Trudging home from school through the piling snow of the Minnesota winter, with his tender hands shoved deep in his pockets to keep his fingers warm and protected from the subzero temperatures, ten year-old Jack O'Neill struggled to see where he was going with only his right eye. The left was currently swollen shut, red and bruised from the fist his face had the misfortune of intercepting, due the sarcastic wit of his mouth.

He briefly wondered if he'd be able to hide the evidence of the fight from Pop, but dismissed the idea immediately because Pop never missed a thing. It would be best not to try to hide it, to act normally, to show no guilt or fear of repercussions.

There would be repercussions. Pop didn't approve of fighting, no matter the reason. Jack thought it a curious effect of human nature to protest the use of violence by inflicting violence.

It made the impending punishment easier, though, knowing the reason behind the black eye he'd received. He got it protecting David. His older half-brother was really smart, he'd realized from the moment they were introduced three years ago, when his mother dropped him off to live with a father that hadn't known he existed, and didn't seem to care either way.

David was always talking about some new thing he had learned, or some old thing he remembered, or something he made up entirely on his own. Jack didn't understand him more than eighty percent of the time but it was nice to listen to him, it was nice to have someone talk to him, and not at him. Sometimes, if he asked the right questions, he could get David to simplify what he called 'complex details' down to the basic components so Jack could understand, or sometimes the other way around so he could get the big picture. He felt a real sense of pride when his older brother made him feel smart, when David believed he was intelligent enough to understand.

Nobody else thought he was smart.

Most of the time he agreed.

Except there would be moments when David would say something, maybe at dinner, and Pop wouldn't have a clue what he was talking about but Jack would understand. The one time he had tried to explain, thinking he knew enough of the basics to clarify the finer points, his father had laughed at him harshly, boxed him around the ears and said 'Don't be a fool, boy. You'll never understand a word David says. You haven't got the brains.'

So he had stopped trying.

There was a time he was resentful of David. He didn't think it was fair that his brother got so much special treatment, that he was showered with gifts and rewards while Jack got stuck doing extra chores, or that he received the praise and affection of their father while Jack was lucky to get a handshake.

For nearly two years he battled for his father's attention, trying anything he could to get Pop to focus on him, pay an interest in him, at least tell him he'd done something good. He tried everything: fighting with other boys, skipping school and running away for days, practicing hard at hockey until he was the best on his team, and working extra hard on his English until he finally got that A. Pop never cared. The only person who even noticed, who worried about him when he disappeared, and came to his hockey games and cheered for him, was David.

Over time, he began to focus less on Pop and more on his brother. It didn't matter what Pop thought as long as David approved of him. As long as David loved him.

Which was why he now had the black eye and bloody palms.

David was four years older than him but Jack had quickly realized that even he fit in better with his brother's classmates than David did. His brother wasn't comfortable talking to other people and because he was so smart a lot of the older boys, and even some of the girls, made fun of him for it. Over the last year, Jack saw it as his duty to protect his brother from these people, and that meant defending his intelligence and his honor.

There was nobody better at protecting the brilliant and the clueless than a scrappy Jack O'Neill. David may be bookwise but growing up on the streets of Chicago Jack was certainly the more streetwise. He was always amazed that his brother, the smartest boy he'd ever met, could be so oblivious to the world around him. However, like Jack had given up trying to understand David's world of theories and numbers and languages, David didn't try to understand Jack's world of emotions, honor, and physicality.

Today, after school, two of David's classmates had been harassing David, teasing him mercilessly for wearing glasses and sucking up to the teachers and being so awkward around girls. They called him names Jack didn't understand and started pushing him around while David pleaded with them to stop, to leave him alone.

That's when Jack stepped in.

He didn't fight. A while back, after a particularly successful right hook, David had begged him not to hurt anyone. He didn't want people to get hurt because of him, so Jack promised not to fight anymore. That didn't mean he still couldn't stand between his brother and danger.

He jumped in front of David and shoved the bullies away, his expression calm but determined as he ordered them to "Leave him alone."

The boys had laughed and said something to David about needing the retarded runt to fight his battles for him.

"That's right," Jack had replied defiantly. "A retarded runt like me is more than enough to defend him from brainless apes like you two. You're just scared of him 'cause he's smarter than you, and he's going to be real important someday, like the President, and you'll be able to say, 'I used to know that guy, I taught him how to be a man,' while you're nothing but a beat up old coward crawling the streets and begging for a buck, and he'll be the man that gives you that buck and offers you a job and tells you not to worry, because that's the kind of guy he is. He's better than you, better than all of us only he doesn't know it 'cause he likes to think we're all equals, all worth something. And if you try to disprove him on that then you'll have to go through me because I am not going to let you touch my brother, and I am not going to let you demean and insult him when he didn't do anything to deserve it."

They punched him anyway, laughed and walked away as David bent over him and examined the damage.

Now they were walking home, and Jack was trying to think of what he could tell Pop that wouldn't get him in too much trouble.

"You shouldn't have done that, Jack. They're just bullies, I can handle them."

He rolled his eyes because obviously David hadn't been handling them. "You shouldn't let them walk all over you. You're better than that."

"And you shouldn't be fighting. You know I don't like when you get in trouble. Dad's going to be upset when he sees your eye."

"Better me than you," he muttered to himself, kicking at the snow on the side of the road.

They walked in silence for a minute or two before David tried speaking to his belligerent younger brother again. "Jack, why do you do things you know will get you into trouble? What's the point?"

"Sometimes it's fun," Jack replied with a cheeky grin.

"You think fighting is fun?"

He scowled at his brother, angry that David couldn't understand his motives, couldn't see that Jack was protecting him. David refused to see the bad in people and for that he was oblivious to a lot of the pain that Jack suffered. The fights, the teasing, Pop's indifference, the disappointment when he couldn't be like his brother. David never knew how much Jack did for him, without complaint or expectations of reward.

"I don't fight for fun. I fight because I have to."

"There's always an alternative to fighting, Jack."

"Then why don't you do something about it?" he shouted. "You're so smart, why don't you think of a way to get people to stop picking on you? Then maybe I wouldn't have to fight."

David stopped walking and grabbed Jack's shoulder. "What do you mean by that? You fight so kids won't bully me?"

Jack shrugged, his eyes on the ground. "You're my brother."

"You're protecting me? Is that what this is all about?"

He shrugged again, shuffling his feet. A second later David was hugging him and Jack latched on tight.

"Oh, Jack, I didn't know. I'm not so smart after all, if I couldn't see what you've been doing all this time. But it has to stop now. You're my kid brother, I'm supposed to be the one protecting you."

"I'm not worth it. You're more important than me." He tried to snuggle into David's jacket but his brother pulled away.

"How can you say that? I'm no more special than you are. You're important, Jack, don't you dare believe otherwise. We may not be the same but…you were willing to sacrifice yourself to protect me. You've taken beatings for me, and faced up to Dad for your actions knowing he'd be upset with you, and I can't think of anyone more courageous. I don't like you getting hurt, but you do it for others. Some day you're going to save lives, I know it, and that's more important than spouting math equations and reciting history. Whatever you do, take pride in it, and yourself. And don't you ever listen to anyone that says you're worthless, or unimportant, or that you haven't got the brains to do something. Do you hear me Jack? You're special."

Jack was busy hiding his tears in David's jacket. David was smart. David wouldn't lie to him. He was special.

-----

Thirty-four years later

"Which means she is smarter than you are, Colonel," General Hammond replied on behalf of the favored scientist, Captain Sam Carter.

Jack O'Neill simply smirked.