Note: I know it was supposed to be a one-shot...well now it's a two-shot. Here you go babes! I sincerely hope that none of your days were as awful as mine, but if they were, I hope this makes them a little better!

Warning: you learn what happened to the children in this chapter, and it's a little gruesome.

I scared Sammy.

I could tell by the wide-worried hazel eyes that greeted me on my return to reality, after being chucked across the graveyard had caused me to black out.

I could tell by the anxious tremble of his hands as he helped me stand

I could tell by the way he hovered, following less than an inch behind me all the way back to the Impala.

I could tell by the nervous way he chewed his bottom lip as he patched me up with a deft touch.

I could tell by his whispering tone of voice as he fussed over me, making me comfortable before permitting me to drift off to sleep.

I could tell by the way he gently woke me every hour, paying no mind to my frustrated comments as he checked my pupils and helped me sip water, before softly telling me to go back to sleep.

I could tell by the way he spent all night seated in that uncomfortable wooden chair, which was pulled up as close as possible to my bed.

And I can tell now, as I crack open my eyes and see that familiar shaggy head resting on the mattress next to my shoulder, and feel the thin fingers wound tightly around my wrist.

I know it always scares Sam when I am down for one reason or another. Shockingly, even with our chosen careers, I didn't get badly injured all that much and I got sick even less, but every now and again it happened.

Maybe it was because I didn't get hurt all that often, that my being down and out, frightened Sam in such a way.

Or maybe it was because when we were growing up, I sold the superhero vibe a little too strongly.

Either way, me getting injured always left my little brother a little shook up.

That is okay though, because I have always known how to handle a scared Sammy.

And it's not like he was the only who freaked at the fear of losing his brother.

The only difference was I had grown more accustomed to hiding that fear, I had also had to deal with it a lot more often.

I had almost lost Sam, a great deal more times than he had almost lost me. Hell, the kid was just six months old the first time I nearly lost him, and actually thinking back, my little brother arrived way ahead of schedule. He was born so early, that I remember almost losing him before he even had a name.

Usually I was able to hide my terror of losing my little brother, often underneath a protective anger or an attempt at humor.

But every now and again I couldn't hide that fear the way I wanted to.

Every once and awhile it showed through.

As I watched my brother sleeping, I thought back to one of the first times I was truly shaken by the fear of losing Sam, and had been entirely unable to hide it.

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That bastard had mutilated them.

It had shredded them to pieces.

Some were dismembered, others so cut up they were nearly unidentifiable.

And that monster had done it all for sport.

Dad and I hadn't found the ravine of bodies until after we already killed the creature.

And as we stared into the mass-grave, I wished that we had never found it at all.

I had hoped we would find the children alive. Dad had known better, but even he had blanched at the sight we came across.

I wished we had killed that supernatural fucker so much slower.

I didn't think the scene could get any worse, didn't think I could ever lay eyes on anything more horrific, until I caught sight of the brown shaggy head of hair, covering a young bloodied face.

My breath caught, my heart stopped, and my legs crumpled.

"Woah Dean, easy there son."

I felt my father's hands wrapping around my chest, halting my decent to the ground.

I released a choked sound as I pointed shakily towards the thin filthed body.

"Wha-"

I heard my dad inhale sharply, as his gaze landed on what I had been struggling to point out.

"It's not him, Dean. That's not Sammy. The body is too decomposed. That kid has been here for a few weeks at the least. We just left your brother in the car less than an hour ago. It's not him, Dean. It's not Sam."

My father's words slowly pushed their way through the terror wreaking havoc in my mind, and I sagged in relief, feeling myself being lowered to kneel on the forest floor, so that Dad no longer had to hold my lax weight.

"It's not your little brother, Dean. I swear to you, it's not." John insisted as he held my shoulders to keep my upright, and possibly provide some degree of comfort as well.

I tried to take slow and steady breaths, playing my father's words on a mantra in my head, forcing myself to believe them

It's not Sam.

The body is too decomposed to be his.

It's been here a few weeks.

I just saw Sam an hour ago.

It's not Sam.

But it could have been,my traitorous mind whispered.

And just like that, I threw up.

I leaned forward, heaving aggressively as my stomach emptied itself out onto the grass.

"Easy, Son. Take it easy." Dad muttered, keeping a hold on me so that my uncooperative body didn't tumble forward.

Once it felt like all of my insides had been forced out my gullet, I was finally able to stop hurling and sit back.

My father placed a water-bottle into my hand and instructed me to rinse, I did as I was asked and blindly handed the bottle back to him.

I went to direct my gaze straight ahead again, away from the regurgitated mess in front of me, but a rough hand covered my eyes.

"Don't look anymore, Dean. You don't need to see it again." He ordered gruffly, as he helped me stand and turned me back into the direction of the car.

"You go back to your brother. I'll follow you after I torch the sonovabitch's body."

I nodded distractedly at the orders, wiping my jacket sleeve across my mouth as I willed my limbs to stop trembling.

"What about-

I couldn't finish the sentence, but I twitched my head in the direction of the ravine.

"I'll make an anonymous call to the police station once we get back to the motel. Their parents deserve to know what happened to them." He stated sullenly, the naked emotion on his face telling me that he was hurting for each parent who would be getting a phone-call that night.

I nodded at the plan, as the older hunter firmly squeezed my shoulder before nudging me in the direction of the clearing.

It took awhile for me to get a steady pace going, my legs taking time to hold their own weight and to stop shaking like those of a newborn colt.

By the time I made it back to the Impala, I could hear my father had fallen into step not far behind me.

Once I made it out into the clearing, my eyes immediately tracked to Sam.

My heart beat didn't stop doing double time until I laid eyes on him.

The kid looked so damn tiny sitting in the middle of the front seat, clutching a shotgun in his fingers.

He visibly relaxed once he spotted me, and let the gun fall out of sight.

I avoided the young boy's studying stare as I raked my own eyes over his thin frame, being sure he was unharmed before focusing back on the ground.

Sam was a perceptive little bitch, and I knew that if he got too good a look at my expression, he would know something awful happened. There was no way in hell I would ever tell him what I saw, and even more than that, I didn't want the kid to know just how rattled I was. Just how terrified I was still feeling, even now that I was positive that bloodied body had not belonged to him, I still couldn't shake the fear...because it could have been him.

I shook my head, trying desperately to rid it of the morbid thought, as I made my way to the truck.

I didn't know how I managed to maintain a firm hold on my gun through the whole ordeal, but it would seem that instinct and training had stayed with me, even when my body and mind had crumbled in terror.

Dad was there to open the trunk and we both dropped our weapons inside. I was so out of it that my father had to grab my elbow to get my attention as he nodded down at my waist, pointing out the fact that I had forgotten to unhook the machete from my belt.

Once I noticed, my dad released my arm, moved to the front of the Impala, and dropped inside.

I returned the machete to it's rightful place, closed the trunk, and slid into the passenger seat without raising my gaze from the ground.

Sam was still in the front seat, and I didn't have to look at him to know he was full of questions, I could practically hear the wheels spinning in his head.

I made sure to avoid his gaze, for the purpose of both discouraging any of his inquiries as well as keeping him from seeing all of the emotion I was unable to contain.

I turned my head toward the window when Sam tried to duck down into my line of sight, effectively stunting his ability to gauge my expression.

We rode in silence, and even though I could feel Sam's gaze shifting between Dad and I, he never uttered a single word.

A few moments into the trip, I felt my little brother shifting closer to me until I could feel him pressed up next to me.

I knew he was worried, and I wanted so badly to tell him everything was fine, give him a wink or a smile the way I always did. The problem being, that I was not yet composed enough for any of those things. Any attempt at comfort would cause me to break, and allow my little brother to see right through me.

I felt small hands grab onto the fist I had in my lap, and I made an effort not to look over as nimble fingers began to uncurl each of mine.

I left the limb lax and allowed my brother to manipulate it any which way he desired, not really paying any mind until I felt him pull my arm over his narrow shoulders.

I let it hang there for a moment, feeling Sam tuck himself into my side, his head coming to rest against my chest, as he seemed to melt against me.

I remained completely still for a minute or two, nervous of doing anything that would cause me to become overwhelmed with emotion. Anything that would make me break.

Because I couldn't break, not in front of Sammy.

I refused to scare him like that.

But the least I could do was provide the kid with some form of comfort. Perhaps I couldn't handle a smile or reassuring words, but Sam didn't always need that.

He had always been a touchy child. Growing up he had always required physical contact to ease his fears or put an end to his tears.

I could give him physical comfort.

I could handle that.

I put my muscles back to work and gripped my brother's upper arm, pulling him impossibly closer to my side.

The small movement was all the reassurance Sam seemed to require for the moment, because he released a relieved sigh.

I kept my gaze out the window, my eyes filling. It was like Sam knew.

Like he knew that I needed further proof that he was okay.

Like he knew I couldn't handle talking to him.

Like he knew what would keep me from shattering.

Because all of the sudden I didn't feel like I was cracking anymore.

I wasn't repaired by any means; I remained rattled and shaken, but I no longer felt like I was still breaking apart.

The rest of the drive was made in silence, we arrived back at the apartment in silence, and we made our way inside in silence.

I felt like I was in a trance, trying to empty my mind, to keep from feeling so terrified, to keep from seeing so many broken bodies.

I was vaguely aware of my father's saying something, but his soft tone seemed to float right around me. However, I did not miss my little brother's gentle tug on my sleeve, and I immediately reacted to his prompting and followed him into our shared bedroom.

I closed the door behind us, instantly picking up the rifle that was rested against the wall and gripping it firmly in my fingers.

I knew the unusual behaviour was probably unsettling to Sam, but I had to protect him.

I could feel the his eyes on me and I knew he was waiting for an explanation.

"Get ready for bed." Was all I could muster, it came out much quieter than I had intended, but my brother heard it just fine, because - after a brief hesitation - he grabbed his things and shuffled off to the washroom.

Being out of sight from Sam had me feeling weary and drained. I dropped unceremoniously onto the edge of the bed, the double-barrel riffle still clutched in my fingers as I stared at the floor, willing myself to pull it together.

But all my will-power didn't seem to hold a match to my fear.

I brought the weapon down to rest across my lap, no longer having the energy or the focus to keep it up, but I maintained a strong hold of it as I kept myself between the door and where Sam would soon be sleeping.

Speaking of Sam, I had failed to notice his exit from the bathroom, but didn't even startle as I registered his presence less than a foot away.

"Go to bed, Sam." I instructed tiredly, glancing over at him for a short second before canting my head to the right, indicating my brother's side of the mattress.

He climbed up onto the bed without a moment's delay, and while a part of me hoped he would lay his head down and fall asleep just as quickly, I knew my little brother better than that.

It was only a few seconds before I heard him calling my name and felt his hand on my shoulder, as his face appeared in my peripherals. Soon after that, he was asking what happened. I supposed the kid's patience had finally worn out and his curiosity was taking control.

"Nothing. We got it. Everything will be fine."

I was hoping that the simple phrases would be enough to reassure Sam.

"Then why are you holding this?" He asked, gently tapping the rifle as he spoke.

I cursed my kid brother's attentive and inquisitive nature, as I gazed down at the fire arm, tightening my hold on it.

"We think there was only one, but they could hunt in pairs. You can never be too careful." I replied, being mostly honest.

I was partially afraid of the return of such a monster, one that did such horrible things to children. But more than that, I just couldn't shake my desperate need to protect Sam, even when I wasn't certain there was anything to protect him from.

"The research didn't say anything about them hunting in pairs." The young boy next to me declared in a hushed tone.

I winced, knowing that Sam had been sneaking around trying to learn about the hunt he had been forbidden to take part in. I couldn't muster any anger though, because I was just so damn glad that he hadn't seen what I had, and that he hadn't ended up as a victim.

"I know. But if they do...and the partner wants revenge...he could...I can't let it get you." I whispered, inwardly cringing as my mind tormented me with what could happen to Sam if a creature like that was to get to him.

And as if being bombarded by imaginary images of the horrible things that could have been done to my little brother, wasn't enough, Sam added fuel to the fire. By accident, I knew, but he added it nonetheless.

"Did you...did you find the other kids?"

That gentle inquiry had my eyes filling as I was suddenly brought back to the very real image of the ravine, and I was staring at a small boy with shaggy hair, a boy who was covered in blood and laying impossibly still, a boy who would never again smile, laugh, or draw a breath, a boy I had thought to be Sammy.

I turned away, in a futile attempt to hide my distress.

I sucked in a shaky breath, and did my best to form some sort of response that would satisfy Sam, something that would help him understand my current behaviour, without frightening him.

"Yeah, yeah we did, Sammy. It was bad...they were all...that's why I can't...if there's another one, I can't let it get you." I croaked, swallowing convulsively to hold back the sobs I could feel trying to escape. I briskly wiped my eyes clear, and fought hard to collect myself.

"I can't let it get you." I swore, both to myself and Sam. Knowing that I couldn't live without my little brother. That if that had been him lying lifeless in that ditch, my world would have ended.

I noticed Sam shifting around, assuming he was moving to lay down, but was proved wrong as I felt his body leaning against my back and his arms sliding over my shoulders.

I didn't need to look to know what the kid had in his fingers, feeling the light tug on my neck as he held the amulet.

The simple gift I had treasured since the night it was given to me. Because it was more than just a quirky little necklace.

It was trust.

Trust Sam had put in me.

Trust that I would always protect him and be there for him, no matter what.

I released a sigh, relieved as hell that I hadn't broken that trust. Relieved that none of the children who were brutally murdered and tossed away like trash, had been my little brother. Relieved that the kid was safe. And that I would keep him that way.

I felt the charm fall back against my chest, like a puzzle piece fitting perfectly into place.

Sam's hands clasped down in front of my chest, as his head came to rest on top of mine.

We remained like that for a moment, and I felt myself relaxing as my brother's thin frame leaned into me. The physical contact reminding me that he was okay. He was alive. And he would stay that way.

I could feel the movement of Sam's jaw, and I knew that if I were able to see him, I would see him chewing on his bottom lip.

He was trying to find something to say.

A way to make me feel better.

That wasn't his job, but before I could tell him as much, I heard his soft tone penetrate the silence.

"Nothing is going to get me, Dean. I'm safe. You and Dad killed the monster, and now I'm safe. You always keep me safe. I'm going to be alright. And so are you. We are going to be okay, Dean. I promise." Sam stated. His unwavering trust and faith in me making my heart swell.

God, this kid.

This fucking kid.

Calming the fear in my mind, and the terror in my soul, with such simple words.

Sam didn't know what happened, but he knew I was worried about him, and he knew just how to remind me that he was safe. Not only that, the kid trusted me so implicitly to keep him that way.

I couldn't help but give in to the smile that pulled at my lips.

Because it was just so fucking Sammy to be able to put me back together again.

To put an end to the terror that had taken over me, simply by reassuring me of his well-being, and putting all of his faith in me.

"Thanks Sammy." I said, finally being able to recognize my own voice.

I brought my hand up from where it had been loosely gripping the rifle, and I rested it on Sam's clasped hands. It wasn't there a second before I felt his fingers curling tightly around my own.

The fear hadn't disappeared, and I knew it would be some time before I'd be able to let Sam out of my sight. It would be even longer before I would stop seeing the mass-grave of children who had fallen victim to the monster, as well as seeing my little brother amongst them.

But for now those thoughts were being chased away by my little brother's presence.

Sam was making it impossible for me to forget that he was okay - that he was alive - with his small fingers clinging onto mine, his chin in my hair, his soft breaths sounding atop my head, his thin frame leaning into me, and his heartbeat thrumming against my back.

Sam was grounding me in a way that no one else could.

He was only eleven years old, but he knew exactly what to say to keep me sane.

He knew exactly what to do to chase away the trauma and calm my mind.

Without being told, he knew precisely how to put me back together again.

He kept me from being overwhelmed with fear, or drifting off into despair.

Sammy was my anchor.

He always gave me everything he had to give.

And for that, I owed him everything.

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That wasn't the last time Sam played the role of comforter, but it was one of the first.

I wish I could give my kid everything; a life without grief, or danger, or pain. But, no matter how hard I try, I can't grant him that. What I can do is give him comfort, reassurance, and protection, just like he does for me.

My little brother's breathing began to quicken, and I know from years or experience that his dreams are starting to turn sour.

It's pure instinct that has me combing my fingers through the kid's tangled mess of hair. It works just as well as it always has, and his breathing slows as his grip on my wrist tightens, and he nuzzles his head closer to my shoulder.

I smile at the young man's cat-like antics.

This kid hasn't changed.

He is still the same shaggy headed, dimple face, boy I have always known.

He still worries and fusses whenever I'm hurting.

He still gives me all he possibly can.

And he still trusts me and has complete faith in me.

I hope that I never betray his trust.

That I never give him reason to lose faith in me.

But more than that, more than anything else, I hope that I am always able to keep him safe.

Because without Sam.

Well...there is no without Sam.

Because without my little brother, without Sammy, there is nothing.

The End (for real this time)

Note: Thanks for reading1 I'd love to know your thoughts, if you have a minute? - Sam