Disclaimer: I don't own Sam, Dean or anything Supernatural. Which is probably a good thing, because I'd get all maternal and keep them safely tucked up far away from evil, which would make for boring television. Also, the little town the Winchesters are visiting and all its inhabitants belong to the great god Joss Whedom. Only sue me if you want a collection of Australian law books, which are pretty much the only things of value I have.

Author's Note: I come from a land down under; forgive me for the Australian spelling and expressions.

Dean's heart was breaking.

He'd always though that was just a cliché, something that any and all of his many, many English teachers would attack with their evil red pens if he dared to write it, but as he sat in the corner of the motel room, listening to his father and his little brother yell at each other, he was having trouble breathing through the pain in his chest.

The trouble was that his Dad and Sammy were so damn alike. Stubborn. Certain that they were right. Unable to see anyone else's point of view. Definitely unable to see each other's point of view.

It was over soccer, of all stupid things. Sammy wanted to join a soccer team. But practice and games would take up time, time that John wanted Sammy to put into weapons training.

John thought his younger son was being deliberately immature.

Sam thought that his father didn't love him.

Dean was different. Dean knew exactly where both of them were coming from. Dean knew that Sam just wanted to be normal, to do something that every other kid his age took for granted. He wasn't being immature; he was being a thirteen-year-old. Which was, surprise, surprise, exactly what he was.

And Dean knew that John did love Sammy, like he loved Dean, and that everything John did came from that love.

But then, Dean remembered before. He remembered a Dad who would a toss a football with him for hours. A Dad who taught him to catch a baseball. A Dad who would take him camping, back in the days before they knew what lurked in the woods, and sit in the dark with Dean on his lap, as they both watched the fire burn, until Dean fell asleep, waking up the next morning snug in his sleeping bag with no memory of how he got there. And Dean knew that that was the sort of Dad John Winchester had hoped to be for Sam.

Dean didn't have too many memories of the time before, but one of them was of the day Sammy was born.

…

Dean had woken up in a house that was strangely quiet. Usually his mornings had a soundtrack: Dad singing in the shower; Mom listening to the radio as she fixed breakfast; the two of them laughing together. This morning, though, the house was silent.

Starting to worry, Dean came downstairs to find Mrs Whedon from next door sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. As Dean entered she stood up.

"Hey there, Dean. You hungry? Would you like me to fix you breakfast?"

Dean was normally starving when he woke, but at the moment he was too worried about his missing parents.

"Where's Mommy?"

"That baby's finally decided to arrive. Your Dad took your Mom to the hospital last night." Mrs Whedon smiled down at him. "You'll have a little brother or sister soon."

The baby! Dean seemed to have been waiting for this baby to arrive forever! He wasn't sure how he felt about it. It had been pretty cool feeling it move inside his Mom, but it had made his active Mommy tired and slow. She had spent lots of the last few weeks resting and Dean had missed playing with her. He blamed the baby. And he wasn't sure that the baby's arrival would make things better. He was used to being the only kid; knew that he was the centre of his parents' world. Would things change when there was someone else around? Would Mommy and Dad still have time for him?

Dean didn't have any more time to think about the baby and the changes it might create before his Dad burst in through the kitchen door. Dean had never seen his Dad like this before. John Winchester looked so happy that Dean could have sworn his face was glowing. He swooped down on Dean, picked him up, and swung him round and round until Dean was breathless and giddy. Then he held Dean tightly in his arms and told Dean that he had a little brother.

Dean didn't remember the trip to the hospital. He did remember his first sight of his mother, sitting up in a hospital bed, holding out her arms and smiling at him. And he remembered his first sight of his brother, the white-wrapped bundle his father had picked up from the crib in the corner of the room.

John was still looking like he'd won the lottery. He was smiling down at that bundle as though it was the most wonderful thing in the world, and as Dean watched, he lifted the bundle to his eye-level and kissed it. "Hello, again, son."

For a moment Dean felt jealous of the bundle. He was Daddy's son. Why did Daddy and Mommy need another one? Wasn't he enough? Then Daddy held the bundle out to him and asked him if he'd like to hold his brother. And with Dean sitting on the bed, his legs stuck straight out before him, his mother behind him with her hands on his shoulders to keep him stable, John put Sammy into his arms for the very first time.

Sammy didn't look like a newborn baby. Not that Dean had seen many of them, but he had expected something red and crumpled, with eyes squeezed closed. Sammy's eyes were wide open, and they gazed into Dean's as though Sammy was reading his mind.

At that moment Dean fell in love with his little brother, a love that nothing on earth or in hell could tarnish.

"So, you're a big brother now, Dean," John said, smiling down at his elder son. "How does it feel?"

And that's when Dean realised that he was a whole new person. Sammy had made him a new person. He was a big brother, and he couldn't imagine anything better to be.

…

Exactly six months later, John Winchester had put Sammy into Dean's arms again, and Dean had carried his little brother out of the fire. At that moment he had become Sammy's sworn protector, willing to give his life to keep his little brother safe. But the fire only really confirmed what Dean had known from the day Sammy was born. His little brother was the centre of his universe.

After the fire, John didn't glow when he looked at Sammy. But whenever Dean looked at Sammy he felt that glow inside him. Sammy was Dean's light.

…

Through the next thirteen years Dean had held onto the images of the day Sammy was born. His father's joy at Sammy's birth. His mother's arms around him and her hands on his shoulders. And Sammy's eyes, gazing into his.

And now the man who had practically shone at Sammy's birth and that baby were yelling at each other in a cheap motel room, while Dean sat watching and felt his heart break.

Finally, Sammy turned and stormed out. Dean watched his father sit down heavily on the closest bed, his eyes closed, as though the argument with his youngest had tired him out more than a hunting trip. For a long moment there was silence. Sammy's final words were ringing in Dean's ears, over and over and over again.

"I hate this screwed-up family!"

Dean didn't think he'd ever get rid of the sound. Screwed-up family. Sammy was mad at him as well as their Dad. He was rejecting Dean as well as John.

Finally, John Winchester opened his eyes and looked over at Dean.

"Go after him."

"Look," Dean tried, "I think Sammy just needs some time alone. He'll walk it out and calm down." Dean didn't want to follow his little brother too soon and risk another rejection.

"No. He needs to get back here now. It's getting dark; you know this town isn't safe."

That was true. The whole reason they were in this tiny So-Cal town was that it seemed to be some sort of weird centre of supernatural activity. Pastor Jim had put John Winchester on to it when John had been looking for somewhere that he could settle down for a while, let Dean and Sammy spend some time in the same school, and still go hunting. This small, one-Starbucks town had provided John with enough evil sons of bitches that needed hunting to keep him satisfied, while allowing Dean and Sam to spend more than a few weeks in the one place.

All of which meant that Sammy definitely should not be wandering the streets alone after dark, no matter how angry he was. So Dean snagged his jacket, grabbed Sam's, stuck his sixteenth-birthday-present-gun into the waistband of his jeans, and followed his brother out into the night.