They had him.

They had his kid.

Sam was standing there, his slim frame trembling, with two barrels pressed to his head.

Dean was losing his mind. He was frozen in place, holding a firearm and had no idea what to do with it, no clue where to shoot that didn't put his little brother at risk. There was no course of action that didn't place Dean's entire world on the line.

Dean was screaming threats but nothing came out, he was hollering pleas but not a sound reached his ears, he was offering up his life but nothing more than a whisper left his mouth.

And then it was over.

The shots pierced the silence and Dean watched in terror as Sammy dropped lifelessly to the ground.

Dean jerked awake, a desperate cry leaving his lips as his eyes snapped open.

His bleary gaze was still adjusting to the dark as he felt something shifting against his chest.

"De?"

The soft sound of his little brother's voice brought everything back to the older boy. The entire mess of a Halloween night, everything from their stupid argument to the robbery at the variety store, all came flooding back. Dean instinctively tightened his hold around the small frame in his arms, the terror of what could have happened hitting him like a tsunami and making it difficult to pull in a breath and catch up with reality.

"Dean? You 'kay?"

The rasped inquiry paired with the gentle tap of small fingers drumming against his ribs, helped pull Dean up to the surface.

"Yeah. M'good, buddy. M'good." Dean claimed, his voice rough with sleep as pulled the dislodged blanket back into place over Sam's shoulders, before he dragged his hand both apologetically and comfortingly up and down the narrow back.

"Y'sure?" Sam slurred as he inched a little higher up the older boy's chest.

Dean glanced down, the glow of the television allowing him to see the hazel gaze that was staring searchingly up at him, even though it was blurry with what the teen knew had to be exhaustion. Sam had been restless all night, flinching awake a time or two before Dean had even managed to fall asleep – his mind keeping him awake to torture him with the loss he had very nearly experienced – between the trauma and the discomfort in his shoulder, Sam's sleep had been disjointed to say the least. And now Dean was startling the poor kid awake at fuck-o-clock in the morning.

"I'm sure. Go back to sleep, kiddo." He encouraged, twitching a smile when Sam immediately settled back against the couch, the shaggy head dropping down onto the broad chest.

Dean swiped the back of his hand over his eyes, frowning at the moisture that he found there and tried to keep his breathing level as he stared up at the ceiling and worked to gather himself back together.

"Everything's okay, Dean." Sam assured in a whisper, his right hand moving gently against Dean's abdomen.

"Yeah, Sammy, it is. Everything's okay." Dean promised, the words far easier to believe now that he could feel his kid brother alive and safe at his side.

Dean continued to run his hand along Sam's spine until both of their breathing had evened out. Once Dean felt firmly planted in reality he looked around the dark room, glancing at the television before shifting from his position.

"No. Don't go." Sam reacted, his hand clenching, gripping Dean's flannel shirt. "Stay." The young teen requested, sounding half asleep as he made his plea.

"Not going anywhere." Dean promised, combing his fingers through the mess of brown hair as he shifted only slightly beneath it.

"Then stop movin." Sam whined, as he curled closer to his big brother, nuzzling into him.

"Just trying to reach the remote." Dean explained, unable to withhold the fond smile that pulled at his lips in instinctual response to the younger boy's cat-like tendencies.

Sam grunted a displeased sound, that both widened Dean's smile and had him rolling his eyes. He was finally able to stretch far enough to snag the remote from where it had fallen on the floor and promptly flipped the channel.

"Was watchin' that." Sam mumbled.

"Yeah? Have a passion for vacuums do ya?" Dean teased, knowing full-well that his little brother had no interest in the infomercial that had been playing.

Sam hummed a sound that was probably meant to indicate his interest, but it really just relayed to Dean how very close to sleep his kid was.

"Get some rest, Sammy." He prompted with a whisper, continuing to drag his finger through the long hair, knowing how the motion had always worked wonders at lulling his baby brother to sleep – and tonight was no exception.

Dean laid in the dark of the motel room, trying desperately no to think of the fact that he had been one finger twitch away from losing Sam. He couldn't bleach away the image of his kid standing there with two loaded firearms pressed against his head. Sam's life had nearly been taken by two drugged-up thieves who thought they had the right to lay a fucking finger on Dean's little brother. Dean had been one wrong move, one wrong word, away from losing Sammy.

He never should have let it get that far. He should have taken care of those bastards before they had a chance to threaten his kid with weapons. No, Dean should have taken those scumbags out before they even laid a finger on Sam, before they found him behind the shelves.

Dean should have done something sooner. He should have done more to protect his little brother. He would never forgive himself for waiting so long to act.

Dean stayed awake for the few hours of dark that remained, having no desire to attempt sleep again after the terror that had infected his rest. Rather than revisit such torture, Dean's half-lidded eyes swapped between the television and the boy sleeping against him. The older teen had been awake and ready to comfort Sam back to sleep after the kid flinched himself into consciousness another time or two throughout the night.

Needless to say, neither Winchester son managed to get much sleep on Halloween night, and both spent the next morning staring bleary-eyed at the Three Stooges marathon on the TV.

The way Sam was twitching in discomfort from where he was curled against the couch, was all the motivation Dean required to finally leverage himself into a vertical position. He squinted at the sun that was peaking through the curtains as he stumbled to the kitchen, grabbing some pain meds and a bottle of water.

"Here." He grunted as he returned to Sam.

The younger boy appeared to be blinking the world into focus as he stared at the objects being presented for him. The lack of argument he made before downing the pills with a couple gulps of water was all the proof Dean needed to know that Sam's shoulder was sore as hell – which probably had a lot to do with the rough treatment he had received the other night.

"Whatcha hungry for?" Dean asked.

Sam gave his brother a half-shrug as he looked up at him.

"Don't be too helpful." The teen grumbled, glancing around the room until he found his jacket, slipping into it, patting the pockets down to be sure they contained his wallet and keys.

"Where you going?" Sam asked, placing his sock-feet on the floor and sitting up straighter on the couch, the blanket falling off of him.

"I've got to go grab some food. All we have in the fridge is some half-eaten sandwich that looks a couple days too old." Dean explained, tugging his shoes on.

"Oh yeah, okay." Sam said as he stood up, combing his hair into place with his fingers as he moved towards the entryway.

"You don't have to come." Dean offered, as he watched Sam wiggle one foot after the other into his sneakers.

"I know." The boy responded simply, standing expectantly at the door.

Dean studied the smaller frame for a moment, he knew Sam was exhausted and he knew his shoulder was killing him, under normal circumstances that would add up to a young teenager with no desire to venture out into the world; which would mean that there was something more going on, and Dean was fairly positive that something more was fear.

The kid didn't want to be alone, and though that was awfully unlike his independent little brother, Dean wouldn't fight it because he knew it would fade and – if he was honest – he didn't have any interest in Sam being out of his sight any time soon.

Not that the he was much safer under Dean's supervision, the older boy had dislocated Sam's shoulder and then watched as some fucker used the kid as a human shield.

"Dean? You ready?"

The teen shook himself free of the consuming thoughts and forced himself back into the present.

"Yeah, I'm all set. Let's go."

Dean didn't fail to notice how close Sam stood while the older boy locked their room, or how Sam almost followed him to the driver's side door before skittishly making his way to the passenger side. It didn't escape Dean's attention how near Sam sat to him on the front bench seat on the drive to the department store, or how the kid stepped on his heels about three times on the way across the parking lot.

The brothers stood side-by-side as they pushed the cart through the food aisle, Sam mostly staying close and quiet as Dean selected some things from the shelves and placed them into the trolley. Dean found himself asking Sam questions he already knew the answers to, just to hear the younger boy's voice.

"Oreos or Chips Ahoy?"

"Chips Ahoy."

"Crunchy peanut butter or smooth?"

"Crunchy."

"Orange juice or apple?"

"Apple."

Dean tossed all Sam's selections into the cart as well as far too many boxes of assorted Halloween treats, but hey, they were on sale now that the holiday was over, and the addition put a smile on his kid brother's face, so the extra cost was more than worth it.

Once the grocery shopping had been completed, they made their way towards the check-out, but Dean veered off into the clothing section. Sam nearly tripped over his feet in an effort to close the small distance that had been created between the two after the change in direction.

"What're we doing?" Sam asked, his voice so soft Dean almost had to strain to hear it.

The quiet wasn't surprising, Sam also used silence when he was trying to hide in plain sight. It hurt Dean's soul a little bit, the kid was already too damn small and he was hiding behind his hair, him being so quiet only made the boy seem that much more breakable.

"Getting you a coat." Dean replied, his own voice soft, because though he didn't like how fragile Sam seemed when he pulled into himself the way he was doing – he also knew that sometimes after something terrible happened, the world could be too large and too bright and too loud and Dean didn't want to contribute to that.

The day after trauma was always a difficult one. The night was dark and you could hide in it or use it to escape, but then the sun would rise, which reminded you that the world was still turning, but you weren't ready for it – because your mind was still trapped in the terror of yesterday. But you still had shit to do - groceries to grab and a winter jacket to buy – you had to go about your day with the world out of focus, which was an uneasy feeling to say the least. So if quiet was what put Sam at ease just enough to get him through the day, than Dean was more than happy to accommodate that.

Sam nodded in response, sticking close as they made their way to the winter jackets. Luckily, Dean knew Sam's size well-enough and could tell simply by looking at any clothing article if it would fit the slim frame or not, so the younger boy wouldn't need to cause further discomfort to his arm by trying anything on.

Dean pulled a coat off the rack and held it up towards his little brother.

"How about th- fuck, Sam, where's your sling?" Dean remarked, just now noticing the right arm that was positioned awkwardly from where it was tucked into the over-sized sweatshirt sleeve.

Sam frowned down at himself, as though he was just taking notice of the absent object. "Must be in the room, took it off when we got back last night, but forgot to put it back on this morning."

"Shit, does it hurt bad?" Dean asked, internally berating himself for not thinking of the sling before they had left the motel.

"No, Dean, it's a little sore, but it's okay. Honest." Sam assured.

The older teen studied the young face, not missing the dark shadows beneath the big eyes, but seeing no sign of intentional deception.

"We'll get it on when we get back." Dean declared, his voice still low and soft, but firm, because he knew that bastard had been aggressive as fuck with Sam's relocated shoulder last night and there was no way the healing of the joint hadn't been set back by the violent treatment.

"Sounds good." Sam confirmed with a nod.

Dean relaxed slightly, happy for the easy agreement, and turned his attention back to finding the skinny kid a coat.

"So how about this one?" He asked, holding the jacket back up.

"Too puffy." Sam remarked, reaching out to poke at the material.

Dean raised his eyebrows at the comment, but began to search for an alternative, less puffy, option. He pulled out another one and held it up for his little brother to look at – never actually handing the clothing over because he didn't want the financially-conscious boy seeing any price tags.

"This?"

"No, it has fur." Sam said, his face all scrunched up – looking just as he did the first time Dean got him to try beans as a toddler.

"Pretty sure it's not real, Peta. And it's just the lining."

"I know, but it's stupid."

"Okay, no puffy and no fur. Got it." Dean stated as he continued his search.

He disregarded anything puffy or furry or any bright colours, because neon was not conducive to the hunting life. Dean bypassed any coat without a hood, because though Sam had never said as much, he loved hoods, he loved hoods like he loved his long hair, they helped him hide from the world.

After a little more trial and error, the brothers finally found a light brown jacket with a hood and a cotton lining that could be removed for the warmer months. It was heavy enough to be warm, not quite as water proof as Dean would have liked but it was the only option that had piqued his kid's interest at all and Sam had pointed out that it was water resistant, so that was something. Dean could tell it would be a bit big, but better big than small, at least then the midget would have room to grow, if he ever got around to doing that.

Once the items had all been paid for, the boys carried the numerous bags out of the store. It was pouring rain, or more like sleet, so Dean paused under the overhang to dig Sam's new coat out of one of the bags. The impala was parked pretty far from the entrance and there was no point in the kid getting soaked on the way there. Dean was working to pull the jacket free from one of the shopping bags in his hand, when he heard Sam gasp behind him. Dean dropped everything he was holding and spun around.

He saw a man he didn't recognize with his hand on Sam's injured shoulder, which was alarming enough – but the look in his little brother's eyes, the hazel orbs that were shining with fear, it took Dean right back to the night before.

He reacted so quickly it was like he blacked out. One second he was staring into a pair of fearful eyes, and the next he was slamming the mystery man into the brick wall, his hands wrapped in the front of his shirt as he leaned in close.

"Don't fucking touch him." Dean seethed, his entire body thrumming with rage.

"I was just trying to get 'im out of the way! I needed the ATM! That was all!" The man shouted.

Before Dean could even process the words, he felt a persistent tug on his sleeve and glanced over to his left. Sam was staring up at him, his face no longer frozen in fear but twisted in concern.

"It's okay, Dean. I was just in the way. He didn't do anything. Let him go."

Dean understood what his brother was saying before he worked his way through what the stranger had said. The teen turned his attention back to assess what he had thought to be the threat. It wasn't some strung-out bastard wearing a mask and brandishing a firearm, it was simply an indignant middle-aged man shouting frustrated remarks.

"Use your fucking words next time you need someone to move over, asshole." Dean growled, before releasing his grip and stepping back from the older man.

"Get the hell away from me! You psycho!" The stranger snapped as he stormed away.

Dean remained planted in front of his little brother, not turning his back on the furious figure until he had disappeared from sight. When Dean returned his attention to Sam, he was no longer the voice of reason that was trying to talk his big brother down – his eyes were fogged over and his slender frame was trembling so violently, Dean was worried he'd fall over.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean called out, leaning down close to the younger boy, moving some of that long hair to the side so he could get a better view of Sam's face and decipher what was going on.

"I'm Fi-fine." He croaked.

Dean pressed his lips into a line, because obviously that wasn't true.

"We got- gotta go." Sam stuttered, finally looking up at Dean.

"I want to makes sure you're alright first."

"M'fine. We've got to go now, that guy might come back with security or something." Sam insisted, using the grip he had yet to release on Dean's jacket to tug at his sleeve again.

Dean frowned, he wasn't scared of that douchebag or any security he brought back with him, but he could see Sam's unease and he just wanted to get the kid somewhere he could feel safe.

"Okay, let's go." He agreed, draping Sam's knew coat over his shoulders, tugging the hood onto his head before picking up the bags he had dropped and making his way out into the parking lot. All the way to the car Sam maintained a grip on Dean's sleeve and when they arrived at the Impala and he still hadn't released it, the older teen led his little brother to the driver's side door, opening it and waiting for Sam to slide in before he dropped down behind the wheel; just as the two had done last night.

The drive back to the motel was slow thanks to the downpour outside, but Dean used the time to reign in the adrenalin that was still pumping through his veins and push down the fear that had erupted within him.

Sam stayed close to his side, quiet and distant, but breathing and safe.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to – uuhh – upset anyone." Sam rasped, looking up at Dean.

"Don't. Don't apologize. That asshole had no right to touch you." Dean stated, trying to sound calm, but hearing the fury sneak into his voice.

"He didn't mean to hurt me – he couldn't have known about my shoulder. He was just trying to get me out of the way." Sam explained.

"I don't give a fuck what he was trying to do – he had no right to put his hands on you." Dean growled. If that bastard needed to get to the ATM so badly he should have fucking said something, he didn't have any right to grab someone and move them out of his way.

He had no right to touch Dean's kid.

No fucking right.

"Okay, but I'm still sorry for, you know, freaking out."

Dean shook his head. "Don't be. We both freaked out a bit, but that still doesn't mean that sonuvabitch should have done what he did." Dean reasoned, trying to level out, his emotions feeling a little more out of his control than he was comfortable with.

Sam seemed to accept that explanation, nodding before resting his head against Dean's shoulder.

And just like that, Dean's inner turmoil was soothed.

Dean's violent anger always fading instantly when met with his little brother's gentle soul and absolute trust.

He placed a hand on one of his little brother's knobby knees, squeezing it supportively as he guided the Impala through the sleet-soaked roads.

He parked the Impala as close to their door as he could get, both boys loading up their arms with bags before making a dash to their room. Once they were inside and the groceries were put away, Sam's new jacket hanging next to Dean's leather one to dry, the older boy scanned the small space for the sling. He spotted it on the bed and snagged it, bringing it over to the boy curled up on the couch who was cradling his right arm against his chest in an obvious effort to keep any strain off his shoulder.

Dean clenched his jaw at the sight of his kid in pain. That dumbass had grabbed onto Sam's shoulder to move the boy out of his way – as if that injury hadn't been fucked with enough over the past twenty-four hours. Dean should have been paying more attention. He should have seen what that self-important jackass was going to do before he did it, he should have intercepted those fat fingers before they made contact with his little brother. Dean knew how Sam could get lost in his own mind sometimes and become unaware of his surroundings. The kid did it all the time, especially when he was explaining something or thinking about something. Dean couldn't count how many times he had to put his arm out to keep his distracted little brother from walking onto a busy road, or how many occasions he had stopped the boy from bumping into something or being bumped into by someone. Dean knew that about Sam and he should have been paying more attention.

"Here, buddy, let's get this on." He spoke softly as he sat on the coffee table across from the sofa and carefully helped to situate the sling into place.

Sam sighed softly as his right arm was secured against the chest and the weight was taken off his shoulder.

"Better?" Dean whispered, ducking in closer to the younger boy.

Sam nodded, twitching a tiny little smile up at his older brother. Dean tried to return it, but he knew the attempt he made was strained to say the least.

"I'm okay, Dean." Sam assured. "It's not a big deal. I just - he grabbed my shoulder and it hurt and he came up from behind me like… and I just – I didn't see him coming is all." Sam surmised with half a shrug.

Dean nodded. "I know, I get it." He admitted, because he had been shocked into his own reaction, a far more violent one, but he knew what Sam was talking about. "Sorry, kiddo, I should have seen him coming. I should have noticed someone getting that close to you." Dean grunted, shaking his head at himself.

Because sure this guy was just an ignorant asshole who had no malicious intentions, but what if he had? What if he had been a real threat? Like those masked bastards had been. And Dean had just let him waltz right up to his kid brother.

"Stop that!"

The older boy was startled from his thoughts at the command, the volume the loudest noise that had come out of Sam since before the incident at the variety store. Sam's glare matched his outburst, his expression defiant, but his gaze also misty with something that appeared to stem from distress.

"Stop what?" Dean asked, genuinely confused.

"Blaming yourself!"

Dean sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Sam—

"No! Don't act like I'm being ridiculous. You're the one being ridiculous!" Sam accused, moving closer to the edge of the couch.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. You blame yourself for everything, and it's not your fault!" Sam insisted, passion oozing from his expression and each word out of his mouth, the way it did when the kid had a fire burning inside of him.

"I should have seen him—

"You can't see everything all the time! You didn't miss anything, you didn't fail at anything – it's not your fault that some guy touched me on the shoulder! And It's not your fault that some idiots decided to rob a variety store! And it's not your fault that you had to shoot them to get us out of there!"

"Sam." Dean croaked, shaking his head as he stood from the coffee table. Sam was so wrong and Dean didn't even know how to begin to explain it.

"What happened last night was not your fault, Dean. You didn't do anything wrong. You actually did everything right! You saved me, you saved both of us!" Sam decreed, shooting to his feet to stand in front of the taller boy, staring up at him defiantly.

Dean was just shaking his head, looking away from the impassioned gaze. He didn't know how to respond to that, he didn't know how to see things the way Sam did, how to explain that the nightmare he had only hours ago had been so close to being his reality. He had come unacceptably close to losing his little brother and he couldn't allow anything like that to ever happen again.

"No! You don't get to do that."

"Do what?"

"You don't get to avoid me. Look at me!" Sam shouted, his voice cracking as he grabbed Dean's shirt and tugged until the older boy finally looked down.

"What?" Dean asked, trying to sound irritated, but it came out too choked-off to accomplish that.

Sam swallowed, his eyes losing some of that anger as they glistened with unshed tears, but his expression was set with that same concentrated passion he had since the beginning of the conversation.

"What happened today is not your fault. What happened yesterday is not your fault. And what happened with my shoulder is not your fault! You aren't to blame for any of that!" Sam practically shouted.

"I slammed you into the ground!" Dean snapped, the incident playing out again in his head, as it had done constantly over the past couple weeks.

"You held back! Because you always hold back, because you never want to hurt me! I only got hurt this time because I tried a move I knew wouldn't work." Sam explained. "I knew you had me, I knew you were going to pin me, and I knew I couldn't get out of it – but Dad just wouldn't stop telling me to get out, to try harder and I just – he just wouldn't stop, so I tried something even though I knew you had me."

Dean tried to swallow past the ball of emotion in his throat, shaking his head again – because that was the only response he could give that wouldn't expose how much emotion he was fighting to contain.

"I knew you wouldn't have time to pull back, I knew it was too late – and I knew it wouldn't work. You had no idea I'd pull something stupid and you didn't have time to stop it. It wasn't your fault!"

Dean's jaw worked, as he swallowed convulsively, wanting to pull away but knowing that Sam would just follow him, the kid still tugging painfully on the front of his shirt.

"I'm supposed to protect you." He choked out, with a helpless shake of his head.

"You do! You always do!"

Dean shook his head, his hand covering his face a moment as he tried to just breathe through the feelings that were overwhelming him.

"I hate when you do this." Sam croaked, the misery in the young tone forcing Dean to look down at the smaller boy.

"Do what?" He asked, reaching out to wipe away a single tear that was slipping down Sam's cheek.

"Blame yourself! Because there's nothing I can do, there's nothing I can say that will make it better."

The air left Dean's lungs at the broken statement.

"You always make everything better for me, but I can't make this better for you. I don't know how! Nothing I say is enough! Nothing I do is enough! And I just have to watch you hurt, and I hate it!" Sam cried, tears streaming unobstructed down his face as he stared up at the older boy with an expression that was desperate and hurting and lit Dean's big brother instincts afire.

"What the fuck are you talking about? You think you don't make things better?" Dean asked, no longer afraid of revealing his emotions, because saving face didn't matter with his little brother breaking apart right in front of him the way that he was.

Sam looked so lost, as he dropped his chin to his chest in what looked far too close to defeat.

"Sam, you make everything better. Jesus, kid, you're the only thing that keeps me going – you keep me sane and breathing." Dean declared, his fingers grabbing Sam's chin and directing his head up. "Everything you say and do – fuck, Sammy – everything you are is enough!"

"It's not though! It doesn't matter how many times I tell you it's not your fault, it doesn't matter what I do to show you – you never ever believe me!" Sam rasped out, fresh tears trailing down his face as he took a step closer, his grip and gaze becoming impossibly more desperate.

Dean felt like there was a vice around his heart, just squeezing it until he couldn't bear it a moment longer. He had to breathe a moment, to calm himself so he could find the right words – because when it came to Sam, words were really fucking important.

"I blame myself for things, I feel guilty for things – and I can't just turn that off, which I know you know, because you're the same way. Since you were an ankle-biter, you've been taking the blame and carrying the guilt for shit that has never been – that could never be, your fault." Dean reflected. "And I always hated it, I still hate it when you do that. So I guess I know how you feel." Dean continued, realizing that truth as he spoke it.

He hated knowing that his kid brother was walking around with guilt that didn't belong to him, that Sam was tearing himself down from the inside-out over things he was not at fault for. It was fucking terrible knowing someone you love is torturing themselves in a way they don't deserve.

Dean wanted to tell Sam that he would stop, that he would never blame himself or feel guilty for anything again- but Dean had always done his best not to make his little brother promises that he had no hope in hell of ever keeping.

"I'm going to feel guilty sometimes, Sam. I'm going to blame myself and sometimes it might be for shit that you don't think is my fault, which is most things – because you, little brother, never think anything is my fault." Dean accused with a grateful smile, swiping the back of his hand over his eyes so he could get a clear view of the boy he was talking to.

Sam blushed a little, ducking down for a moment before he allowed Dean to nudge his head back up.

"And I can try to get better at not carrying everything – but I am going to carry some things. I'm a big brother and that's just what's going to happen sometimes. But, Sammy…

Dean's voice broke and he took a minute to gather himself enough that he could finish his statement, having to look away from those two expressive eyes for a moment before meeting them once more.

"Don't think for one second that me blaming myself has anything to do with you not doing enough of saying enough – or being enough, because that is never the case."

Sam's wide eyes were searching for truth, and Dean let him see it – he opened himself up for his little brother in a vulnerable way that he had never done for anybody else, because the kid needed to see that Dean meant every fucking word.

"You got that? You make everything better. Everything. Do you understand?" Dean asked, needing to know, needing to be sure that the younger boy understood that not one time for one moment had he ever not made Dean's world brighter and more bearable and just so much fucking better that it would ever have a hope in hell of being without Sam.

Sam nodded after a moment, wrapping his good arm around the wider frame and burying his face into Dean's chest as he cried softly into the flannel shirt. Dean wasted not a nano-second in wrapping his arms around the slender boy, curving his body so he could rest his chin on the shaggy head and pull Sam impossibly closer into him.

He felt his little brother begin to sob into his chest, he knew part of it the outburst had as much to do with the emotional conversation as well as the trauma from the night before, and the exhaustion probably paid a part – but Dean didn't care, whatever the reason for his brother's release, he held the younger boy through it. Because Sam was safe with him, and the kid knew that.

And Dean had been through a lot the night before, and was also incredibly sleep deprived – so if a few of his tears happened to drop onto Sam's brown hair, well that was fine because there was no one there to witness such vulnerability.

No one but Sam.

The boy who had seen Dean in every state – who had seen him freak out on a stranger, who had seen him thriving off the thrill of a kill, who had seen him lethal and ready to gun-down civilians- human beings; the little brother who had seen Dean frozen in a state of shock at a time where he should have been doing damage control, who had seen him disoriented and fearful upon coming out of a nightmare, who had seen him in a state of absolute despair after breaking his own rule number one and hurting his kid.

Sammy had seen Dean in every state, from his most vicious to his most vulnerable, and never had the younger boy's trust or love wavered, not one damn time.

Sam's absolute trust and unconditional love was something that Dean could never hope to deserve, but spent every day grateful to possess.

He couldn't believe that his kid thought for one fucking second that he didn't make things better.

He couldn't imagine his life without Sam – even in his nightmares, living without Sam was never an option. There had only been two possible outcomes of the robbery last night, one being that Dean saved his little brother and got Sammy out of there, the other one being that Dean failed to save his kid, and neither Winchester boy ever made it out of that variety store.

Dean was always going to save his little brother, or die trying. That was the truth of the past and the present, and he was certain it would be the truth of the future as well.

Because Sam made Dean's life so much more than better, he made it worth living.

Note: Was anyone expecting a 3rd chapter for this sucker? Because quite honestly, I was not! But, hey, it happened. I hope someone enjoyed it, I did legitimately just pull an all-nighter writing it so hopefully someone appreciates it! I would love to hear your thoughts, this sort of just happened and wasn't really planned out so I'm a little unsure about it. Also, if you have any interest in sending your appreciation monetarily, you are welcome to buy me a coffee at: ko-fi(dotcom)/samjeller. I'm saving up for a new laptop so I can actually write a full page of a fic without being bombarded by that lovely blue screen of death! ;) Thanks for reading! - Sam