Note: Setting- season 8. This fic is connected to my other fic Mother's Day as well as Always There. Enjoy!

Dean hadn't even known what day it was, but when he saw the pie sitting out in the middle of the table, he knew it must have been some sort of special occasion.

Since the trials had begun - and probably long before that - Dean had lost all concept of time.

He stood, staring down at the packaged dessert, trying to figure out what month it was.

He knew that it wasn't Christmas, and was pretty positive that it was not his birthday either.

Dean did, however, recall that Sam's birthday had just been just over a week ago. He had spent the day reminding his kid brother that not all of his birthdays were disastrous and that the day was very much worth celebrating. The eldest Winchester had also put in a solid amount of effort to coax the younger man into eating, an activity that had become fairly unpopular since Sam started the trials.

Dean thought that perhaps the pie was an unnecessary sign of Sam's appreciation, because that would be just like his little brother, to take time away from hacking his lungs out to thank Dean for doing absolutely nothing. He was about to go tell Sam what a moron he was, when he caught sight of a short note placed in front of the pie.

Happy Brother's Day, De!

The meaning behind the favored dessert clicked instantly.

Mother's Day.

That was the special date.

Ever since he was a young kid, Sam would always bring home whatever Mother's Day assignment his class had been given, and he always gave them to Dean; whether it was some arts-and-crafts creation scribbled with crayon, or an elegantly written essay. Dean had proudly admired every one of the gifts presented to him, feeling an extreme sense of adoration for the little kid that cared enough about him to devote such a sacred holiday to, none other, then his older brother.

Even after all school Mother's Day projects were no longer in the picture and Sam was off at Stanford, Dean would still be gifted some form of acknowledgement of the day; be it a text or a letter sent to Bobby's address, to ensure that Dean would recieve it regardless of his location.

Dean plucked the small note up off the table, mindlessly tracing his fingers around the edges and reflecting on all the messages that had been given to him on this particular holiday over the years.

Dean's reflective state was disrupted by the echo of a chest rattling cough sounding through the bunker.

"Sammy." He muttered sympathetically, glancing down at the apple pie one more time before following the sound of his brother's illness.

The taller man was in the library – where he seemed to have set up residence since the trials began – bent over a stack of books, hacking his lungs out.

Dean hurried over, placing a comforting hand on Sam's back, feeling his muscles tremor due to the force of the coughs. The older man reached forward, grabbing a couple tissues and pressing them into Sam's hand, Sam's long fingers clenched them and he nodded his head briefly in appreciation.

Dean had purchased a mountain of kleenex' boxes after doing the laundry a couple weeks ago and noticing the bloodstains on the sleeves of all his little brother's shirts.

He patted Sam's back willing the hacking to come to an end and realizing – not for the first time – how thin the younger man was getting.

"Here." Dean said, nudging the glass of grape juice into his brother's hand, once the coughing had finally subsided.

Grape juice was a beverage he always kept stocked up on, ever since Sam had admitted that it was the only thing capable of doing away with the metallic taste of blood that always seemed to be present in his brother's mouth.

Sam obediently took a few sips, before setting the cup aside and taking several deep, steadying breaths.

"You good?" Dean questioned gruffly, trying and failing not to sound too concerned.

Sam looked up at him, dimples in place as he gave him a soft smile.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

It would have been reassuring if his voice had not been so wrecked from the gift that came along with the trials, a supernatural illness that was ravaging his brother's body.

Dean nodded, nonetheless, pretending that the simple phrase had eased even a fraction of his fear.

He dropped into the chair across from Sam, and placed the note he had found, on the table in between the two of them.

"You really don't have to do this anymore." He said, tapping his fingers onto the paper with his brother's chicken-scratch handwriting scrawled across it.

Sam glanced bashfully between Dean and the table top, before shrugging a reply.

"I mean, I got it when you were in school and forced to make all those crafts and take part in all that Mother's Day crap." Dean words were casual and flippant, but his tone clearly depicted his fondness for each and every handmade card, stick-figure drawing, and sweetly written essay.

Sam smirked, but remained silent.

"You really don't have to bother with it anymore, especially not now." Dean added, his voice darkening as his eyes scanned his little brother and the sickly state he was in.

"You're just mad that I took your car to the store without asking." Sam croaked out playfully.

Dean frowned at the remark, not only had he not thought of that, but the idea of his very unwell little brother operating any sort of motorized vehicle was disconcerting to say the least.

The kid could have started coughing and gone off the road.

He could have been killed.

All in the effort to get Dean a fucking pie.

"I'm being serious here, Sam. You really don't have to do this kind of thing anymore. It's not necessary."

Sam's smile fell and he looked back down at the table, and the bloody-wad of tissues in his hand.

Dean waited patiently until his brother brought his head back up, his expression having morphed into one of reserved curiosity.

"Do you know why I always made those things for you?" Sam asked, referring to all the little gifts he had given Dean on this particular day growing up.

Dean shrugged. "Because you had to make them for school." And because you didn't have a mom to give them to, Dean thought miserably to himself.

Sam shook his head.

"I could have opted out. I could have told them I didn't have a mom and gotten out of it. Once most of the teachers saw me writing Happy Brother's Day instead of Mother's Day they usually offered to give me a free pass anyways."

Dean squinted in confusion at the statement. He had always just figured that Sam didn't want to tell his teachers, or that he didn't want to get a zero on any of the assignments by not doing them.

"Then, why?" He wondered aloud.

Sam chewed on his bottom lip, his hazel eyes travelling around the room before training their soft gaze on the green ones focusses intently on him.

"Even as a kid I always knew - and I never forgot - that you…" He huffed, searching for the proper words.

Dean waited patiently, one eyebrow up in curiosity.

"I have always known who raised me." Sam declared after a moment.

Dean's heart clenched violently as his little brother's puppy dog eyes stared straight into his soul.

"Yeah, you mean Dad—

"Dad did the best he could. Believe me, I get that now, I really do. But he wasn't there. You were."

Dean made to interrupt, but Sam put a hand up to stop him as he continued.

"You were the one who taught me how to tie my shoes, and read. You helped me with my homework and packed my lunches. It was you who dealt with my nightmares, and took care of me when I was sick… you still do." Sam admitted softly, looking down at the bloody tissues clenched in his fingers.

Dean was speechless, his mouth opening and closing but no words were coming out.

"You were the one who was always there, who has always been there." Sam announced confidently, no longer shy or insecure, but rather very sure of himself and his words.

"Not always." Dean confessed, hating himself for every occasion he could think of where his little brother had been left to fend for himself.

Sam released an exasperated sigh, shaking his head from side to side.

"You were there as much as you could be, and you were there whenever I really needed you."

Dean clenched his jaw, disagreeing, but not wanting to say as much, because he knew Sam would then make it his personal mission to assure Dean that he was the greatest thing since sliced-bread. Because even though Sam had become much taller and wiser, he really hadn't changed all that much from the kid he had once been; and that kid had always unabashedly adored his big brother, regardless of how unworthy Dean thought himself to be.

"You remember that time you were hunting with Dad and I busted my ankle?"

Dean frowned, thinking back to his mental list of all of Sam's numerous injuries.

A list that was way too fucking long.

He did recall the event, some little assholes had shoved his kid brother off the bleachers at school.

"You called to check on me, the same way you always did, even though I knew Dad didn't make that easy for you."

Dean intended to jump to his father's defense, but couldn't think of what to say, Sam was too grown - and he had always been too damn smart - to fall for the old excuses.

"I didn't plan on telling you what happened, but you pulled it out of me. I never asked you to come back, never told you I needed you; but you knew and you did. You came back that night - and I always knew you probably got in shit for ditching Dad on the hunt, but you came back anyways, because you knew that I needed you."

The level of love and admiration in Sam's tone was nearly too much for Dean to handle.

He felt so entirely undeserving.

He hadn't done anything significant. He had failed Sam more times than he could count. Even now, his brother suffered from the effects of the trials because Dean had failed to protect him, yet again.

But none of that mattered to Sam.

Regardless of Dean's countless failures, his brother still looked at him with those damn eyes, oozing the same amount of appreciation, respect, love, and adoration that they always had, since he was just a kid.

"I haven't forgotten who raised me, Dean. And I never will. And one day a year I am going to remind you, and you'll just have to deal with that. So go eat your damn pie and shut the hell up about it." Sam instructed, sounding equal parts exasperated and kind.

Dean couldn't help but smile.

It was a real smile, displaying genuine joy.

It was a rare smile that had only ever belonged to Sam.

"Fine, Bitch, but don't expect me to share any." He quipped, happy to see a grin dissolve some of the exhaustion that lined his little brother's face.

"I wouldn't expect you to, Jerk." He responded.

Dean stood from the chair and moved toward the kitchen, grabbing the note off the table and tucking it into his pocket, where it would later be transferred to an envelope that sat in the bottom of his duffle. An envelope that contained each and every Brother's Day gift he had ever received from Sam.

"I'll grab you some watermelon." He declared, making it sound like an order, but knowing it was a question.

Sam nodded, reluctant but willing to make the effort to eat food; Dean knew it wasn't because he really wanted to, but because he wanted to appease his big brother.

Dean knew that if Sam were to say yes to anything edible, it would be watermelon; because even though Dean had not done it perfectly, and still did not believe for a second he was worthy of the adoration he received, he did raise Sam.

And he knew his kid better than anyone.

He loved his kid more than anyone.

He would always choose his kid over anyone or anything.

He would spend his entire life striving to be worthy of every ounce of adoration Sam placed in him, every speck of faith that the kid had in him, and every drop of love that poured from those puppy dog eyes, just for him.

Sammy was his kid and there was nothing, nothing, Dean wouldn't do for him.

The End

Note: Thanks for reading! I would love to hear your thoughts! :) - Sam