I don't own supernatural

I want to say that I know Sam acts childish and spacey in this chapter, but there is a reason for that that isn't mentioned in this chapter.

There are also a couple mentions of corporal punishment (or spanking) in this chapter. It isn't anything big or explicit. It also isn't actually necessary for this chapter, but I'm kind of trying to establish Sam and Dean's relationship here, and it helped. You can skip it if you want. It's in paragraphs 4 and 5.

Chapter 3 Laying Down the Law

Sam felt like such a child in Dean's strong arms. He knew he looked like a toddler when he was carried, but couldn't find it in him to care. He was tired, and Dean had been pulling his bad hand. His toes and ankle hurt from trying keep up with his much taller brother, and he was more at peace now then he had been for six months.

But all good things had to come to an end.

When they arrived at the door to their apartment Dean put him down again. He was just beginning to mourn the loss of contact with his big brother, when Dean took his hand again (thankfully his right one this time) and tugged him gently inside.

Sam had no idea what to expect. The last time he had snuck out during the night he was eight. He couldn't sleep (like the night he had found the bar), so he had left the motel room for a walk.

Dean had woken up to find him gone, and freaked out. As soon as he found Sam Dean had dragged him back to the motel with a hug and a few firm swats. When they got back to the room Sam didn't even have time to explain before Dean had tipped him over his knee.

Sam never forgot that spanking, not so much because it hurt, but because Dean was so panicked when he gave it. His big brother had held Sam on his lap for the whole rest of that night, hugging him so tightly it almost hurt. It was one of the few times Sam had ever seen Dean cry.

Sam sincerely hoped he wasn't going to be spanked again tonight. He tended to curl into a ball when the jocks were beating him up, so he had quite a few bruises in sensitive areas already. Not that he thought Dean would bruise him, but it would hurt a lot more if Dean so much as gave him a playful swat.

Before tonight he would've protested that he was too old for a spanking, but he had just been led by his hand and carried home; he didn't have much of a claim to go on there.

Besides, Dean looked so upset. Sam would do anything to erase that look from his brother's face.

Dean led him to his room before letting go of his hand. "Get pajamas on," Dean ordered quietly, speaking for the first time since the bar.

Sam moved silently around the room, gathering his clothes. He almost started getting dressed, but then noticed Dean was still there. He looked at his brother expectantly for a few seconds.

"What?" Dean asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

"You wanted me to change," Sam specified.

"Yeah," Dean answered uncomprehendingly. Dean had seen him naked hundreds of times. Hell, Dean had changed his diapers! But Sam didn't want Dean to see what bad shape he was in.

"You're still here," Sam explained patiently.

"So?" Dean questioned.

"Look, can you please just let me get dressed by myself?" he half begged.

He could practically see the gears turning in Dean's head. His big brother eventually gave in.

"Fine," he agreed. "Come to my room when you're finished."

Sam nodded and wondered what Dean was planning. It wouldn't be anything good for his secret, he was sure.

He dressed quickly in sweatpants, a white t-shirt, and a hoody, carefully making sure all the bandages he had wound around his many wounds didn't need to be changed. The last thing he wanted was for them to start bleeding through while he was talking to Dean.

He made his way silently through the house to Dean's room; his bare feet making no noise against the carpeted floor. He let himself into Dean's room without bothering to knock before entering. He didn't want to wake up their father.

Dean was sitting on his bed when Sam entered, still fully clothed. It made Sam feel even younger and smaller to be wearing pajamas when he was in trouble and Dean was fully clothed.

Dean beckoned him over. Sam walked to him and was pulled to stand in between Dean's knees. He was so damn short that he still wasn't on eye level with his big brother.

Sam studied the floor until Dean's hand under his chin forced him to look up. He felt like a naughty toddler who deserved to be soundly spanked and sent to bed early. It wasn't early, of course, but that didn't change how he felt.

"Before we go any further with this I am going to make a few things completely clear," Dean started. "The first thing is that whatever happened to you, it wasn't your fault. It was my fault for listening to Dad over my instinct, it was Dad's fault for starting this whole little experiment in the first place, and it was whoever hurt you's fault because they didn't have to hurt you."

Sam (who had been trying to keep his eyes on the floor even with his check cupped in Dean's hand) suddenly looked up in surprise and met his brother's eyes dead on.

"Wh-what?" he stuttered. "No one's hurt me. I'm-I'm fine," Sam tried to insist.

"Yeah, tell it to someone who can't see through your lies, Sammy," Dean smiled slightly sadly.

Sam tried to drop his eyes again.

"Hey now, none of that," Dean coaxed, nudging Sam's check lightly until Sam looked at him again.

"The second thing I'm going to make clear is that you are mine. Dad can just go screw himself on a nail if he thinks he's going to be able to tell me to back off again. You've obviously been having a hard time lately, and you haven't felt comfortable coming to me. You wouldn't believe how sorry I am about that, but it's going to change."

"It time for you, Dad, and the rest of the world to understand that you are mine," Dean stated firmly.

"What?" Sam asked. "What was Dad's experiment?"

"He made me back off. He told me to stop babying you or I was going to get you killed. He made sure our training was done in separate parts of the house, didn't let me off work in time to pick you up from school, and practically pushed me out of the house every night. Next time he tries I'm going to punch him."

Sam stared at him with an open mouth. "So I didn't do anything to make you mad?" he confirmed, feeling ridiculously hopefully. If it was his father's fault he could easily forgive Dean. He knew how much Dean respected the man.

"What!" Dean inquired in horror. "No, you didn't do anything to make me mad Sammy!"

A great weight lifted off Sam's shoulders. He never could stand Dean being angry with him.

He threw his arms around his big brother's neck and hugged Dean as tightly as he could. Dean's arms came up around him too, encircling his dangerously thin form easily. He felt himself being lifted in the air, and soon found himself sitting on Dean's knee.

He sighed in relief as his weight was taken off his sore ankle and toes again.

"So I think there are some injuries that you need to tell me about, Sammy," Dean informed him.

"Dean-" Sam sighed.

"There is no possible way you can tell me that you're fine," Dean said sternly. "You have the tail end of a black eye, and you're limping."

Sam looked down again.

It was Dean's turn to sigh. He put his hand under Sam's chin again and tipped it up.

"Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to do a search?" he asked.

Sam was conflicted. On one hand, if he told Dean had a broken ankle and a couple broken toes, then Dean would insist on Sam telling him where he had gotten them. On the other hand, if Sam refused to tell Dean anything then his big brother would do a search and find the rest of his injuries.

If he had been able to think clearly it would've been an obvious choice, but with his head pounding the way it was, thinking was next to impossible.

It seemed he had taken to long trying to think, because he found himself being lifted again.

"Right, guess we're doing a search then," Dean decided for him as he set Sam back down on his bed. "We can start with your feet, since there's obviously something wrong there."

He sat on the floor in front of Sam and grabbed Sam's left foot. Sam felt ridiculous, sitting there with his foot in his brother's lap. Dean was in control now, however, and there was no telling Dean 'no'.

Dean carefully pulled off his sock, and Sam knew that his big brother had instantly spotted his broken toes.

"Sam!" Dean breathed. "You don't hide broken bones, Sam!" he rebuked.

"They're just toes," Sam objected, his stomach sinking at the thought of Dean getting to his ribs in this search.

"I don't care!" Dean cried. "They're broken, and you know it. I don't care about Dad's rules when it comes to injuries; you tell me if you get so much as a bruise."

Sam's stomach sank even lower.

"I thought you were mad," he whispered, avoiding the hurt radiating from Dean's eyes.

"So you didn't tell me you had broken bones?" Dean questioned incredulously.

"I didn't know what I'd done wrong, Dean. For all I knew you'd just decided you didn't want to take care of me anymore," Sam pleaded, starting to cry.

Dean was there in seconds, gathering Sam into his arms again.

"Never. Never ever," Dean pledged, holding back tears of his own. "I don't know if I ever told you this before, Sammy, but there was never a time when I wasn't looking out for you. Even when Mom was alive I always made sure you had what you needed. Dad moved out for a few days once, and I pretty much did everything for you during that time."

"Mom was real cut up over Dad being gone. Didn't know what to do with two kids. So I gave her one kid and one half adult who helped her take care of everything."

"I got up sometimes during the night to get a bottle for you," Dean gave a sad grin. "Mom never knew. She always liked to feed you herself, but one night she didn't wake up when you were crying. I got milk out of the fridge, heated it up, and put it in a bottle. It probably wasn't the best food for you, but you'll never know how proud I was when I got to feed you the bottle I had made for you. Not even Dad can say he ever did that." Dean's voice was deep and soothing, but so filled with pride that there was no doubt that he really meant what he was saying.

"You were always mine Sammy. You might have been born to Dad, but dad was never your daddy. You wouldn't remember, but your first word was daddy. You were talking to me at the time."

Sam hadn't known that. He could easily believe it though. Dean was always there, always taking care of him and making sure he was alright. Performing the duties other children's father did.

"You still say it sometimes too, when you get upset enough. And this is going to sound really stupid, but having you call me daddy always made me feel so special. I was the only one who got to hear you calling them daddy; no one else."

Dean again sounded so full of pride and joy that Sam had no choice but to believe him. Sam hadn't realized he had done that either. It obviously made Dean very happy, though, so maybe he would do it more often now. Dean certainly looked old enough to be his dad.

Sam was small for his age, looking closer to ten or twelve. Dean was big and had a certain aura that made him seem older. It would be easy to see Dean as a young father who made a mistake somewhere in his very upper teens. That would change when Sam got bigger, of course, but for now it was a passable lie.

"You promise you'll never stop caring?" Sam questioned. He knew how young that made him sound, but he was past caring. All he cared about right now was being assured that Dean had cared, still cared, and would always care.

Dean pulled back a little from their hug so their noses were touching. "I promise," he vowed. He briefly rubbed his nose against Sam's, a move from their childhood that made Sam actually giggle.

"So, we need to continue with this little search," Dean decided reluctantly.

Sam pouted. He had done so much acting like a little child lately that he really didn't think anything more would change anything. "Don't want to," he protested.

"Don't care," Dean threw back as he set Sam back on the bed again. "You gonna do me the favor of telling me if you have anything else broken in your left foot, or am I gonna have to check it all over?"

"There's nothing else broken in my left foot," Sam conceded. "But it's pretty badly bruised.

"Uh-huh," Dean agreed, checking it over anyway. "What about your right one?"

Sam hesitated, causing Dean to look up at him from where he had reseated himself on the ground.

"How bad?" he asked resignedly.

"I-uh-I might have broken my ankle," he cringed as he waited for Dean's wrath to break over him again.

"I didn't learn about this might be broken ankle because….." Dean trailed off, obviously expecting Sam to pick up.

"It got to be second nature to just hide everything," Sam responded, realizing a second too late how bad that made things sound.

"Well that just great," Dean said sarcastically. "We're going to be breaking this habit, you realize?"

Sam nodded as Dean took hold of his right foot.

"Sam," Dean exclaimed as he pulled off the sock on that foot too, "this foot is just as bruised as the other one! How the hell are you still walking, let alone running and doing gym like normal?"

Sam shrugged.

Dean sighed. "Where's it broken?" he questioned.

Sam pointed to the area he was pretty sure was broken. He had wound an ace bandage around the afflicted area, so Dean had to remove it to see what Sam was pointing at. Once the bandage was removed Dean gasped horror; the whole area was swollen and purple.

"Sam!" he scolded, more loudly this time.

"You're gonna wake Dad," Sam said, making frantic hushing motions. "Just finish your search before you start your freak out and treat injury routine," he requested of his big brother.

"Fine, but only because I know there's going to be more to treat," Dean conceded eventually.

The search continued with Sam's pants. It was one of the many reasons why Sam always hated it when Dean decided to search him. Dean was very through. He started with Sam's socks, and continued to his pants, and then up to his t-shirt. Dean only ever left him in his boxers. It was almost always used as a punishment for trying to hide an injury.

Sam was very shy and hated being nearly naked in front of anyone, even Dean.

Dean took no notice of this, nor of the fact that Sam was now pretty much half naked in front of him. He was a little bit more preoccupied by the purple, green, blue, and yellow bruises decorating his little brother's legs. There was even a bit of pink and red, just to add variety, as Sam liked to say.

"What happened to you?" he asked, aghast for the millionth time that night.

"I ran into a bit of trouble," Sam hedged, avoiding his brother's eyes again.

"No shit Sherlock," Dean breathed. "You know you're eventually going to have to give me an explanation, right?"

"Yeah," Sam gulped.

"Right, then I supposed you can wait until we're done with this."

"It's almost one in the morning," Sam objected.

"And?" Dean questioned uncomprehendingly.

"Don't you think we should, you know, go to bed?" Sam suggested.

"Not with you in this condition," Dean declared determinedly. "I don't want to even think about how long you've been 'having trouble' if these bruises are any indication."

He was right, of course. Sam's bruises were in varying stages of healing with different degrees of severity. No one in school felt the need to go easy on him, even the ones who were younger then him.

The school was so small that only one school was needed for all grades. Sam should've been near the top of the chain of command, being one of the oldest, but thanks to all the bullying he was down past even the first graders.

The youngest kids didn't know what was going on because "they couldn't be trusted to keep the secret".

Everyone from sixth grade up knew what the tenth through twelfth graders were doing to Sam, but they were all too afraid to speak up. Apparently before Sam arrived they had been the victims, so he definitely understood where they were coming from. The oldest kids hadn't really cared that they were beating up their siblings.

Their parents never learned about it because they rotated kids so that the bruises could be explained by falling or playing sports.

It was worse for Sam because the kids thought his family didn't care. They could beat on Sam as much as they wanted without being discovered.

Sam didn't understand how the teens had turned out so bad when their parents and younger siblings were amazing.

Some of the kids even slipped him chocolate bars, or threw smiles when the older ones weren't looking. It wasn't much, but it helped Sam get through the day.

Dean continued on with his search, oblivious to Sam's thoughts. He motioned for Sam to take off his hoody, but when he saw his younger brother was no longer paying attention, he removed the garment himself.

Sam's arms were in no better condition then his legs. Thin cuts ran inches long, bruises filled every available piece of skin, and Dean could clearly see that Sam's left thumb was broken.

Sam was so out of it that he didn't even notice Dean's inspection. He was wondering if Dean was ever going to let him out on his own again. Knowing his big brother that answer was almost certainly a big fat "NO!"

He was brought back to the present by Dean's gentle tug on the bottom of his t-shirt. His arms automatically went above his head before he winced and almost pulled them back down at the pain in his chest.

"Hurts?" Dean asked in alarm.

"Little bit of a warning," Sam cautioned. "I have a couple broken ribs and quite a few slashes from the last hunt. I also have something wrong with my sternum."

"What the hell is a sternum?" Dean asked lividly.

"It's the bone in the middle of your chest that connects your ribs together. Kind of hard to explain," Sam replied, motioning to the bone in the very middle of his chest.

"You like this shirt?" Dean questioned. Then he paused. "You know what? Never mind; it's got blood on it."

Sam looked down and saw Dean was quite correct. "Aw dammit," he groaned half heartedly.

Dean was moving around behind him, grabbing something from his bedside drawer. Next thing he knew, Dean was cutting off his shirt.

Sam saw Dean hold his breath as Sam's shirt fell off. He let out his breath in a whoosh when he realized he couldn't see anything through the bandages that Sam had wound around his entire chest.

He carefully set to work cutting these off as well, taking special caution in the places where blood was seeping through.

Once he had Sam completely bare except for his boxers he simply stood there, gaping at the huge wounds through his little brother's chest, the bones sticking out at odd angles, and the bruises that trailed everywhere.

"Um, Dean?" Sam asked. When Dean didn't respond he gently shook his big brother's shoulder. "Are you ok, Dean?" he asked.

"Am I-" Dean spluttered. "Am, I ok? Me?" he asked, his voice getting higher and louder at every syllable. "Have you even looked in the mirror lately?" he was yelling now.

"Shhhh," Sam hushed urgently, but it was too late. There were footsteps in the hall, and the next thing Sam knew the door was being thrown open.

Silhouetted against the light behind him, was John Winchester. Boy was Sam ever in for it now.

Crying is not going to be a regular thing in any of my stories. I read a fic once where it seemed like either Sam or Dean was crying every single chapter, and it drove me nuts. I found it so out of character it wasn't even funny.

I'm sorry I haven't updated in so long, but I have two words for you; MOVING SUCKS!

We just moved from Wisconsin to Michigan. Not telling you exactly where, 'cause I don't give out my address online. The last month or so has been very stressful for everyone in our family, but we moved into the new house at about twelve thirty last night. Right now I'm sitting on my bed, sucking on a sour cherry dum dum, and listening to "Savior" by Skillet. An odd combination, but I'm lovin' it. I got the biggest room in the whole house because I'm the oldest and my parent would rather have the one with the bathroom. Bonus!

Ok, I'm done with my rant now. Hope you enjoyed this. R&R!