutch and the door handle and the brown paper bag that no doubt contained painkillers. By the time Sam had gotten out of his own door and around the car to help her, the smile had turned rueful and exhaustion was shining through.

"Ah, well, it IS rather past nap time but I was hoping he'd last just a little bit longer."

And following her gaze Sam realized that Dean's bowed head wasn't a sign of distress but only meant the little boy was fast asleep. He swallowed convulsively.

"Do – do you want me to carry him inside?"

Mary paused in the act of reaching across the back of her seat and looked almost hopeful.

"If you don't mind?"

Sam's voice cracked traitorously. "I don– I really don't."

He helped Mary stand and on the better footing of the lawn then held his breath as he opened the door carefully, wincing at the inevitable creak. He needn't have bothered. Dean stayed out like a light as he unbuckled the seatbelt and gathered him gently in his arms, didn't even stir as he nudged the door shut with his hip or hefted him up higher. Limp as a rag doll. Limp as a corpse and Sam stomped on that though, stomped on it with all his might because this was too close to the last time he had carried his brother, and that last time Dean had been…

Sam staggered, gasping, the smile he was trying to give Mary definitely a bit on the wild side. The walk to the front door seemed to take forever, with his mother still limping as she was, longer even for her to dig out the keys and let them inside. Sam tried to concentrate on how light Dean felt in his arms, weighing almost nothing and so unlike the literally dead weight that had bowed him down as he struggled on the steps in the bunker… and this was not helping, not helping at all! Feeling decidedly light-headed he followed Mary up the stairs, into the blue room under the the roof, lowered the tiny body in his arms onto the bed as she silently indicated him to do. Only then his arms refused to let go.

Simply refused to let go of this living, breathing, blessedly warm miniature version of his brother because the last time he had touched Dean in their future, the last time he had carried him, Dean had been DEAD, dead and growing cold, becoming this strange, stiff THING for the second time in Sam's life and he couldn't – he just COULDN'T. Had to touch his forehead to the soft hair, restrain himself with all his might from tightening his grip although all his muscles were tense and corded, wishing only to crush Dean to his chest and never let go. As if that would change anything. As if that COULD change anything.

Breathing in with a sob Sam finally forced himself to loosen his hold and turn his head to look at their mother. Noted the sudden wariness in her eyes, the way she had shifted the crutch in her hand, glimpsed for the first time today the hunter underneath the surface of woman and mother and wife.

"I'm sorry," he whispered but still he couldn't stop touching, couldn't stop seeking this comforting contact with his brother, "I'm sorry. I'm scaring you. I'm sorry. It's just– I just lost someone, I thought I lost someone and I don't know how to bring him back, I don't know if I'm strong enough to bring him back, if there is enough left to bring back and –"

He broke off, squeezed his eyes shut as he finally pulled away from the bed, from DEAN, held up his hands in a placating gesture as he edged towards the door. Mary swinging with him, watching his every move.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, "I should go. I'm sorry."

He fled, out of the room, down the stairs and no, no he couldn't do this, couldn't leave this. Stopping halfway to the front door he spun around, caught their mother's eyes who had made it to the first landing, still wary and ready to fight, and Sam supposed he must look a little mad right now, pointing up at her and voice cracking with fury and emotion.

"You have a great boy up there. You hear me? A great boy and you tell him you love him. You tell him you love him. Every. Day. So he can never forget. Ever."

Mary was just staring at him and deflating Sam held up his hands again, backing away.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm scaring you again. I'm sorry."

Turning he yanked the front door open and stumbled through, grateful for the cold slapping his face like a physical blow. Running across the crunching lawn he only stopped when he reached the sidewalk, dragging in deep gulps of the freezing air, razor-sharp in his lungs, eyes shut tight against the burning tears. Roughly dragging a hand across his face and through his hair he blinked –

– to light and noise and the greasy smell of deep-fried food and someone jostling past his shoulder with a "Hello there, just let me clean this up a little…"

Sam flinched and stared wildly around at the diner, because the diner it was, until his gaze landed on the small table in front of him where a waitress was just picking up a mostly empty plate of burger and French fries, with knife and fork placed fussily at an angle. And one separately set, bitten-off fry.

"… is the special today and then we have a variety of fresh pie…" The waitress was still prattling on as she wiped down the table then paused to give him a sharp look before adding distrustfully, "You are not going to hurl, mister, are you?"

"No." Sam barely croaked the one word and he suddenly thought it might be quite a possibility but went on anyway, "No, I'm good, I'm good."

Ignoring further comments he turned and blindly stumbled for the door, not stopping before it had fallen shut behind him. Standing in the dark parking lot he braced his hands on his knees and gasped for breath. Because it wasn't fair. It wasn't FAIR. How dare Death name this a gift? It wasn't. If anything it was a curse – he was a curse, had been Dean's burden before he was even BORN, and how was this fair to this little boy who had never asked for it, for their life; had only been thrust into it all by destiny and angels scheming and their parents' decisions and… And maybe he was missing the whole point here.

Sam blinked, startled, and straightened up, then felt an unexpected wave of calm wash over him. Because it was true.

Fate and heaven's plans and their parents' choices had made Dean a big brother.

But only Dean had made Dean a good big brother.

Had not only looked out for him or cooked dinner but given up the last of the Lucky Charms for him. Stole Christmas presents to make him happy, got angry on his behalf when he got bullied at school, eventually forgave him for choosing Ruby. Braved a painful death rather than letting him face the fight between Lucifer and Michael alone and offered understanding – late, reluctant and unhappy, but still – if Sam wanted to return to Amelia. He had made mistakes on the way, yes. Had stumbled more than once under the burden of responsibility, faltered even for a time … but never for long. Never for long. And that was what counted in the end. Not NOT failing was important. Only not giving up was.

Sam drew in a deep breath and released it slowly then did it again with more force.

"I'm coming, Dean."

The quiet words in the dark parking lot were a promise to himself as much as they were a promise to the little boy who had worried about being a good brother … and the man somewhere out there who had made himself exactly that.

"From now on I'll always come."