Making slow headway on the next WIT chapter, as always. My new job (yes another new job, hopefully I'll be able to hold onto this one and it won't destroy my feet) has taken up a lot of time. If only I could drag this laptop to work with me.

I think these little oneshots are my way of saying, HI, still here and still working, don't give up on me yet, I WILL finish WIT, just takes time to make it good and make it right and I think I'm slowly getting back their voices so keep your fingers crossed. In the meantime, enjoy this fic. Like domesticated, there is a back story that goes with this but unfortunately I can't write that yet. So I included a brief overview of the back story which shows just how twisted and sadistic I am with the characters I borrow and play with . . . we don't play nice games.

I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.

Back Story: Two years ago Dean and Sam were kidnapped and held against their will for several weeks. Not by anything supernatural, just people, people who were into human trafficking, child pornography and a lot of other really messed up disgusting things. Aside from one brief incident involving Sam, with Dean as a witness, neither were sexually assaulted but they were made to do other things including posing for photographs and performing acts on video. Their father and several other hunters went to find the boys, rescued them as well as other victims. The perpetrators were killed and burned along with the place they used as a hide out. They will never come back but the psychological scars they left on the Winchester boys will always linger.

Dean was slowly getting closer to consciousness. The pressure of his bladder was pushing him towards the waking world. He wasn't aware of that yet, only the of the heaviness in his arms and the smell of his brother's hair on every intake of breath. Just like every morning.

As Dean's bladder urged him on, he knew that it was much too early to be awake yet. He felt a chill too and his arms tightened around Sam's shoulders instinctively. He heard his brother snuffle and felt him burrow closer into his chest, his own arms around Dean's waist squeezed slightly.

Dean knew he'd have to get up soon to at least pee but he didn't really want to. He was so tired, maybe he'd be able to fall back asleep, if he just kept still.

"Dean," the softly spoken word made him stir slightly, did he bladder learn to speak?

"Dean, wake up." Funny, his bladder sounded like Dad.

"Dean," It was an urgent whisper now, followed by a hand on his shoulder and Dean finally opened his eyes.

His father was standing beside his bed, shaking him slightly, "I need to talk to you." John Winchester said, looking serious.

Dean stifled a groan, "Yes sir," he whispered back. "Gotta hit the head first though."

John nodded once and left the room. Dean looked at his younger brother, arms still around him, still sleeping soundly. Dean smiled fondly and as slowly and carefully as he could, he slipped out of the circle of Sam's arms and out of bed.

Not carefully enough.

"De?" Sam soft voice was thick with sleep.

Dean reached out and touched Sam's cheek, "Ssh, Sammy." He whispered, "Go back to sleep, I'll be back in a minute."

Sam's breathing evened out once more. Dean made a pit stop at the bathroom across the hall, then made his way into the empty living room.

"In here," John called from the kitchen, Dean went in, blinking at the harsh light. The clock showed that it just after one in the morning. Too early for even an impromptu hunting trip in the woods for some off-season game to hone his marksmanship, or his tracking, or whatever else those trips were for.

John was sitting at the scratched up faux wood table. He seemed to be concentrating hard on the label of the beer in his hand but he glanced up at Dean as he approached the table. Dean yawned widely.

"Sit down," he instructed, "we have to talk."

Dean frowned at the seriousness in his father's voice, he dropped down immediately in the seat opposite.

"What's up?" Dean asked, suddenly wishing he had a beer too, he had a bad feeling about this.

"It's about Sammy." John told him looking grim.

Dean's stomach squirmed uncomfortably and he abruptly felt cold all over, "What about him?"

John sighed heavily, "Dean . . . you're graduating this year and after that . . . you'll have additional responsibilities."

"Yes sir," Dean said slowly, unsure of where this was going.

"You're old enough, you've had enough practical experience, you'll be able to start taking on your own cases." John took a swig of his beer. "Start doing hunts on your own when you can."

Just like that, Dean understood what his father was saying, "I'm not leaving Sammy."

His father sighed again, looking as though he anticipated Dean's reaction, "Dean, your brother is fourteen."

"Thirteen," Dean automatically corrected, he usually didn't interrupt but Sam wouldn't be fourteen for another two months and it seemed important to remember that.

"Regardless," John kept his tone even, "the both of you need to break out of this . . . habit."

"What habit?" Dean knew playing dumb was a mistake but he couldn't seem to help himself.

"Dean," John said impatiently, "your brother is too old for all of this . . . coddling. He needs to grow up and you need to let him."

"Sammy needs me." Dean said defiantly, he didn't fight his father on anything, except when it came to his brother.

"Dammit Dean," John snapped, still keeping his voice lowered, knowing Sam was sleeping. "He's too dependent on you."

"You know why." Dean said calmly.

John again sighed heavily, "It's been two years."

Dean shook his head, "You have no idea what it was like, you don't just get over something like that, Dad."

"I know," John conceded. "I haven't said anything until now because I do understand but you kids . . . I know it's partly my fault, the way I've raised you boys . . . It's good that you're close, I want you to be close but Dean, this has got to stop."

Dean was getting dangerously close to becoming really defiant, "What? What has got to stop?"

"For starters, Sammy need to sleep in his own bed." John stated flatly, "You boys are too old to be sleeping together."

"Since when?" Dean knew he was pushing it. "We usually have to share a bed when we're in a motel room, what difference does it make?"

"When it's not a necessity, it's inappropriate." John said quietly.

Dean's blood ran cold, "Inappropriate . . ."

The implications were clear.

"I see. . . " John started, staring at the table. "I see the way you sleep together . . ."

Wrapped up in each others arms every night. Dean holding Sam close, protecting him, keeping him safe. Even John buying two twin beds didn't curb the bed sharing, they'd simply pushed the beds together.

"That kinda thing was fine when you were kids, Dean." John went on. "You're both young men now, this can't go on."

"Do you know what happens when Sam doesn't sleep with me?" Dean asked in a casual tone.

"Your brother has always been prone to bad dreams," John said reasonably.

Dean smiled humorlessly, "Bad dreams?" He shook his head, the smile dropped, "He doesn't have bad dreams or nightmares anymore. He has night terrors, Dad. He wakes up screaming and that's if he even wakes up. Don't you remember the last time he had one, he got outside and crawled under the Impala in his sleep."

Not to mention the all consuming fear that Dean went through when he woke up to Sam being missing and the front door being wide open.

"When we sleep together, he doesn't get those." Dean told him.

"That doesn't explain why he's with you all day, every day." John said.

"He's not," Dean automatically defended even though the images were already flickering through his mind.

Sam brushing his teeth and taking his time in the bathroom while Dean showered. Sam sitting next to Dean on the couch doing homework, watching television, always keeping an eye on Dean if he got up to go to the kitchen or the bathroom, his eyes never leaving his older brother until he sat back down again. Staying up later than he wanted to because Dean wasn't ready to get into bed yet. Dean walking or driving Sam to school.

"We're apart all day when we go to school." Dean pointed out.

So, maybe everyday Dean practically needed a crowbar to get Sam unglued from his side and Sam almost bowled him over, running at him at top speed when school let out (Dean's school let out twenty minutes before Sam's). Still, those were entire days in which they didn't spend together.

Rubbing his hand over his face, "Dean."

Dean looked to the side at the old refrigerator. All he wanted to do now was go back to bed, crawl back under the sheets with his little brother, be there for him.

What was really bothering Dean was that his father was right. Sam clung to him every day, every night. What he didn't mention that he was the same way with Sam. He would stand outside the school in the morning until well after Sam had disappeared behind the door. He would practically jog back after school, waiting anxiously for Sam to come back out again. When Sam played soccer, he'd take him to practice and watch him, taking him home afterwards. He'd stay in the bathroom in mornings too, he'd watch Sam walk around the apartment too, he wouldn't leave the apartment or wherever they were unless Sam went with him.

Co-dependency at it's finest.

Dean had no intention of trying to change it. Not after everything he and Sam had been through. Dean wouldn't lose Sam, he couldn't.

"Sammy needs me," Dean repeated firmly, looking back at his father. "I need him too."

Father and son held each others gaze for a long moment before sharp cry of Dean's name came from the bedroom. Dean shot out of his chair and down the hall like a bullet.

"Dean!" Sam caught sight of his older brother in the doorway and held his arms out, his eyes wide and face white, standing out in the darkness of the room.

Dean clambered into bed and gathered Sam into his arms. His younger brother was breathing harshly and latched onto him instantly.

"I woke up," Sam said shakily, "I woke up and you weren't here. I waited . . . you didn't come back. I thought . . . I thought maybe . . . they said they'd come for us if we left -"

"Ssshh," Dean hushed, "I got you. They're gone now Sammy, you know that. They're gone and they're not coming back, they're dead, salted and burned and there's no way they can get to us, not ever again."

He felt Sam nod against his shoulder, "I just get scared sometimes."

"Me too, kiddo," Dean whispered. "Me too."

Dean continued to soothe his little brother, laying back down with him and holding onto him tightly until Sam eventually fell back to sleep.

Maybe their father was right, maybe their relationship was "inappropriate" and unhealthy and a dozen other things that were wrong. Nevertheless, it was what they had, it was theirs and Dean wouldn't let that go, not ever.

"I'll never leave you, Sammy." Dean whispered into his brother's hair, "I'll never let anything bad happen to you, never again, I promise."

"You can't keep that promise forever, Dean." His father's soft voice came from the doorway.

Dean didn't answer, he just closed his eyes, concentrating on the thumping of Sam's heart that he could feel against his chest where they were pressed together.

As he heard his father's retreating footsteps, he whispered, too quietly for John to hear, "Watch me."