Note: This was supposed to be a lot shorter, like a LOT. I actually finished this a few days ago, but seeing as how it is apparently some sort of heinous crime for an unpaid-amateur-authour to post a story that contains any sort of grammatical and/or spelling error, I had to edit it first. It took me until today to find the time to do that, and I still only had time to read it over a couple times. What can I say, babes? Editing is a bitch, and it puts an awful delay on my posting process. Anyways, I hope at least one of you enjoys this.

Spoilers: This is a tag to 12.02 - Mamma Mia...so spoilers up until that point, essentially.

Dean heard it immediately.

Not because he had been waiting for it, although he damn well had.

Not because it was particularly loud, even though it seemed to echo through the bunker.

And not because he was sleeping even lighter than usual (pyscho-torture-bitches will keep you up at night).

No, he heard it because it was the sound of his kid brother in distress.

Dean's eyes shot open, his body reacting before his mind could register exactly what was going on. Before he had to pause and think, he heard it again, a cry.

Sam's cry.

"Sammy." Dean breathed, scrambling out of bed, cursing as the blanket tangled around his legs. He snatched up the Beretta on his bedside table and rushed out of his room. Both the brothers always slept with their doors open, and Dean never stopped being thankful for that fact, especially at times like this. The hunter nearly fell on his ass as his sock-clad feet slid across the floor, he grabbed at Sam's door frame just in time to balance himself. Dean's grip remained solid on the firearm in his hand as his gaze swept calculatingly over his little brother's room, searching out the threat.

"Sam?" He called out, fighting to focus his gaze in on the dark corners of the room, looking for the s.o.b that was scaring his kid.

"It's fine, Dean. Jus'me. M'sorry." Sam mumbled miserably, shame flowing through him.

Dean stood down immediately, instinctively lowering his firearm at his brother's statement. He was about to ask what the hell was going on, when he finally got a good look at the younger man still seated on the bed.

Sam was a mess, he was pale and shaky, his hair was all over the place, and his breath was coming in short spurts.

"Sammy?" Dean questioned softly, while he moved into the room, placing the gun on the desk as he made his way toward the bed.

The younger man's head bobbed up and down, but didn't rise, his eyes still focussed on the trembling fingers he was twisting restlessly in his lap. He fought to get a hold of himself, trying to force the terrifying memories from his mind.

"You alright?" Dean asked, his gruff tone doing nothing to disguise his concern, not that he was ever successful when he did try, Sam could always read him like a book.

"Fine." Sam rasped, wincing in time with his brother at how wrecked his voice sounded. "Just a nightmare. Sorry."

"Hey!" Dean snapped, regretting the volume of his voice once he saw Sam's eyes widen in fright, but was satisfied when the kid finally looked up at him.

"You don't get to be sorry for this kind of shit. Not fucking ever." The older hunter clarified.

Sam relaxed ever so slightly, his lips twitching up and his face losing a tad of the misery that had been dominating his expression. Though he didn't share Dean's opinion, he always appreciated how his brother constantly tried to absolve him of feeling any shame or embarrassment. Sam couldn't imagine what the hell he would do without his big brother. It horrified him that he had almost had to figure that out, well actually, he probably would have just rotted in that godforsaken basement before he had the chance.

"It just seems so stupid. I should be over it." He sighed.

"Dude, give yourself a break, it hasn't even been twenty-four hours."

"I didn't dream about the basement."

Dean frowned, his hand dropping down onto the younger man's shoulder as he ducked to catch the kid's wandering eyes. Sam swallowed and attempted to provide his brother with the answer to his unspoken question.

"It was about the…the—

"Sam?"

The female voice from the doorway, caused the younger man to flinch and slam his jaw shut. It only took Sam a moment to recognize the blonde woman standing in the doorway, but her presence brought him no relief.

Dean could feel his brother's tension beneath the hand he had resting on his shoulder. It was a tension that Dean recognized, one he knew Sam had felt many times before. It wasn't that Sam feared their mother in any way, it was that he wanted to be strong for her, that he didn't want her to see him hurting or broken. It was the same way he had been with John. The youngest Winchester had never wanted to disappoint the eldest or let him down by displaying his fear or pain, so he would put on a brave face and hide it away. Dean had always been so thankful that Sam never played that game with him, he never knew why he was the exception, but he was damn glad that he was.

"Is everything okay?" Mary asked, stepping into the room.

Sam cleared his throat, wiping swiftly at the eyes he had hidden behind his hair. He nodded his head, too afraid to speak, knowing his voice wouldn't have the strength that it should.

Thankfully, Dean saved the day, as he had done countless times before. His big brother was always more than willing to play interference between Sam and the rest of the world. He never had to be asked, Dean just seemed to always know when Sam was feeling uncomfortable, overwhelmed, or anxious, and he would simply jump in to take point. Like it was nothing. Like it didn't mean the world to his little brother.

"Yeah, Mom, we're all good in here." Dean stated smoothly, his hand squeezing Sam's shoulder before releasing it and making his way across the room.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" He inquired, pulling gently at his mother's elbow, ushering her out into the hallway.

"But—

Mary didn't have time to finish her protest as Dean tugged her away from Sam's room. He didn't stop moving until he knew they were out of his little brother's earshot.

"Everything is taken care of, Mom." He assured her, smiling kindly.

Mary frowned, she knew something was going on, she had heard one of the boy's yell out, and had passed Dean's empty bedroom on her way down the hall, towards the noise that had awaken her. She found them in Sam's room together, he younger man looked upset. There was clearly something wrong, but they were both pretending that wasn't the case.

She was just getting to know her boys; she didn't want them pushing her away.

"What's wrong with Sam?" She inquired, her tone demanding.

Dean's smile fell, he wanted to protect his little brother's privacy, but he also knew their mother wasn't about to let the matter drop. She was just as stubborn as her youngest son, if not more so.

Luckily, Dean had a truckload of experience dealing with hard-headed Winchesters.

"He just had a bad dream. He gets them from time to time. It's nothing we can't handle." He answered honestly, making it clear he had no intention of going in to detail about all the traumatic shit that occasionally tormented his kid brother's subconscious. Partly because Sam deserved to be the one to decide if, and when, their mother found out about some of the many horrible things that haunted his dreams; and partly because Mary was nowhere near ready to hear about all – or even a fraction of the things - her youngest child had been through.

"I can handle it." She said, intending to make a statement, but realizing it came out sounding more like an offer.

Dean promptly shook his head, his reassuring smile back in place.

"Nah, it's alright. You've had a long day. I've got this one." He announced confidently.

"But I'm his mother." Mary inwardly cringed at how defensive she sounded, but damn if she just wanted to be there for her boys, even if she was a few decades late.

Mary watched as Dean's lips remained in a politely upturned position, but his vibrant green eyes narrowed.

"No one is doubting that. Believe me, Sam knows you are our mother and he is freakin ecstatic to have you back." Dean promised, his lips twitching up before his smile dropped, and his expression sobered.

"But I raised him." Dean declared.

Mary inhaled sharply at the comment, and although her son's eyes became softer and more sympathetic, his mouth was still set in a thin line and his voice firm.

Her eldest child was deadly serious.

"It's been my job to look after him all these years, and it's me he needs right now." Dean stated, his tone held no apology. He had no desire to hurt his mother, but his words were the truth. She hadn't been there to raise Sam. She didn't know when the kid needed to be prodded and when he needed to be left alone. She didn't know when he needed to be comforted and when some tough-love was in order. She didn't know that the younger man always found a way to blame himself for everything under the fucking sun, and how – on occasion - he needed to be told what a moron he was being for doing just that. She didn't know all the things he had been through and how it affected him.

She didn't know what Sam needed.

But Dean did.

Hell, he had made it his life's work to know.

He knew that Sam wouldn't open-up about his nightmares with their mom in the room. He would shove his feelings and memories into the back of his mind where they would lurk, waiting for the next moment to attack, all in a desperate effort to be strong for their mother. Mary would do more harm than good by trying to help Dean's kid brother. And while he knew it was painful for her to be left out, he would never be apologetic about doing what was best for Sam, even if that meant dismissing Mary Winchester from the room.

Because he was a brother first, before anything, he was Sam's big brother.

Mary was speechless. She had seen from the beginning how protective Dean was of his little brother, she had seen it when he was just a little boy and had witnessed it repeatedly since her return, but she hadn't realized until that moment, that Dean was as possessive as he was protective of Sam.

"Mom?" Her eldest prompted after a moment.

She swallowed hard, wishing for the hundredth time that day that things were different, and she knew more about her brave young soldiers.

"Okay." She agreed with a whisper and a nod, reluctantly stepping away and back towards her room.

"Thanks, Mom." Dean replied, graciously making it sound as though Mary had a choice in the matter.

She attempted a smile, reaching out and grabbing Dean's arm when he turned back to Sam's room. The hunter looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in question.

"Just tell Sam - tell him…" Mary faded off, searching for the right words, and quickly realizing she wasn't sure what they were. She didn't know her youngest boy very well; she didn't know what he was struggling with, and she didn't know what would bring him comfort.

A soft smile played on Dean's lips, as he patted his mother's hand.

"I will." He assured, as if he knew what it was Mary had been struggling to say.

When his mom released his arm, Dean made his way quickly back to his little brother.

Sam was still sitting on his bed, pulling threads from a small hole in the knee of his sweatpants, while he silently berated himself for not being able to keep it together. He cursed his trembling fingers and his watering eyes, fighting to keep his breathing level and not think about the memories that had played out in his dreams.

"Sammy?"

The younger man had failed to notice his brother's return until he heard his name. He glanced up to see only Dean making his way back into the room.

"You didn't have to do that…with Mom." He muttered, staring back down at his legs.

"Shut up, Sam. You're allowed to have some privacy. And besides, as much as she wants to help, Mom's not anywhere near ready to hear about the kind of shit you dream about. But I am." Dean added seriously.

"What happened to giving me privacy?" Sam questioned with a small smirk.

"I don't count. We grew up in each other's back pockets, dude, there ain't no privacy between us." Dean replied, staring down incredulously at the young man on the bed.

"I'm using that one next time you tell me not to go into your room." Sam quipped, forcing humor into his voice for the attempted joke.

Dean smirked for a moment, before growing serious again.

"I've never told you to stay out of my room before, Sammy, and I never will. We're brothers, what's mine is yours. It's always been that way. You know that."

Sam did know that. As much as Dean loved his room, he almost always kept his door open, and never once made Sam feel unwelcome. There were times during the trials when Sam had been so ill and had chosen his big brother's bed to curl up on and take a nap. Dean had never had any issue with it, never even mocked him for doing it. Often Sam had woken up to find the sheets pulled up over him and Dean camped out either next to him on the bed, or on the floor near by.

"What about the Impala?"

Dean frowned, not failing to miss the mischievous glint that momentarily brightened the pair of sorrowful hazel orbs. Sam knew the car had always been a home for the two of them, sure Dean was often its keeper, but that had never made it any less Sam's.

"Yes. Sam. Even the Impala." Dean grumbled, playing along, content when his juvenile act elicited a small chuckle from his little brother.

Dean took the moment of levity to nudge his brother over, sitting on the mattress next to Sam's knees once the kid reluctantly made space.

"What'd you dream about?" He queried solemnly.

The younger man's face fell as he inhaled a shaky breath, as much as he didn't want to relive his nightmare by describing it to his older brother, he knew he didn't have much of a choice. It may have been Sam that was often labeled as the stubborn one by their father, but Dean could be completely immovable when he wanted to be.

"Sammy." Dean prompted softly, placing his hand casually on one of the long legs stretched out next to him, hoping to subtly provide some comfort.

Sam's hazel orbs flashed between his fiddling fingers and his big brother.

"When I was down there … in the basement…she would do whatever she wanted to me, and I couldn't do anything about it. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I fought back, I couldn't get free. And I didn't think anyone was com-coming for me. It was like-like…" Sam choked out, shaking his head and sniffling miserably, as he fought to level his voice before attempting speech again.

"The cage." Dean whispered, his grip instinctively tightening about Sam's left knee, as emotion filled him.

San nodded.

"That's what my dream was about. It's stupid."

"It's not!" Dean snapped back.

"Dean, it was so long ago—

"It will never be long enough."

Sam's brow furrowed, as he gave his brother a questioning look. The older man's green eyes were alight with fire, Sam wasn't sure if it was anger of frustration, perhaps both.

"There is no amount of time that could pass that will make what happened in to you that cage okay. You don't need to be over it now, and you don't need to be over it twenty years from now. Sam, how many times are we going to have this discussion? What happened down there, what that fucking monster did to you, it isn't something that you get over. And it sure as shit isn't something that is healed by time."

Sam ducked his head, chewing on his bottom lip, Dean's absolution meant the world to him, but that didn't mean that he still wasn't frustrated with himself and his inability to move past it.

"And after the number of times just this year you have been in the same room as that bastard, hell that sonuvabitch was walking around our home just a little while ago, and then all the shit that went down in the basement. Sam, you have every reason to be messed in the head right now. It's amazing that you are only having nightmares, I would have had a fucking mental breakdown by now, if I were you."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's comment, knowing that Dean was being sincere, but also knowing that the older hunter had always been so much strong than he ever gave himself credit for. So much stronger than Sam.

"I know you had to keep it together because we had another end-of-the-world-crisis to deal with, but that's not the case right now. So, Sammy, if you need to fall apart a little, that's okay."

Sam smiled softly at Dean's offer. He knew his big brother had just given him a free-pass to have a massive chick-flick moment. And Sam loved him for it. But he didn't need to. All he needed was for Dean to be there, and he was.

"And I promise, kiddo, Lucifer ain't ever coming around here again. You've seen way too fucking much of him."

"Dean, it's fine, we needed him."

"Yeah, I know. And that was the only reason I let that dickbag come around here, but no more, especially not in our home. Where you are supposed to feel fucking safe!" Dean spat, shaking his head in disgust.

Sam was taken aback by his brother's vehement declaration, not failing to notice Dean's clenched fists. He observed the dark anger that obstructed the pair of vivid green eyes as they focussed somewhere on the floor.

"Dean." Sam called quietly.

The older man nodded his head slightly, indicating that he heard, but didn't avert his eyes from their random spot of focus. His anger was still present; Sam could sense it as much as he could see it.

Sam reached out, grabbing the balled-up fist that Dean was inadvertently pressing against his thigh.

"I never, once, didn't feel safe. Even when Lu…he was here." Sam explained calmly, as he held Dean's hand in his palm and uncurled the long calloused fingers one by one.

Dean looked up, to see his little brother staring down, focussing on the task of straightening each of his fingers. The hunter felt his heart warm at the sight of the familiar feeling and image. Sam had often done this when they were children, for longer than the kid himself could probably even remember. When they were little, Dean used to clench his hands when he was nervous, Sam would notice somehow – often before Dean did – and take one of his fists and slowly pull each finger out from where the nail was digging into his palm. Sam would almost do it subconsciously, while he was reading a book or watching TV. Dean used to just think it was like a weird hobby for the kid, but it didn't take him long to realize that it was Sam's little-brother-way of reassuring the older boy that he wasn't alone. That same task had been performed countless times throughout their childhood and into their teenage years, when Dean began making fists out of anger instead of anxiety. Neither of them ever spoke about the odd ritual, it was simply one of the many little quirks entwined in their brotherhood.

"You know why I never felt unsafe?"

The question pulled Dean from his recollections. "Because God put a power-muzzle on devil?" Dean ventured, silently marvelling at how weird their lives must be for that sentence to make any sense.

Sam shook his head, as he uncurled Dean's last finger.

"Because you were here. And while my big brother's around, nothing bad can happen to me." Sam declared with all the confidence of a young child.

Sam's gaze ventured up to meet his brother's, content to see the green orbs softening at his statement.

Dean could see the small smirk on the younger man's face, and wondered for a moment if his brother was messing with him, tossing back a phrase the Dean had used numerous times throughout their lives; but the hero-worship-puppy-dog-eyes he was sporting, clearly portrayed Sam's sincerity.

"Damn straight." Dean replied, cursing the way his voice cracked, betraying him and the level of emotion he was feeling.

Sam smiled warmly, before finally releasing Dean's newly-relaxed appendage.

"Tell me about your dream."

Before Dean was even able to finish his request, Sam was already shaking his head.

"No." Sam nearly shouted.

"Sam-

"No. Dean, no. I won't." He responded firmly.

Dean cursed softly under his breath. Throughout the years he had learned snippets about his little brother's time in the cage. Horrifying ramblings that had occurred when Sam was hopped up on pain killers and too out of it to sensor himself. After Sam's wall broke there had been nights the kid would wake up shaking and in near hysterics, on those nights Dean would literally hold the younger man together and would see glimpses into the cage from the haunted things Sam would whisper to himself. There were some hallucinations when Sam was being haunted by Lucifer, some where he would speak out loud without knowing it, or without knowing Dean was in the room, the older man would learn a lot in those scenarios as well. However, since Cas fixed Sam crumbling mind all those years ago, the occasional nightmares had been Dean's only glimpse into his kid brother's time in the cage.

Dean hated hearing about it, but at the same time he needed to. He needed to know exactly what his little brother was struggling with, so that he knew exactly how to help him.

He needed to know what Sam had suffered.

He needed to know everything he had failed to protect his kid from.

But no matter how many times he asked, Sam almost always refused. It was probably the only thing the younger man was ever tight-lipped about.

Sam knew his brother wanted details about the cage, and on the rare occasions – usually when Sam was too sick, drugged, or traumatized to sensor himself, Dean's gentle questioning would be indulged. Sam never begrudged his brother for taking advantage of his weakened state to get some answers. The way the younger hunter saw it, he owed the man all the information he wanted, because Dean had opened-up to him about hell, even when it caused the stoic man to breakdown in tears. But Sam couldn't seem to return the favor. Every time he tried to speak about it, tried to talk about some of the things that had happened to him in the cage, his body froze up, his mind went back down there, and his soul felt like it was being shredded to pieces…again. But more than that, the biggest reason Sam couldn't find it in himself to discuss the details of his hell, with his brother, was because he couldn't do that to Dean. Hearing about what happened to Sam, what was done to him both physically and mentally, would tear the hunter apart. And worse, if Dean ever knew how Lucifer had used him, used the one person on the planet Sam loved the most, to torture him, it would hurt his older brother in ways even Sam couldn't completely comprehend. Dean prided himself on how he looked out for Sam, being the younger man's guardian was such a crucial part of Dean's identity, Sam couldn't imagine what it would do to his older brother if he was to discover how Lucifer had used his body and voice to torment Sam.

No, Sam was not going to open-up about everything that happened to him in the cage, not now, and maybe not ever.

No matter how hypocritical it may seem.

No matter how it might frustrate Dean.

He knew it would be better for them both, especially Dean, if his darkest memories were never shared.

"Hey, cut it out with that. It's hard enough to find clothes to fit your sasquatch legs, without you picking them all to pieces." Dean chastised, swatting at Sam's hand.

Sam hadn't noticed that he'd been picking at the hole in his sweats again, until his older brother playfully smacked his hand away.

"Fine. Clearly you're not going to tell me about your dream." Dean paused, giving Sam a moment to hopefully change his mind, but the younger man simply shook his head, his eyes still staring down at his legs, where they had been trained since Dean asked to hear about the cage.

Dean sighed.

"Then tell me about the basement."

Sam looked up at that, his forehead crinkled as he squinted at his brother.

"What about it, you were there, you know—

"Not soon enough." Dean bit out, freshly pissed at how long it had taken him to find Sam.

The younger man pursed his lips in obvious disagreement, but didn't waste his time arguing that point.

"You know what happened." He finished.

It was Dean's turn to shake his head.

"I know she messed with you. Tortured you. But I don't know the details." Dean declared darkly.

Sam shrugged.

"It's over now, Dean. Cas healed me up, no scars or nothing." Sam said, nudging his leg against his brother, hoping the older man would take the bait.

No such luck.

"No physical scars, maybe, but you were fucking wrecked, man. I need to know what she did." Dean stated, his expression serious.

"Why?" Sam asked with a frown, looking down at the fingers he was twisting in his lap, fidgeting under his brother's scrutiny.

Dean's silence had Sam glancing back up, the mournful green eyes that met his searching ones, made his chest ache. Dean scarcely allowed his pain to shine through so unhindered. Sam had seldom seen his older brother look so vulnerable.

"Because I need to know. I need to know what I wasn't there to protect you from." Dean confessed, his voice hushed and rough with emotion.

"Dean—

Sam made to argue, to insist that none of it was his brother's fault, but Dean's next words stole the response from his tongue.

"Please, Sammy."

Sam could rarely deny his brother anything he asked for, especially when he pleaded like that, sounding so exposed and desperate.

The younger man found himself nodding, before he even had the chance to mentally decide, his body reacting so instinctively to Dean's need.

Dean's hand returned to his brother's leg, resting patiently as he waited for him to begin. He knew Sam was only sharing the events of the basement because Dean needed him to, and appreciated that. But he also new that Sam had to get it out, had to talk about what happened, because thirty-plus years of being the kid's big brother taught him that if Sam didn't talk about things, they festered.

Dean also wasn't lying when he said he needed to hear it. He needed to know what that bitch had done to his little brother, how he had suffered before Dean had arrived. He needed to know how severely he had failed his kid this time. One day Dean would hear the details about the cage as well, because he needed to know and Sam needed to get it out, but the younger man wasn't ready for that yet, and that was fine with Dean. He could wait.

One step at a time.

Sam was still opening and closing his mouth, no words coming out as he attempted to figure out where to start.

"I know she shot you and took you to some fucking vet to get you stitched up."

Sam nodded.

"There was a bandage around your foot when we got you out of there. What happened to it?" Dean prompted, giving the hunter a place to begin.

"Blowtorch." Sam rasped with a wince.

Dean flinched, a string of violent curses and murderous intentions were recited under his breath. His eyes glared down at his clenched fists for a moment, before he forced them to relax and returned his stare to the worried hazel eyes focussed on him. The older man inwardly snorted, because of course his stupid little brother would be more worried about Dean, that he was about himself and the egregious acts that were committed against him.

"What else?" Dean asked, his voice steady, even as a familiar rage simmered inside of him.

Sam told his brother everything. Dean's jaw clenched when he spoke of the cold shower, he flinched when Sam spoke of the blowtorch's unfortunate encounter with his foot. Dean's nails bit into his palms when the younger man discussed the various objects and tools that were used to draw blood. His green eyes grew upon Sam's mention of the taser – the brother's history with such a tool was a bleak one to say the least. Dean's grip on Sam's leg tightened to an almost painful degree when his described his failed attempts to escape. And his entire body went rigid with anger when Sam announced that he had been drugged.

"It made me see things." He stated vaguely.

Dean squinted.

"What things?" He croaked, not sure he wanted to know, but knowing he needed to.

Sam shrugged.

"Just things." He evaded.

"Like what? We talking a leprechaun riding a unicorn, here? Or an evil clown on a killing spree?"

Sam scowled at the mention of his more childish fear, before answering.

"It was like I was getting some sort of flashback special of every bad thing that had ever happened, every one we ever lost. Mom, Jess, Kevin, … you." Sam finished softly.

"I should have killed that fucking bitch when I had the chance." Dean seethed.

Sam couldn't help but quirk a small smile at the typical Dean Winchester reaction.

"It's not fucking funny, Sam! She shot you, fucking carved you up, torched your foot, fucking drugged you—

"I've had worse." Sam interrupted his brother's irate tirade.

"That doesn't make it okay." Dean responded bitterly.

"No, maybe not. But I'm good now. You got me out."

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother's praise.

"I thought you were dead, Dean." Sam choked out, his eyes welling up at the memory of how hopeless he had felt, how alone.

Dean's anger dissipated, at the level of despair shining through his brother's eyes.

"I'm right here, Sammy." He promised gruffly, leaning forward without hesitation and pulling his brother into his chest.

Sam slumped against him, his long arms quickly snaking around Dean's midsection as he pressed his forehead into the older man's collarbone. Dean tried to blink the moisture from his eyes as he felt his little brother fall against him, his mind flashing back to the cemetery where they had said goodbye. He rested his hand on the back of his brother's head, sliding it into the too-long brown hair, as his other arm wrapped securely around Sam's broad shoulders.

"And I'm not going anywhere." He whispered into the kid's ear.

Sam released a shaky breath, his grip tightening, his hands fisting the back of Dean's shirt.

"Promise?" He whispered through his tears.

Dean swallowed back the growing lump in his throat.

"Promise." He replied.

Only then did Sam's body truly melt into his big brother, the tension vanishing.

They remained within the embrace for a moment, each giving and receiving much-needed comfort.

"You and your chic-flick moments." Sam muttered into his brother's chest, a smirk pulling at his lips.

Dean chucked softly, the sound reverberating through Sam as his brother's arms tightened around him for a moment, before releasing.

"Like you haven't started your fair share of sap-sessions."

Sam snickered at the comment, fondly shaking his head as he swiped the lingering moisture from his eyes.

"Whatever you say, Jerk." He responded, his smile growing.

"Don't forget it, Bitch." Dean shot back with a grin.

The brothers relished the increasingly rare moment of simple joy, both feeling a strong sense of peace settle over them.

The two men had been through more than any other person could ever imagine.

They had survived more.

They had lost more.

And they had suffered more.

But they both fell to sleep that night feeling whole and at peace.

Because regardless of the countless traumas of their past, the growing struggles of their present, and the numerous trials of their future, the Winchester brothers knew that together, they would make it through.

Because they had each other.

They fought for each other.

They listened to each other.

They shared each other's burdens.

They carried each other.

They had faith in each other

They protected each other.

They put each other first.

They had died for each other, a decision they would both choose to repeat, no matter the consequences.

Their brotherhood was strong, selfless, and constant.

It was where they found their peace.

It was what kept them sane.

It was what kept them going.

It was their saving grace.

Later that night, when Mary Winchester would tip-toe her way undetected down the hallway, and peak into Sam's room, her heart would be warmed by the scene that would be waiting there. Her eldest would be sleeping slumped with his back against the headboard, his legs stretched out in front of him and an arm curled protectively around the shoulders of the man at his side. Her youngest would be resting with his head pressed against his brother's hip, his long legs curled up under the blanket, and his arm stretched out across the older man's thighs.

Mary would drink in the sight of her children, as she silently observed the bond they shared, one that was blindingly obvious even in their state of unconsciousness.

She would feel both envious and proud of their connection.

She would feel protective of the two men she knew little about.

She would feel despair for missing so many years with them.

And when she examined the way they appeared to cling to one another as they slept, she would wonder, with an ache in her chest, just how much her boys had been through.

She would question what the world had done to her babies.

What damage had been executed in her absence?

Though, Mary was not entirely sure she wanted to know the answer.

But she had to know.

She had to know how many times they had needed her, and she hadn't been there for them.

She had to know to what extent her children had paid for her mistakes.

She had to know it all, so that she could find someway to ask for forgiveness from her boys, not that she would expect to receive it.

But they were strong, and kind, and she had hope.

As for forgiving herself?

Mary knew she never would.

Her worst nightmare had come true.

Her babies were living a life she had never wanted for them, one she hadn't even wanted for herself.

They were living a life that was constant danger.

A life that did so much damage to a person's soul.

A life that would just keep taking and taking until it had your last breath.

Her boys were living a life that would cost the everything in the end.

And it was her fault.

For that, she would never, could never, forgive herself.

The End

Note: Thanks for reading! If you have the time to comment/review, that would be fantastic! My writing may be mediocre at best, but I spend quite a bit of time on it and it would be really nice to know that someone appreciates my fics, as flawed as they may be. - Sam