Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Supernatural

Warnings: Swearing and underage drinking

Summary: Preseries. After a stupid fight, Sam has to go be all heroic and Dean is left praying that the last thing he said to his baby brother wasn't going to be "Go away, Sam". Brotherly whump and love.

Fights, Heroics and Forgiveness

Dean Winchester gritted his teeth together so hard that he could almost taste blood. At fifteen, Sam had reached the age where he was finally starting to have a mind of his own, a mind that was agreeing with his older brother less and less.

Sam was currently across the kitchen from his brother seated at the table, standing tall and arms folded across his chest. They had reached the point in their argument where he would normally back down and agree to whatever Dean wanted.

Tonight was different though. John was gone, for the hundredth time, and the brothers were left alone on some Midwest town on a Friday night with only one car and nothing to do.

Dean wanted to take the Impala out to the bars and have some fun. He was only nineteen but could pass for twenty five what with his muscles and smirk and besides, he had a fake ID.

Sam, on the other hand, had no suck finesse or illegal papers. So this time, for once, they were going to do what he wanted to do. Sam wasn't going to back down.

"Theater." Dean said the word like someone else might have said the F word. "Out of everything you could want to do on a Friday night, you want to go to the theater?"

"You know being exposed to some real art wouldn't kill you, Dean," Sam snapped, "Who knows, it might actually do you some good. You know, if your brain can handle the pressure. There probably won't be any guns or explosions in A Midsummer Night's Dream".

One of Dean's eyebrows shot up. "You're just doing this to get on my nerves."

Sam pushed away from the kitchen counter, thick with packed on grease, and replied angrily, "Not everything in my life revolves around you, Dean! Believe it or not, I actually appreciate Shakespeare. We've been hunting for a month straight and I want to go relax."

Dean barked a laugh. "And Shakespeare is your idea of relaxing? A pool hall and a bit of beer is relaxing, Sammy."

The nickname, which usually made Sam resist a smile, only made him angrier tonight. "Well maybe I'm not like you!"

This caused Dean to pause as he studied his little brother. Sam had become even less inclined to hunt recently and he was always questioning their father's orders. He was becoming a hindrance honesty. The kid would rather watch Shakespeare.

"Yeah," Dean said, looking away, "Maybe you're not."

There was a moment of silence. Then Sam sighed, rubbed a hand over his face and said, "Just drop me off at the play and then go off to your bars, Dean."

It sounded like an accusation.

"You know what, Sam?" Dean growled, unfolding himself from the chair, "You can walk."

Dean could imagine the hair standing up on the back of Sam's neck. "It's like three miles!" he exclaimed.

"Then I guess you better get walking, Sammy," Dean said, crossing the room to look at himself in the mirror. The mirror had a large crack towards the bottom. Looking into it gave the appearance of a slice right through his neck.

Sam strode over of the door and jerked it open. "You know, you can be a real ass sometimes, Dean!"

Dean rolled his eyes. All of these teenage dramatics were going to drive him into an early grave. "Oh, just go away, Sam," he said with finality.

Dean heard the door slam and with a shrug, continued to mess with his hair.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jerk.

Asshole.

Prick.

Skirt-chasing, beer drinking idiot!

Sam strode down the road, angrily kicking stones out of his way. At this rate he was going to be at least twenty minutes late for the play. Why couldn't Dean understand that the things that he liked were important too? Because he was too much like Dad. John and Dean only cared about one thing. Hunting. And Sam- well Sam cared about everything else.

Here they were, stuck in yet another town that would never be their home. Sam was fifteen years old, he should be worrying about sports, grades and getting his first girlfriend. Instead, he trekked all over the country fighting monsters.

Sam hated it. And yet he could never tell Dean and his Dad that. It was the only life they knew. Sam just couldn't help wanting…. more.

Turning a corner, Sam halted. Taught from birth that he must always be aware of his surroundings had made scanning the scenery second nature to Sam Winchester. Maybe that was why he could instantly see the scene before him, and anticipate the horror that was to come.

He was standing in front of a house. A really nice house actually. One that, in another lifetime, Sam could see himself living in. It was small and white, with green trim and a nice yard with a large garden in the middle of it.

There was a women in the garden. She was currently tugging at what appeared to be a very stubborn weed. It must have had deep roots because she was straining with the effort.

That wasn't the troubling part however. A young girl, maybe four years old, was in the yard with her mother. The child had been playing with a bright red ball and it must have gotten away from her right before Sam turned the corner.

The ball had rolled into the middle of the street and the girl was going after it. Her mother's back was turned for only a moment while she wrested with the weed, but that one moment was all it was going to take.

The car was right behind Sam. It was about to turn the corner and it was going far too fast. The girl was in the road and the car was looming down on her.

Sam didn't think. He often didn't in dangerous situations. Dad said this one of his main problems; he let his emotion get the better of him and would simply react.

But right now, in this moment, reacting was the only thing he could do. And Sam had to do it. If he didn't, that little girl was as good as dead.

Sam was in the street in a heartbeat. Grabbing the girl around the middle, she wriggled and screeched, he turned and hurled her towards the yard with all his might, aiming vaguely for the bushes.

There was no more time. Sam's legs bunched, preparing himself for launch but it was too late.

The car, thankfully not a truck, hit him. It wasn't straight on, slightly to one side but it was nevertheless a direct hit. Sam flipped up over the hood of the car and vaguely heard a sickening crunch in his leg. His shoulder struck the roof of the vehicle and Sam bounced off.

He hit the ground hard. Pain exploded throughout his body and he could already feel the warmth of blood pooling around him. Sam wondered fuzzily whose blood it was.

There was screaming all around. Several different voices but Sam couldn't tell whose they were. The world was swimming before his gazing eyes.

Sam's last thought before he let the darkness overtake him was that he hoped Dean wasn't really too mad at him.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dean was feeling guilty and it was messing with his game. He had lost the last two games of pool, unheard of for him, and he hadn't even seen any pretty looking girls around. What was wrong with this damn town?

He couldn't stop thinking about the fight with Sam, mostly, he knew, because he had probably been in the wrong. It wasn't like Sam had insisted that he go to the play with him, he had just wanted a ride.

Dean was just so tired. Tired of moving around and tired of Sam's attitude. Maybe they should try having an adult conversation about it.

But that was another problem. Dean had been forced to become an adult far too early.

Maybe he would just go home. Maybe he would pick up some ice cream for Sam when he got back from his stupid play.

It took Dean a few moments to realize that his phone was ringing. With a muttered curse, he pushed his way through the crowd and through the back door of the bar.

Not recognizing the number shinning up at him, Dean pressed the phone to his ear and said gruffly, "Hello?"

There was a slight pause on the other end and then a brisk voice asked, "Is this Dean Winchester?"

"Well, that depends," said Dean, doing a quick check of his surroundings, "On whose asking."

"My name is Nurse Jackson," said the voice, "I'm calling from Holt's Hospital. Is this Dean Winchester?"

Suddenly, all of Dean's attention was directed to the conversation. John was two counties over, so that had to mean…. "Yes, I'm Dean. What's happened? What's wrong?"

"I can't give you many details over the phone," she said, and Dean could hear the compassion in her voice, "But Sam Winchester has been involved in an accident. You better get down here."

Dean was already running to his car, heart threatening to thump its way clear out of his chest. "But is he alright?" he asked desperately into the phone.

There was another moment's silence. "You had better hurry," came the reply.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The beeping was going to drive him absolutely crazy. It was hours later and Dean Winchester wanted to scream.

He was seated in an uncomfortable chair next to white hospital bed while machines that were beeping incessantly kept his baby brother alive right in front of him.

Dean had never seen Sam look worse. He was bandaged and there was a tub going down his throat, pushing air into his body.

Dean had stood there numb after hours of surgery as a doctor had listed off Sam's injuries. A broken leg, cracked ribs and a collapsed lung.

After the doctor had gone over the list of injuries, Dean had cut in with a desperate plea, "But, he's, you know, going to live, right?"

The look on the doctor's face nearly brought Dean to his knees.

"Son," the doctor began, and Dean wanted to interrupt, you aren't my father but I wish to God you were right now so I wouldn't have to be alone, "Sam is very injured but I think the chances are fairly good. If he makes it through the night, then I will optimistic for a full recovery."

If. If Sam makes it through the night. The anguish must have shown on his face.

The doctor grasped Dean's shoulder. "Your brother saved that little girl's life," he said, looking Dean straight in the eyes, "He's a hero."

And now here Dean was, sitting uselessly by as Sam fought for his life just inches away from his big brother.

Dean heaved a huge sigh and reached out to stroke the hair back from Sam's forehead.

"Did you hear that, Sammy," he asked, voice cracking, "The Doc says you're a big hero now. Everyone's talking about you. Everyone wants to meet you. So why don't you wake up now huh?"

The machines beeped on.

The Winchester boys were alone. Dean had called his father half a dozen times to no avail. He had never wanted John with him more than at this moment.

Reaching out to grip Sam's cold hand, Dean couldn't hold it in any longer. Tears splashed down on the hand in his grip and for a few moments Dean struggled to draw breath. The grief threatened to overwhelm him. He vaguely wondered if this was how he felt at the prospect of Sam's death, how would he feel if it actually happened?

Dean didn't think he would survive it.

"This is all my fault," he chocked, "I was just being so stupid and stubborn and now…" He couldn't finish.

If he had just driven Sam to that play. He was the big brother, it was his job to make sure that things like this didn't happen. Or if they did happen, they happened to him and not Sam.

Part of Dean was proud. Of course Sam had saved that girl. Saving people was in their blood.

Then again, that was also the worst part. If a monster had done this to Sam then Dean could go out to hunt it, kill it. He could at least avenge his baby brother. But this was a completely human incident and there was nothing that Dean could do.

So here he was, sitting in some god-forsaken hospital waiting to see if Sam would live through the night.

He had been so awful to Sam. He had told his little brother to go away. And now Sam might actually go away, just not in the way that Dean had intended.

Dean slammed his fist down on the bed beside Sam. He felt something warm sliding through his fingers and realized that he had dug his own nails into his flesh. Dean watched as the blood slid down his arm.

"I swear," Dean whispered aloud, although he wasn't sure who he was talking to, "If Sam makes it through this I will never tell him to leave ever again. I will never leave him. I'll be better, I'll…." He wasn't sure what he could promise that would make this all better.

"I will protect him for as long as I live. Please, just don't take him away from me."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dean didn't remember falling asleep but he was jerked out of a deeply troubled sleep by a movement in his hand.

Dean bolted upright and turned to stare down. He was holding Sam's hand in his own and Sam's fingers were…. moving.

Eyes lurched up to Sam's face to meet brown ones. Dean had never seen anything so beautiful in all his life.

"Sammy," he breathed, and it sounded like a prayer.

Sam's mouth curled up. A doctor must have come in and removed the breathing tube sometime in the night.

"Sammy," Dean repeated and thought that he might not be able to say anything else for as long as he lived.

"What happened?" Sam asked, his own voice shrill and choppy.

Dean stood and used the hand that wasn't holding Sam's to stroke his cheek. "What do you remember?" he asked.

Sam's eyes rolled around the room, taking in his surroundings.

"Not much," he admitted, "There was a car and a girl…." He trailed off and then jerked upright, his back coming off the bed as the machines around him beeped angrily. "The girl! Dean, there was a girl in the road! Is she alright?"

Dean gently pushed his brother back down. "She's totally fine. I spoke to her mother. She really wanted to come thank you in person. You saved that little kid's life, Sam."

Sam rested down again just as his doctor came into the room. After checking Sam out, he motioned for Dean to come out into the hall.

"I'll be right back," Dean promised and received a groggy smile in return.

Out in the hallway the doctor turned to Dean. "The results from this morning are very promising Mr. Winchester. I would say young Sam is out of the woods."

"Thank you so much," said Dean, relief threatening to overwhelm him, "Thank you."

The doctor nodded and smiled brightly, "I bet Sam is going to be able to talk to some of those reporters who have been camped outside in a few days!"

Right. Over Dean's dead body.

Returning to his brother's room, Dean opened to the door to reveal Sam with his head tilted to one side as he looked out his window. Sunlight shone through and glowed upon his brother.

It had always been like that. Sam walked in the light. Dean wasn't sure he was able to join him there.

"Hey buddy," he said softly. With the smile that Sam directed his way, Dean wondered if he even remembered the fight they had had last night. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I was hit by a car," came the reply.

That surprised a laugh out of Dean as he reached over to mess up Sam's hair. "Cheeky bitch."

"Jerk," Sam replied and then winced as he tried to move a leg.

Dean shushed him instantly, hovering and doing a visual check on his brother.

Sam reached out a hand to take Dean's, managing to keep the pain the action caused him from his face and said, "I really am fine, Dean. I'm sore and ache all over but the doctor said it could have been a lot worse. They were able to repair the lung. Apparently I was moving away from the car when it hit me and that probably saved my life."

The last part of that statement hit Dean like a freight train. His hand tightened on Sam's and he found himself unable to answer. He had come so close to losing the thing that made his whole world go round.

"I'm sorry."

The simple statement caused Dean's head to shoot up. He stared incredulously at his brother. "You're sorry? What on earth for?

"The fight," Sam said seriously, his eyes shining with unshed tears, "I was being a baby. It was dumb and then this happened and right as I was hit by the car I remember thinking that my last moment with you was going to be a fight and-"

Sam broke off as Dean let out a choked sob. Dean buried his face in his hands for a moment, overcome with the realization that the fight was the last thing that Sam had thought about when he was convinced that he had been dying.

"Dean?" inquired Sam, reaching for him with his own tears beginning to roll down his face.

Dean sunk to his knees by Sam's bedside and reached out to whip the tears from his little brother's face. Sam marveled that the same hand that could rip a monster's throat out could be so gentle.

"Sam," said Dean, his voice higher than normal, "Don't you ever apologize to me for something like that. I was totally wrong man. It was so stupid to be mad. If I had driven you-"

"If you had driven me then that little girl might have died," interrupted Sam.

"You almost died!" cried Dean and he whipped an angry hand over his face to get rid of the tears. "I almost lost you Sammy. Do you understand? Do you understand that?"

Dean stood and leaned over the bed. His hand went around the back on Sam's head to curl into his hair and Dean's forehead came to rest gently on Sam's own.

"I cannot lose you, kiddo. I can't. Do you hear me?"

Sam's eyes widened and for a second he couldn't speak, so overcome with emotion.

His brother must have taken his hesitation as reluctance. Dean's hand tightened its grip in Sam's hair and Sam mewed in protest. This didn't deter his brother.

"I know what you did was the right thing Sam," Dean said evenly "And I am so damn proud of you. But you need to understand me. I cannot lose you. Say it."

Sam wasn't frightened of his brother but this particular side of Dean always made him a bit nervous. He couldn't quite find a word to describe it. Protective wasn't strong enough.

"I hear you, Dean," he said softly, "I'm sorry."

Dean nodded, satisfied, and returned to his chair. "Get some sleep, Sammy. You're all done in."

Sam nodded and leaned back to close his eyes. Then a thought occurred to him. He struggled to open his eyes again.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You'll be here when I wake up again, won't you?"

"What do you think?"

Sam smiled and allowed himself to fall back into sleep.

Dean settled himself down for another long day. He didn't mind though. Sam was going to be ok and that was everything that mattered to him.

His cellphone began to ring and Dean fished it out of his pocket. The word DAD flashed up at him from the screen.

Dean considered for a moment and then placed the phone back in his pocket without answering.

He had all he needed in this world with him right here.

Awww I love those boys. Hope everyone enjoyed, please review!