Looking through my documents, I found the beginning of this short story, and so finished it for something to do. I plan to update Hannah soon, as I went to Crufts on Sunday and saw all the amazing assistance dogs and all the other dogs there; it was fantastic. However been struggling with depression recently, so haven't been doing much. Thank you for reading, and please review~

Sam slowly came back to his senses. He could feel he was lying on a bed, but couldn't smell antiseptic, so that ruled out hospital. There was a thin blanket on top of him and the room was warm, compared to the freezing outside and snow that he was last conscious in.

He could hear the dripping of water somewhere, and the quiet swish of falling snow outside. Inside, the room was silent. But he could feel another presence there. Not threatening; but watching over.

Sam carefully cracked open his eyes.

After a second, the ceiling came into view, and he turned his head slightly to the right, following his senses, searching for who he knew would be there.

Dean looked tired and Sam could see the bone-deep concern in his eyes, but on the outside he was calm and controlled, and weary. He was twisting a knife in his hands and watching Sam with a slight smile, one full of secret relief.

"Hey," Dean said easily, not taking his eyes off Sam as he threw the knife into the air and caught it by the handle without effort.

Sam blinked a couple more times. "Dean," he muttered. "What...?"

Apart from a slight eyebrow raise, Dean didn't react, continuing to twirl the weapon in his hands. "How's the head? Seeing everything okay?"

Sam catalogued that, thinking for a minute. Now it was mentioned, he could feel a throbbing lump just above his left temple. He winced; now aware of it, it made its pain known. But it was bearable, so Sam decided he was okay.

"'M okay, just a bit of a headache," he replied, sighing.

Dean didn't even bother to nod. He shifted slightly in the hard seat that belonged to the desk in the room, Sam recognised.

"Why don't you take a couple more hours, then we'll go out for food if you want?"

Sam thought about that. It was quite tempting; he felt distantly hungry despite the sickness that was in the pit of his stomach from the concussion. He let his eyes shut for a minute.

He remembered the Wendigo, and the desperate fight it had put up against the dousing flames that were fired at its heart. Its pain filled roars had filled the sky, leaving Sam having to cover his ears against the noise.

That was when the monster had struck; dying, but dangerously precise and with a need for revenge, it had fallen forward in its attempt to strike Sam, throwing him into a tree, where he crumpled gracelessly at the bottom.

That was all he could remember. He knew at some point there was jolting, and comfort, and heat, and a careful hard checking his head and his eyes, coaxing in a gentle voice. But Sam had been too lost in the dark to reply to it then.

He had no memory of going to bed, or even being in the room. His jacket and shoes were gone too; clearly Dean had taken care of it all.

Of course he had. Dean always took care of his little brother; of those he loved and respected for who they were. He honoured the ones who deserved it... which was everyone apart from himself.

Sam opened his eyes again, suddenly more awake. He scanned his brother's posture as he sat in the chair, watching over Sam, barely moving.

Dean smiled back at him, relief easily read in his face, but still on guard. His eyes were dark with fatigue and the knife slid in a vague pattern through his hands, and in the air, and caught, as seamlessly as silk.

Taking a breath, Sam pushed himself up slowly, and Dean's hands stilled, eyes becoming brighter and more alert as they watched his little brother's every move, for a hint that Sam needed his help.

"I'm feeling better now," Sam told Dean, trying not to wince as he did so. "Did you say something about going out?"

Eyeing Sam, Dean didn't reply for a minute. He snorted softly and glanced briefly down at his hands, the knife seemingly automatically flitting in and out of his fingers again.

"I know you don't get out in the sun a lot, but being that pale isn't your normal healthy colour, Sammy."

Sam sighed slightly, knowing it would take a while for Dean to relax.

"I feel better," he said with more certainty. "We can go out now."

Dean shook his head, swiftly standing, but Sam could see his eyes were brighter with the simple relief that his little brother was alright.

"There's a small cafe nearby if your active self wants to walk," Dean offered kindly, but with a classic screwing-with-baby-brother smirk.

Sam huffed back and experimentally stood up. Dean again watched him, and with the grace of the hunter he was, casually slipped the knife back under the pillow of the other bed.

But it was what Sam had been waiting for. It meant Dean had stood down as the protector and was now brother and partner again instead of guardian.

Sam smiled. "Come on then," he replied. Dean rolled his eyes, and when they walked to the cafe, they walked side by side, drawing strength from each other just by being together. Meanwhile, Sam was going to make sure Dean got rest and nutrition. It was his turn to be the Guardian.