Big Brother Strikes Again
K Hanna Korossy

Dean had offered the invitation reluctantly, but Trenton had access to intel they didn't, intel they needed to figure this case out. He still didn't expect it when the guy promptly opened the Impala's back door and slid in.

He glanced over at Trenton's Jeep—what was wrong with freakin' following them?—then at Sam, who also looked startled.

Dean frowned. "Hey."

"Yeah?"

Dean tipped his head to the right, and Sam followed him around to the back of the car.

He opened the trunk, giving them an excuse to be back there but also cutting them off from Trenton's line of sight. Dean still took a step away from the car—he knew from experience that sound carried through Baby's insides—and leaned in to Sam. "You okay with this?"

Sam looked a little confused but shrugged. "He's not exactly a civilian. And we need his connections."

"That's not what I mean." Dean gave him a significant look.

He saw when the penny dropped. Sam shook his head. "That was a long time ago."

"There isn't a statute of limitations on tying you up and torturing you, dude," Dean hissed.

Sam's mouth twisted into a faint smile. "He was trying to avenge his dad's death, man. I get it. We've all been our less-than-better selves at some point."

Dean wasn't as surprised by that as by Trenton's presence. Sam had too much empathy for his own good sometimes. And Dean was pretty sure he was remembering some torturing he himself had done not long ago. But there was a big difference between roughing up a demon and tormenting Dean's little brother.

He cleared his throat, sliding his gaze toward the back seat.

"I could still rip his lungs out."

Sam choked on a laugh, eyes softening, going distant.

00000

He was four; he didn't remember it at all. But Dad had told the story frequently enough.

They'd been at the playground, back when Dad still sometimes treated them like kids. Sam had been taking turns at the slide when he'd started bawling. A kid had pushed him half off the ladder to cut in front of him. By the time John got there, Dean was looming over the quivering kid, threatening him with bodily harm. Of course, the mother had been scandalized.

John, however, had sounded amused and proud whenever he told the story. And quoted a wrathful 8-year-old Dean promising to "rip his lungs out" if the kid ever hurt Sammy again.

00000

There were other times scattered through elementary school, inevitable when you were always the new kid, and a scrawny one at that. There'd been Josh Bilder, Jeremy S-something, Dirk McGregor…oh, yeah, Chris Roorda. But for some reason, Ronnie Lawson in third grade stuck out. Maybe because things were so tight then and Sam knew Dean scrimped to be able to put together those meager lunches for him, having them stolen was particularly upsetting.

Until Dean realized how hungry Sam was and coaxed the truth out of him. Then sat beside him, arm around Sam's shaking shoulders, and said, "Tell him your big brother's gonna rip his lungs out if he doesn't quit it."

Sam had blinked a moment, and declined. But Ronnie stopped stealing his lunch the very next day, and while Lawson was obviously still breathing, Sam was pretty sure his big brother had found another way to make that happen.

00000

The first few months at Stanford they'd stayed in touch, until awkwardness and pain finally severed communication. Dean had heard all about those first set of classes, though, dorm life, the amazing vegetables Sam had discovered in the cafeteria and the new friends he was making. And also the guy on his hall who had taken immediate dislike to Sam for some reason and did everything from leaving humiliating notes on his door, to hiding a dead rat in his room.

"You want me to come down there and rip his lungs out?" Dean offered, only half-joking.

Sam laughed it off and told Dean about the virus Sam's mad computer genius roommate had helped him plant on the guy's laptop instead. He didn't tell Dean how ridiculously warm the offer made him feel.

00000

Dean was mad at him for using his powers and, even worse, disappointed in him. Sam swung between ashamed and defiant, especially since Dean had come back so broken from Hell and Lilith needed to pay. It was an uneasy stand-off.

Then a malevolent ghost in a teenage girl had stabbed Sam with a compass and kicked him where it hurt the most.

Dean had hovered over him from the moment Sam limped out of the school to when he offered him a cold one to nestle in his lap. And then he'd vowed to rip the ghost's lungs out.

Sam stayed focused on the case. But a little part of him soaked in the relief that his brother was still looking out for him.

00000

And when the vetalas grabbed Sam, and Dean forgot about mourning for Bobby to pour down wrath upon them. And when that Nazi almost killed Sam, and Dean wasn't so mad about Purgatory that he didn't hold Sam and swear vengeance on all of Hitler's army. And even after Sam had forgiven Gadreel, Dean was ready to stab Sam's possessor on sight.

They'd both been killed, trapped in Hell, orphaned, lost and regained their souls, saved each other, and "lived" more times than any humans on earth, and Dean was still threatening bodily anyone who dared mess with his kid brother.

00000

"Sam?" He seemed far away, but not back in Trenton's hands, not if the little smile on his face was any sign. Dean nudged him. "Hey. Earth to Major Tom."

"What?" Sam said intelligently, shaking himself.

"You want me to beat up the Jarhead for you?"

"No," Sam said with a roll of the eyes that looked suspiciously fond. "I'm good."

Dean gave him a long look, but Sam seemed like he meant it, so he let it go.

For now.

00000

Sam wasn't too surprised, however, when Cole pulled him aside at one point to apologize for what he'd done to Sam while looking for Dean.

Or when Sam got another apology by text a day after they wrapped up the case, for having taken the liberty of calling him "Sammy."

The End