On a hot summer night driving through Kansas, Sam is reminded of Dean's mysterious, secret scar. Sam has never known how his brother really earned it, and finally is able to get to the truth when Dean is forced to open up about an old secret family memory he has been hiding from Sam for years. "Dean...what did Dad do to you?" Wee-Chester flashbacks and brotherly love. No slash or wincest.

Tag to "Nightmare." Set in season one, right after the brothers leave the Millers. Please leave a review, because they are very much loved and they brighten my day! :)

All Things Considered

"If I had just said something else...gotten through to him somehow..." Sam shook his head as he stepped out into the evening air, giving the gravel a scuff with the toe of his shoe.

"Ah, don't do that." His older brother trailed behind with a less remorseful tone.

"Do what?"

"Torture yourself. It wouldn't have mattered what you said. Max was too far gone."

"When I think about how he looked at me, man, right before...I should have done something."

"Come on, man, you risked your life. I mean, yeah, maybe if we had gotten there 20 years earlier."

"Well I'll tell you one thing..." Sam gazed overtop of the roof of the Impala and met his brother with an earnest stare. "We're lucky we had Dad."

Dean's eyes went wide, slightly taken aback by his brother's sudden inspired appreciation. "Well, I never thought I'd hear you say that."

"Well, he could have gone a whole other way after Mom. A little more tequila, a little less demon hunting...then we would have had Max's childhood. All things considered...we turned out okay. Thanks to him."

Dean shuffled with his keys. His eyes trailed back to the Miller residence. He paused before meeting his brother again. His gaze resting on the house, with a sentimental look radiating from his eyes.

"Dean?"

Dean's brief moment of hesitance vanished. "Yeah." He gave his brother a shrug of agreement. "All things considered."

"Here I go again on my own!"

Sam's blurry eyes shot open in a dizzy panic when the speakers on dashboard suddenly erupted with a thundering clamour of drums and electric guitar riffs. His shoulders slumped down from his sudden state of disordered alarm and he slunk down further into his seat. Until he had been so rudely interrupted by Dean's head banging collection of cassette tapes, Sam had somehow found a way to drift into the unwelcoming realm of his subconscious. Sam found it restless and awkward trying to fall asleep these days what with the constant haunting nightmares of Jessica and the clutches of darkness and flame that swallowed her stiff and terrified expression as she was engulfed in a wreathing inferno on the freshly painted apartment ceiling. And when he wasn't being consumed in the unnaturally vivid re-enactments of his memories, his dreams would often present him with other horrific, foreboding premonitions of death coming to those he had never even laid eyes on. Between the unbelievably lucid night terrors and the ominous, menacing death visions, Sam had a hell of a time getting any real sleep at all.

"Goin' down the only road I've ever known!"

Yesterday, he nearly fell flat on his face when he rolled out of bed when he was unpleasantly awoken to Black Sabbath's Paranoid blasting from the little bedside alarm clock radio right besides his ear drum. This morning, it was Quiet Riot's Bang Your Head smashing combination. Tonight, Sam was greeted with Whitesnake's Here I go again, accompanied by his brother's hollering.

"Like a drifter I was born to walk alone!"

Sam winced as Dean proceeded to turn up the dial on the radio and press down on the accelerator. Sam could practically feel the music blaring out of the speakers and rumble throughout his body. Dean always liked his stone age classics to really thunder. But Sam rarely ever complained about the tunes. Whatever kept Dean awake and focused at this time of night had a good rep in Sam's book.

The first thing Sam noticed besides the boisterous roar of Whitesnake's drum solo, was the unexpected blast of heat that suddenly washed over his body and through the thick layers of his jacket, plaid, cotton button down and t-shirt. The humidity caused a slight frizz in his shaggy mop of chocolate brown hair and a sweaty residue to perspire on his forehead and the layers of material on his underarms. Sam had lost all real sense of time and location hours since leaving Michigan and knew that they had to be somewhere on the outskirts of Florida to run into such a God awful humidity so suddenly.

"An' I've made up my mind!"

"Dean," Sam hardly muttered above a whisper in a hoarse and raspy drone. When Dean didn't reply and continued to holler along with the music Sam called out in louder irritated tone. "Dean!"

"I ain't wasting no more time!"

His command was drowned out over the crashing of symbols and whining of guitar strings. Annoyed with Dean's ignorant dismissal, Sam sat up straight in his seat and strained his voice to flow overtop of the music in authoritative demand, "Dean!"

Dean threw back his head and rolled his eyes with impatience, twirling the dial until the music was only a whining bellow of background noise. "What!?" His brother shot him an impatient glare. Separating Dean from his music was like separating a mother lion from her cubs. A damn stupid and dangerous thing to do.

"Where are we?"

Dean's expression changed into a fierce glower, one of those looks of intolerance that said "That's what you're interrupting me for!?" As if Sam's question was too insignificant to be bothered with.

"Just outside of Kansas." Dean muttered finally through gritted teeth.

Sam's eyes widened in surprise. "Kansas?" So Florida was definitely off the mark. "Well drive faster before this freakin' heat wave gives me an ulcer." Sam wiggled furiously to pull his jacket out through his seatbelt and toss it into the backseat.

"Yeah, you're tellin' me." Dean agreed with a quick wipe of his brow. "We'll be lucky if we make it another hour before the freakin' engine overheats." Dean increased pressure on the accelerator and the 1967 Impala continued to speed down the bumpy gravel roads of the country, whizzing past what seemed like endless fields of corn stalks towering high above the car.

Sam turned away and rolled down his passenger seat window. A rush of hot air streamed through the frame and a revolting scent of the country night air flowed into Sam's nostrils. He gazed back at his brother uneasily with a queasy look.

Dean made a sickly face of disgust as he took in a whiff of the foul manure stench in the air. "I hate the country."

As Dean stuck out his arm making a quick grab for the dial on the radio again, the corner of Sam's eye caught quick glimpse of an uncomfortably familiar deep, red and brownish gash near the top of his right forearm. Dean's one and only scar. All these years of hunting, all these years of slashing and shooting and clawing, Dean had managed to end up with only one long, thin scar curving along the top of his forearm. And the weird thing was, he didn't even get it on a hunt.

A bicycle accident, just after Sam was born, is how Dean claimed he had earned that scar. Just a kid, barely even four and Dean was supposed to have crashed into something hard enough and sharp enough, riding a bicycle with it's training wheels still attached, to create a deep, red scar to last for the next 20 years.

Sam never bought it. He knew something else had caused that scar. But Dean stuck with his story. Sam never really pressed it. Mainly because he hardly ever saw it. Dean had successfully kept it well hidden over the years. Never wearing less than 2 layers at a time. Never wearing t-shirts alone or any sort of shirt with sleeves shorter than what could cover down to at least the top of his forearm. His leather jacket didn't even provide the option of ever putting up his sleeves so there would be no accidental sneaky peeks for unwelcome strangers. No one ever questioned it because no one ever saw it. Except Sam. Even tonight, when Dean had surrendered to the sudden sweltering heat and assumed it would be safe enough to remove his jacket and roll up his sleeves far enough to reveal the tail end of the mark, figuring it would be dark enough the car for Sam not to notice, Sam still managed to catch a quick glance before Dean pulled back his arm from the dial and began hollering along with the music again.

"You still have that?" Dean caught Sam's lips mouthing the words and rolled his eyes as he turned down the speakers again. "Dude, you're killing me here, man!" Casting Sam an irritated glance Dean grumbled impatiently. "What now?"

Maybe it was the severity of the heat that had caused Dean to be so unnaturally edgy that night, or maybe it was because Dean had nearly gotten himself shot a few hours before, or maybe it was because he was finally beginning to face the reality that Sam might really be some sort of freakish physic fortune teller, but Sam was beginning to think otherwise.

Ever since leaving the crime scene in Michigan, Dean had been extremely cranky and overly obnoxious. If Dean had short nerves that meant something was distracting him, something was on his mind. Max Miller's homicidal rampage, seeking revenge on his family for his tortuous childhood past, seemed to have stirred up some unresolved emotions in Dean that Sam couldn't quite put his finger on. Sam could usually read his brother like a book. He could pinpoint Dean's every emotion and reaction like second nature. Even in the two years of separation since Stanford, Sam had never lost his brotherly insight. Something was clearly troubling Dean. Something about Millers. But Sam wasn't sure if he was brave enough to pry into it tonight, especially with Dean's short temper and anxious nerves.

"That scar," Sam gestured towards Dean's forearm. "You still have it..."

Dean glanced down quickly at his arm as if he hadn't acknowledged it for awhile. He met Sam's inquisitive stare with a hint of annoyance and a well duh sort of look. "Yeah, so?"

"I dunno." Sam shrugged innocently. "Seems like you've had that thing forever."

"That's 'cause I have had it since forever, Sam." Dean's intolerant tone didn't throw off Sam's intrusive eyes.

"How'd you get that thing again, Dean?"

Dean's made a face as if he was beginning to get fed up with Sam's uninvited prying. "I told you. Like a million years ago on my bike."

Sam raised an eyebrow and hesitated before to pressing on. "Is that what you're sticking with? After 20 years, you still can't tell me the truth."

"That is the truth, Sammy." Dean retorted defensively.

"Right," Sam scoffed. "Because a four year old could crash his bike up so bad that it would leave a scar for the next 20 years. Dad would never have let that happen."

"Well, I don't know what to tell you, Sam. I was a real Evil Knievel back then. I got into all sorts of crazy ass shenanigans when I was a kid. Now quit you're pryin' and lemme listen to my tunes." Before Dean could reach for the dial again Sam pushed on, "Why do you always do that?"

"Do what!?" Dean suddenly flared. He was clearly not in the mood to deal with Sam's touchy- feely self healing, sharing and caring philosophy tonight, but it didn't stop Sam. A simple answer like a bike accident may have satisfied him when he was a kid but not since Dean had brought him back from Stanford. Not since everything they'd already been through. He was sick of the secrets and half truths. Maybe Dean was particularly irritable tonight, maybe it had something to do with the Millers, maybe it didn't, but Dean hadn't let that scar slip in years and Sam just couldn't let it go.

"That thing, where you always try to keep stuff like this from me. I'm you're brother Dean, I deserve to know the truth-"

"Oh, Gawwwd." Dean let out a moan of frustration. "Sam, you're paranoid. It's a damn scar, alright? From like a million years ago. Just get over it-"

"You've been acting weird since we left the Millers, Dean. I can't just get it over it."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"You never let anyone see that scar, Dean. Something's gotta be on you're mind to make you so careless."

"Oh, so lemme get this straight." Dean fired the younger hunter a deadly stare. "You think that me thinkin' about the Millers brought out some sort of subconscious tug in my little lonely heart that made me secretly wanna expose this thing? Come on Sam, I don't buy this mumbo jumbo Freud crap."

"I'm just saying," Sam turned to face his brother with an equally intense stare. "You expect me to share all my secrets with you. Hell, you're always pryin' into my nightmares and visions about Jessica."

"That's not prying." Dean defended confidently. "That is precaution. You are my back up. I can't have you at anything less than 100 percent. You gotta be able to back up my ass and if you're too busy palm reading and staring into crystal balls, I could get into some very deep crap."

"So you think that you can know everything about me, but I can't show even the slightest bit of genuine concern for you?"

"Not when it comes to stuff like this."

"Like what?"

"Like personal stuff, Sam."

"I'm you're brother."

"Exactly."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because I'm trying to protect you."

"What if I don't want you're protection? I'm not a kid anymore, Dean. I can handle the truth."

"Not about this."

"What could possibly make you be so secretive over a scar that happened a million years ago?"

"Because I don't want you thinkin' that Dad-" Dean stopped in mid sentence. His expression froze and his mouth closed. He turned his attention back onto the road as Sam knit his eyebrows together with an insatiable curiosity welling up inside. "Dad?" He lowered his tone while still staring at his brother.

"What does Dad have to do with anything?"

"Nothin.'" Dean answered immediately in a short dismissive mumble.

Sam swallowed thickly. A tangled knot of dread suddenly weaved itself inside his stomach. Dad? How would Dad have anything to do with it? Why would Dean want to cover it up so bad? What does it have to do with the Millers?

A hundred dreadful thoughts a second whizzed through Sam's mind before Dean shook his head. "Just forget it, alright, Sam?"

Sam couldn't forget it. Not something like this. He wouldn't let it go. Part of Dean already knew that. Once Sam had a bite on a hook he wouldn't let up until he reeled it in. He wasn't going to stop asking until he got the answer. And Dean would give in with one look at his baby brother's pleading puppy dog gaze.

"Look, I..." Dean trailed off as he fixed his gaze on the road ahead. He cleared his throat and mumbled uneasily, "I try to protect you from the stuff I can, Sammy. I've been trying to avoid this since you were a kid. So will you please just let this one go? For me?"

Dean finally turned to look at Sam with weary sort of plead in his eye. Sam mirrored his glance, but with an insatiable longing for an answer, he placed his hand firmly on his brother's shoulder and narrowed his eyes.

"Dean...what did Dad do to you?"

Dean didn't reply. His tense, ridged fingers wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. He didn't dare turn to look at his brother. He could hear the burning curiosity in Sam's voice. But he could also hear the fear.

This was ridiculous. Dean had been protecting his brother from this very conversation for over 20 years and squirmed at the thought of letting it all out now.

"Whatever you're keeping from me I can handle. You don't need to protect me anymore, Dean."

Dean scoffed and finally turned to give Sam a cockeyed smirk. "Are you kidding with that?"

Sam threw up his hands in his defence. "Feel free to save my ass from all the blood sucking, skin ripping, hellions that you want. But that doesn't give you the right to keep me in the dark. I don't need protection from your memories."

"Then why are you so damn curious?"

"Cause I wanna help you." Sam's lips finally began to curve into what may have eventually turned into a smug smirk, "Cause you're my big brother."

Dean cautiously met his brother's unmistakable arrogant grin with a mirrored glance. "Boy, you sure do know how to play you're cards, Sammy."

Sam shrugged. "It's a gift." He gestured back to the deep, threadlike line trailing up towards Dean's bunchy rolled up plaid sleeves. "What really happened?" The satisfied smirk vanished from Sam's face as quickly as it had come. His eyes leered solemnly on his brother's unwavering gaze out the windshield window.

Dean drew in a long breath, "It happened like a month after Mom died."

Sam's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "A month?"

The older hunter nodded without removing his hard locked stare from the road ahead. "I was four, you would have been about...7 months old."

Sam said nothing in response. He kept his eyes focused intently on his brother's face trying to read every expression as Dean began to recall the faint memory. "We we're staying at Bobby's. You, me and Dad had been staying there since the fire."

Sam mentally cringed at the reference. Truth be told, he didn't remember a single thing about that night. Or their mother. But he knew his brother did. Dean never talked much about before. Before the yellow eyed demon. When their mother was still alive. And he certainly never got into the few months after. Sam couldn't even imagine what Dean must have been going through to lose their mother at such a young age. And on top of that, being exposed to all the real horrific nightmares that were really out there, Dean had probably been a wreck at before he'd hit five.

"Dad was..." Dean trailed off, searching for the right words. "He was pretty messed up after everything. He didn't take very well right away..." Dean cleared his throat and lowered his tone. "Look, you have to understand that our Dad was nothing like Max Miller's father, alright? He wasn't a dead beat prick that came home wasted every night and beat the shit outta me or nothin' like that. I want to make sure you got that."

It wasn't a question but Sam nodded anyway.

"He just...he had a few rough nights after Mom. There were...a couple of times where he came home real late and spent the next morning hung over the edge of the toilet bowl, but he never made it a regular thing."

Dean paused. Sam could see his eyes mentally recollecting the memory with a sense of caution. Obviously it was not one that Dean liked to visit often. "But there...was this one night." He finally muttered after a few brief seconds of silence. "It was raining real hard outside. Thunder and lightning. Never really scared me of course," Sam watched closely as his brother's expression began to soften as he spoke. "But you...I don't know if it was the thunder or whatever, but you just wouldn't stop crying..."

22 years ago...

Dean threw a tight clasp over his ears as another sudden roar of menacing thunder rumbled overhead. He kept his hands firmly flattened in a vain attempt to drown out the fierce bellowing growl of the storm. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut when a blinding jolt of lightning flashed outside the window. He sunk down hoping to find some sort of comforting reassurance in the stiff, rock solid mattress and itchy, prickly wool blankets in Uncle Bobby's spare room. Dean hated the thunder. Especially now since Mommy wasn't coming to sing him to sleep anymore. Dad said Mommy was never going to sing to him again because she was singing with the angels now. But Dean couldn't understand why he could never hear the angels singing...

Dean let out a startled whimper as another explosion of thunder crashed directly overtop of Uncle Bobby's house. He slid down underneath the sheets and threw another scratchy knit cover over his head.

He reached back under his pillow and wrapped his shivering fingers around the thin cylinder of a tiny flashlight. After fiddling with the batteries for a moment, Dean flicked the switch on and he swivelled around a bright circular beam of light underneath the blankets.

"Don't worry, Sammy." Dean whispered in a tentative and trembling attempt to reassure his baby brother. Dad said that he must always be very brave for Sammy. He was the oldest and it was his responsibility to set a good example. "I'll find Rufus."

He squirmed around cautiously under the blankets in search of Sammy's favorite stuffed canine. As he reluctantly edged towards the edge of the bed, still trembling from the deafening resounding boom of the thunder, he suddenly let out a sharp gasp when he heard the loud slam of the front door downstairs. Dad was home.

Sometimes Dad got mad when he came home late. Sometimes he'd get mad when Sammy cried too much. Sometimes he'd get frustrated because he didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to make Sammy feel better. But Dean knew what to do. Rufus always made Sammy laugh. That's what Mommy used to do when Sammy cried too much. Dean would watch as she fed him a bottle of milk and rock him back and forth to sleep, with Rufus securely tucked under one arm. It was the perfect remedy for Sammy's tears and Dean knew it was going to have to be his new responsibility to make Sammy happy again, since Mommy was too busy with the angels.

Dean threw off the covers and slid down off the bed. This was no time to be scared, he reminded himself bravely, he had a job to do.

He knelt down and fell onto his hands and knees. Peering hesitantly underneath the bed he beamed the flashlight hastily underneath. There, near the middle of the belly of the mattress was the outline of a fuzzy, brown and white plush puppy with a sparkly golden nametag on a thick red collar that read, "Rufus." Beneath the name engraved in the metal was inscribed, To Sammy, love Mommy. Dean smiled triumphantly as he reached for the plushie and rescued it from the clumps of dirt and dust bunnies from underneath the bed.

With Rufus tucked under one arm and his flashlight beaming brightly towards the other side of the room, Dean scampered hastily to the opposite side where his brother's baby crib was secluded in the corner.

He stepped lightly onto a short stool at the foot of the crib and leaned over the edge. Sammy was squirming and kicking forcefully as he wailed and screamed at the boom of thunder and the crack of lighting.

"Look, Sammy." Dean waved Rufus tauntingly above is brother's tear streaked face. "Rufus is here. He and I are gonna protect you, okay? There's nothing to be afraid of."

Dean couldn't help but flinch when another whip of lightning flickered near the window lighting up the entire room for a brief moment. Sammy let out another sobbing wail.

"Shh, you gotta be quiet." Dean whispered harshly, swaying Rufus back and forth overhead of his brother's flailing limbs. "You can't cry anymore. Dad has to get some sleep or he'll be cranky in the morning. You gotta sleep now too." Dean tucked his brother's blanket up higher over his torso in a vain attempt to clam him down. He whirled around towards the door when he heard his father's heavy footsteps steps thumping up the stairs. "Shh, please, Sammy." He lowered Rufus and placed him beside his brother's head. "Shh," He stressed in a desperate plea. "Shh,"

Dean stepped down off the stool in defeat when he heard the twisting of the doorknob and the creaking of the door as his father marched through the door, boots thudding sluggishly with each step as he edged towards the crib.

"Hi, Daddy." Dean greeted in a small and cautious voice. He knew he should have been in bed by now. He knew Daddy would be very angry if Sammy didn't be quiet soon. He was always angry when he came home at night time.

"Why's he cryin'?" His father's low grumble slurred the words together as if they were one syllable. The question was more of an aloud wondering but Dean answered anyway, "I think he's afraid of the thunder."

"The thunder is gonna be the least of his problems..." Dean blinked. Not quite understanding what his father was muttering deeply under his breath. He timidly wandered closer towards the crib when he watched his father examining Sammy closely. As Dean crept closer he wrinkled his nose as he took in a whiff of his father's unpleasant odour. His gaze traveled down from the crib down his father's brown leather jacket and onto his tightly bundled first wrapped around the neck of brown, transparent glass bottle with a foul stench scented liquid sloshing around. Dean made a face. Dad always smelled bad and talked funny when he had one of those bottles. He was never really sure what kind of funny smelling juice was inside, but he knew whenever Dad came home real late with one of those bottles he had to make sure Dad didn't fall down the stairs, or be sick on the carpet, or step on any of Sammy's toys. Those bottles made Dad angry and wobbly. Dean didn't like them at all.

"I think he needs to be rocked back and forth. And you need to sing to him. Like Mommy did."

His father didn't respond to Dean's instructions. Instead, he lifted the weeping little Sammy out of the crib, fumbling slightly with the brother in one arm and the bottle in the other as he turned without looking at Dean and heading out the door.

Dean tilted his head curiously. Dad had forgotten to bring Rufus. Sammy would never stop crying without him. Dean made a dash for the crib and quickly scooped out the stuffed animal before racing out the door and joining his father at the top of the long wooden staircase leading down to the kitchen.

"Dad, wait. You need to bring this. And you need to give him milk."

Dean watched as his father began to descend down the steps with his brother over his shoulder and the bottle still dangling loosely in the ends of his fingertips. His father swayed uneasily from side to side as he stepped down the rickety stairway. "Just got back to bed, Dean. I'll deal with him." Dean frowned in an unsatisfied pout. This wasn't right. Dad wasn't doing it right. He didn't know how to make Sammy feel better. And he didn't have Rufus.

He fallowed his awkwardly staggering father down the steps. "Dad, you need Rufus. Sammy won't sleep without him."

"Go to bed, Dean." His father instructed with a forceful tone as he continued to totter down the steps.

Dean twisted his mouth into disapproving glower. He didn't like how Dad was holding Sammy so limply. He watched as his brother slowly but surely begin to slide down the other side of his father's shoulder.

"Dad, be careful!" Dean called out suddenly. He squirmed past his father's wobbly steps to face him. "You're gonna drop him."

"Dean," Dean felt a cold shudder run through his back at his father's bark of disapproval. He froze two steps down in front of his father. "Go back to bed before-" Sammy slid further down his shoulder. Dean watched in petrified horror as his father finally lost his balance on the staircase and tripped over his own two feet. Sammy slid completely out of his father's grasp and plummeted through the air. Dean didn't even have time to think before he released his arms had stretched out in a sudden adrenaline rush. His brother landed straight into his arms before Dean realized that he had caught him. Before his father came crashing down and onto the banner of the staircase, the tip of the bottle slipped out of his fingers. Just as Dean had tucked Sammy safely against his chest, he felt a sudden sharp pain spiral through his arm as the bottle came hurdling down and shattering off of his forearm. Still clutching Sammy in a firm bundle against his chest Dean was knocked off of his feet in shock from the bottle shattering and he fell backwards down the last three steps before landing on his backside in the middle of the kitchen.

Dean opened his watery eyes to meet his father's horrified stare. He didn't even have time to take in all of the blood soaking his flannel, yellow ducky pyjamas before he felt himself being lifted into a firm pair of strong arms. Dean looked down at the tiny little bundle in his desperate clasp. His baby brother was no longer crying. Instead, he smiled sweetly up at Dean and eyed the tight clutch Dean's fist had curved into. He unbundled his fist. He still had Rufus. Sammy made a giggle of delight and his eyes went wide with surprise at when he saw what his brother had brought him. "Ruuuufuuus."

"I remember bein' so scared. I must have checked you over a hundred times, makin' sure no glass got into your eyes or nothin'. You were ok, thank God. I guess I caught you just in time..."

Sam stared open mouthed with a bewildered gawk at his older brother. Never in the furthest depths of his imagination could Sam ever have guessed that the thin, little red scar, the one Dead had owned since forever, could have been produced by such a traumatizing event in Dean's childhood.

"I remember that there was a lot of blood and glass all over me. A lot of blood, I mean for a kid. You weren't cryin' after I gave you that damn toy. But I started bawlin'. Probably just relieved that you weren't hurt." Dean avoided Sam's strenuous gawp and locked his eyes out onto the road. "But then Dad...he was crying too. I remember he...he came tumbling down after me. He wrapped his arms around us both and just cried, man. I'd never seen him like that before." Sam could hear the light crack in the older hunter's voice. Dean carried on as if he hadn't noticed, "He started pickin' all the glass outta my arm. He said things like...how sorry he was...how stupid he was...how he promised never to drink that shit again. Dunno if he ever did. Whatever it was. Must've been pretty strong to make him drop you..." Dean paused. Sam watched as a warm look passed across his brother's face as he recalled the memory. "But the thing I remember most," He muttered uncertainly in a low, hushed tone. "Was...just holding onto you. So tight. Dad drove us immediately right to the hospital, and it took Bobby a good hour to finally tear you outta my arms. I didn't..." Dean lost his sturdy grip on his voice, "I didn't wanna let go. I didn't wanna risk it. I just...wanted to keep protecting you I guess."

Dean had been there. Dean had protected him. Dean had saved his life, again. And Sam didn't even know it. He had always been there. Always protected Sam. Sam felt a sudden swell of guilt lurch up into his stomach. All the crap he'd been giving Dean about his overprotective nature suddenly came rushing back to Sam like powerful wave sucking him down into a spiral of guilt. He didn't even know.

"Seein' the way Max Miller turned out...I dunno. It made me remember everything."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sam whispered hoarsely. "Why did you keep all of this from me? You saved my life, Dean."

"What difference would it have made?" Dean finally dared to meet his brother's glassy scowl. "I didn't want you thinkin' that our Dad was like that. I didn't want you thinkin' he was some old drunk. He wasn't. I wanted you to look up to Dad. To respect him. It was a one time accident, Sammy. Nothing more. I was afraid...if I had told you...you would have grown up thinkin' that he was some kind of drunken nutcase." Dean's eye's pierced into Sam's with an earnest sincerity. "I was tryin' to protect you from all that."

Sam scoffed. "You sure are getting good at that."

"Tell me about it."

Sam let a silence fall between them as Dean continued to speed down the highway. He was grateful for Dean trying to be so honest with him. Trying to protect him from everything. He could understand his brother's need to do that much more now. The unsettling curiosity burning up in Sam's chest had now dissolved into insatiable since of wondering. He couldn't help but think, now that the secret story behind Dean's mysterious childhood scar was finally revealed, how many more secret stories was Dean keeping bottled up inside all these years? How many other traumatizing childhood experiences had his older brother experienced to make him so jaded? So guarded and so defensive and forced have such a bleak outlook on the world. To make him have such little faith. How many experiences had Dean had to make him this way?

How many more secret scars did Dean really have?

"It's like you said," Dean broke Sam's whizzing train of thought. "All things considered, we turned out okay."

"Yeah," Sam muttered in reply, his eyes still drifting curiously around his brother's solemn gaze. "All things considered."

Like? Don't like? Please tell me what you think! I'm thinking about making a sequel to this...maybe. Please leave a review!