The motel was dark as Dean entered the room and tossed his jacket on one of the two unstable kitchen chairs.

He looked at the bed furthest from the door expecting to see a too-tall, too-skinny, shaggy-headed little brother stretched out on it. Pausing as he noted the absence and taking another glance around the motel room, zeroing his gaze in on the closed bathroom door. Hearing movement behind the door put his mind at ease and he began unlacing his boots and pulling off his jeans as hi spoke to Sam through the door.

"Dude, you missed out tonight. The bar had good food, cheap drinks, and hot women. I won a crap load of cash at the poker table. I had this busty blonde hanging off me all night, was about to go home with her when I remembered I had a dorky little brother to get back to."

Dean paused, pulling off his last boot and sitting on the bed; waiting for the smart-ass remark or grouchy retort he assumed he would be receiving; but the older man also knew that, since Jessica's death, silence was a new option - one he was having trouble getting used to. Although he was no stranger to silence, hunting alone had forced him to grow accustomed it; he wasn't used to the quiet when his little brother was around. Sam has always been talkative, long before he learned to form actual words; he used to babble for hours when he was a baby, it drove their dad insane. Even when he hit his moody teenage angst stage Sam couldn't help talking, it was usually what got him in to crap with John. The crap Dean always worked to get him out of.

When the older brother picked Sam up from Stanford, he had been worried the younger boy would have changed beyond recognition, but aside from longer hair and maybe a couple extra inches, he was very much the same kid he had been when he left, as talkative and stubborn as ever.

Then Jessica died, and now Dean found there were times when getting a simple sentence out of his little brother was like pulling teeth.

"You taking a dump, Sammy?" The elder hunter called out obnoxiously, trying his best to elicit some sort of response from his stubbornly silent little brother.

Dean was disturbed when he did not receive a reply, even with a quiet Sam, the inappropriate question should have worked. He had even thrown in a 'Sammy' so that at the very lease he might be petulantly corrected.

"Hey, you alright in there, little brother?" Dean inquired, only allowing a smidge of concern to show through as he approached the bathroom door.

It was then that he heard it, not an actual word, but a moan so soft and so quiet that most people probably wouldn't have caught it at all; but as a hunter Dean's ears were trained to catch the subtlest of sounds and as an older brother his hearing had always been powerfully attuned to Sam.

"You better be decent." Was Dean's only warning as he opened the bathroom door, pausing to calculate the scene that was revealed.

The bathroom was dark, no water was running, and a figure Dean knew to be his little brother was curved in a ball on the floor. The older boy was about to scan the immediate area for the threat, the creature that had injured his brother, when he noticed the way Sam was curled up on the floor; how his knees were nearly at his chest, as both his hands were gripping his head - fingers buried in that mess of hair. It was then that Dean realized his brother's current state was not the result of a supernatural entity, but rather an entirely different evil.

A migraine.

The hunter found himself standing awkwardly for a moment; he had dealt with Sam's migraines a million times before, ever since he got his first one at age 14, but it had been a few years and he wasn't quite sure he could just jump back on this particular bike so easily. But there really wasn't a choice, because their mom was dead and their dad was lost and even Sammy's girl was gone now, which left Dean. Because there was no way in hell he was going to let Sam go through the pain alone.

I can handle this, He told himself. It may have been awhile but this was Sam, and even though the brothers may not have really connected the past few years, this was still the kid Dean raised and he still knew what to do.

It was engrained in him.

As instinctual as breathing.

He swiftly entered the bathroom, moving silently towards the body curled up on the floor. As he reached toward Sam, Dean's hand stalled, hovering over the trembling figure for a second – he was terrified that he would be rejected, shrugged off, or ignored. He was worried that his old methods and remedies of dealing with his little brother's migraines would no longer have the same healing effect that they once had. But he quickly realized that it was worth the risk. Being rejected would hurt Dean in ways he was unable to describe, but not offering comfort could possibly hurt Sam.

And that was entirely unacceptable.

The anxious hunter placed his open palm gently on Sam's back, rubbing back and forth slowly as he spoke in a low soft tone, his body instantly knowing what to do even as his mind was wrapped up in worry and fear.

"Hey Sammy." Dean greeted softly, instantly relieved when the younger man curled around his brother's body as Dean squatted down beside him. He was in too much pain to speak, but was physically displaying his raw need for comfort, for help, and for his big brother.

"I'm here, kiddo." Dean assured quietly, gently gliding his calloused hand up the quivering back, sighing inwardly as he felt Sam's spine through the sweater, promising himself once again to get the kid to eat more.

Sam had lost too many pounds since Jessica's death, and he hadn't had an over-abundance to begin with.

Dean gently squeeze the back of his brother's neck before he slowly began to stand, stopping immediately as Sam's hand snaked out and grabbed a hold of the shorter hunter's pant leg, gripping with a ferocity that screamed desperation.

Dean heard a soft whine come from the young man, which was a clear display of how much it had cost him to remove his hand from where it had been pressing against his head. Dean couldn't figure out what prompted Sam to risk further agony. He quickly squatted back down and bent his head towards his brother.

"What's up, kiddo?" Dean questioned, carefully brushing the hair from Sam's face to catch a glimpse and gain some insight into his little brother's abrupt action.

"Don't leave."

It was the softest of mummers and each syllable was laced with anguish.

Dean was taken aback by the request. Had his kid actually believed for one second that Dean would leave him to suffer alone on the nasty motel bathroom floor?

Dean knew it had been awhile, but had Sam really thought that his older brother had forgotten how to handle his migraines? Or had the younger man thought Dean was no longer willing?

"Please."

The quiet appeal was filled with so much desperation it made the elder Winchester cringe; apparently Sam had taken Dean's lack of response as a negative reply.

"I'm not going to leave you, Sammy. I'm just going to grab some stuff to make you feel better, alright?"

His reassurance did not garner the response he assumed it would; instead of the relief Dean expected Sam simply tightened his grip on the shorter man's jeans.

"Stay." Sam softly demanded.

"Alright, buddy, I'm just going to grab something. I won't go far." Dean declared as he made to stand again and was halted by his little brother's other hand, circling around his ankle. The long thin-boney fingers locking around Dean's ankle as the other hand gripped his pant leg.

"Dee, please!"

It was a soft sob this time and Dean found himself recalling how clingy Sam became during bad migraines. He also remembered how he had never been able to deny a clingy and vulnerable little brother.

"Okay, Sammy, I promise I won't even leave the bathroom. I'm just going to get you some water, buddy, alright?" Dean asked, hoping Sam would comply.

He felt Sam's fingers contract around his ankle and pant leg a couple times before finally releasing them. Both of the younger man's hands returned instantly to clutch at his head as he released a low moan.

The elder hunter rubbed Sam's arm in affirmation and then stood unconstrained as he took less than one step to the sink and turned the tap slowly, letting a small amount of water trickle out, careful not to make more noise than necessary. He soaked the small hand towel resting near the sink and then took one of those flimsy paper cups that were always stacked in motel bathrooms and filled it with the cool water, twisting the tap off smoothly and turning back towards his little brother.

Dean allowed his gaze rest on Sam for a moment, marveling at the way he had always been able to make his long body appear so damn tiny when he curled up; with his hair covering his face; he looked like a child.

Dean stepped over top of Sam and sat behind him, leaning up against the bathtub before gingerly grabbing a hold of his little brother and sliding the slender body towards him and framing it with his legs. Sam coiled up, resting his head on the older man's left thigh as Dean placed the cold cloth on the back of the long neck. Sam released a gentle sigh at the feel of the cloth, but fought when Dean tried to pry the younger boy's hands from his head. He was clearly afraid of any escalation to the brutal pain he was already experiencing and no doubt was unsure if Dean had lost his touch during their years of separation.

"Trust me, Sammy." Dean encouraged, pulling again at the long trembling fingers and feeling them go limp as Sam reluctantly allowed him to do what he wanted. The elder hunter lightly gripped one of his brother's hands as he guided the other to rest on his knee, where it immediately bunched-up Dean's pant leg in its grip. Dean began to cautiously massage Sam's shaggy head with his spare hand as he gave his brother soft instruction.

"Okay Sam, I'm going to ask you some questions." Dean felt his brother's body tense up, the kid's dread of having to move or speak almost palpable. "Don't worry, buddy. I want you to squeeze my hand once for yes and twice for no, like we used to do? Can you do that for me, Sammy?" Dean questioned, sincerely wondering if his brother could handle any type of communication at the moment. The older boy twitched a smile when he felt one slight squeeze of affirmation.

"That's my boy." He praised as he slid Sam's bangs from his face so Dean could view his expression for a moment, taking in the pain lining the young forehead and wrinkling around the hazel eyes as Sam squeezed them shut.

"Did you take anything for it yet?" Dean asked, making an intense effort to keep his tone low and soft.

Two squeezes: no.

"Do you have any meds?" He was pretty sure he already knew the answer to that one, knowing they were unable to save any of Sam's things from the fire and that he hadn't been away from Dean long enough in the past few weeks to go out and refill his prescription.

The elder Winchester wasn't surprised when the number of squeezes he received confirmed his assumption.

"Alright, do you think you would be able to keep down some water? I don't want you getting dehydrated." Dean could tell from the stench that lingered in the room that Sam had already hurled at least once and he knew that sometimes that was it and that other times the kid's stomach would continue to rebel.

He sat massaging Sam's scalp as he awaited a response. Two, possible three, minutes past before Dean felt one gentle squeeze in his hand. He picked up the paper cup at his side and brought it around. He felt his brother release his grip on Dean's jeans and watched as he reached towards the cup with his hand, refusing to open his eyes, but expecting to be handed the water. The problem was that Sam's hand was shaking so badly his brother knew that there was no way he was going to be able to hold the cup let alone drink from it.

"I got this, Sammy." Dean assured softly, watching as the taller man stubbornly kept his hand outstretched in the older hunter's direction. "Sam." He admonished quietly, pushing his had away.

Thankfully, San put his stubbornness and independence away for another time and returned his hand to his brother's jean-clad knee. Dean leaned over the shaggy head pressing into his lap as he brought the water to Sam's lips, waiting for them to open and then carefully tipping the cup. Sam took a few sips and then squeezed Dean's hand, letting him know he was finished. Dean set the cup beside him on the floor as he used his sleeve to wipe away the drops of water that had escaped and were running down his little brother's chin. Normally, Sam would have been mortified that, not only had Dean had to help him drink, but he used his sleeve to wipe the younger man's face. Lying so vulnerably and childishly across his older brother's lap would, on an average day, have the over-grown man's independent streak going wild, but migraines had always taken all Sam's energy and with that went his stubbornness and pride.

Dean hated to see his kid so helpless and in so much pain, but if he were being completely honest, he would confess that he secretly enjoyed the way Sam clung to him and returned to his most dependent state, allowing his big brother to care for him.

The migraines had started back when Sam was just fourteen years old. Sam had been independent since birth - wanting to do everything on his own long before he was ready - but when he hit the teenage stage, independence became a fierce and desperate desire to prove himself. In those days, it often took a horrible migraine for Sam to fully lower his defenses. Dean massaged his little brother's shaggy head as Sam clung to his knee and trembled in his lap. The elder Winchester leaned back against the tub, knowing there was nothing more he could do, but provide comfort as Sam rode out the pain.

Dean allowed himself to get sucked in to thoughts of the past as he listened to Sam's stuttered breathing.

"Oh come on Trish, it's one class."

"It's always just one class with you, Dean. I need to keep my marks up or my dad's not going to buy me a car."

"We could go hang out in my car."

"You mean we could go make out in your car."

"Well, yeah."

Trish roller her eyes, as if she hadn't been the one hanging off the seventeen-year-old since he arrived at the school last week.

John had dropped the Winchester brothers off in town at the beginning of last week, sticking around long enough to pay for the motel and enroll the boys in school.

Dean had met Trish on the first day; she was one of those classic flirty-girls who always seem to have things for bad boys, and while he found her terribly irritating, whiney, and entitled, Dean had never been one to deny female attention. Sammy on the other hand…well he didn't even know how to handle it. He was so shy and quiet at school and especially when it came to girls. Dean couldn't figure out where Sam got his bashfulness from, he figured maybe their mom had been that way.

"Fiine, Dean. You win." Trish whined with a sigh, as though she was doing Dean a favor, but hey, he'd take it.

They rushed out to the Impala, Dean's baby sitting in the parking lot, looking sleek and clean in the sun.

Well into making out, their teenage lips locked, tongues intertwined, and hands wandering, Dean heard his cell going off and groaned. He pulled it out of his pocket as he broke the kiss, hearing Trish release a frustrated huff as he flipped it open and placed it to his ear.

"Yeah." He answered, assuming it was his dad calling to let him know how much longer he intended to be.

"Dean."

Dean immediately recognized the soft voice and was instantly alert.

"Sammy? Dude, you're supposed to be in Science right now, aren't you?" He questioned, knowing his little brother's schedule better than his own.

"Dean, it's happening again." Came the whispered reply.

"What's happening? What's wrong, little brother?" Dean asked, his concern rising as he put a hand up to silence the impatient girl complaining next to him.

"My head."

Two little words, but they were all Dean needed.

"Migraine." It wasn't a question, he knew the answer; Sam had already had two.

Their father had known the first time Sam could barely function due to the intense pain in his skull what was happening. He had sent Sam to bed, turned the lights off and made every effort not to make a sound. John had explained to Dean, once Sam had fallen asleep, what migraines were and that their mom used to get them when she had been exhausted or stressed. Apparently, Mary hadn't gotten them very often because their dad said Sam would probably only have a few a year. What the man failed to take into account was that the life they lead was almost always stressful and if numerous sleepless nights and constant travelling wasn't exhausting than Dean didn't know what the hell was.

This was Sam's third migraine in a time span of just a few months.

"Where are you?" Dean inquired through the phone; trying to make his voice quiet, but clear.

"The bathroom, the one by your locker."

Ofcourse, because the kid had gone looking for his big brother, and Dean hadn't fucking been there. Dean clenched his teeth, furious with himself.

"Alright, hang tight, little bro. I'm on my way." He promised, ending the call. "Sorry, Trish. I gotta go."

Pushing the door open and scrambling out of the car, Dean waited impatiently for the blonde girl to climb out.

"What am I supposed to do now, Dean? I can't show up this late to class." She complained, pushing out her bottom lip as she pouted.

"Do whatever you want, but I got to go." Dean dismissed, marching towards the school.

"Come on, Dean," Trish whined, grabbing ahold of the taller teenager's arm. "Can't your brother just wait?"

It always amazed Dean how these girls get all giddy about how close he was with Sam, but the moment they found the brother's relationship to be an inconvenience, they seemed to have a problem with him taking care of the kid.

Fuck them.

"No Tammy, he can't wait. So screw off." Dean grunted, ripping his arm from her grip and speeding up, desperate to get to Sammy.

"It's Trisha. You jerk!"

Dean heard her holler as he stormed away, not giving a shit about her name, or her face, or the fact that she'd probably never talk to him again.

Because he had priorities, and there was no girl who had ever or would ever surpass his kid.

"Sammy." Dean called out softly as he entered the bathroom.

"Here."

The whisper told the teenager which stall door Sam was hidden behind and he quickly pushed it out of the way.

Dean looked down at the young boy sitting atop a closed toilet seat with his head cradled in his hands. The older teen knelt down, placing his hands on the knobby knees as he tried to get a look at the young face.

"How you doing, kiddo?"

"Hurts." The word almost a whimper as it escaped Sam's lips.

"I bet. Let's get out of here, man." Dean said, standing and gently pulling Sam up with him. His baby brother remained hunched over, palms pressing on his eyes as he held his head. With one hand on his back and the other under his elbow Dean lead Sammy out of the school, glad that everyone was still in class so there was no one around making noise or questioning their actions.

The second Dean opened the school door to head outside Sam gasped and spun around, pressing his head into the older teen's abdomen as he tried to escape the brightness of the sun. Dean silently scolded himself for not taking the blinding light into consideration and pulled off his leather jacket, draping it over his little brother's head before squatting with his back in front of the smaller frame. Sam lifted his head and squinted at his brother in confusion, pulling the jacket off his face to understand. Dean grabbed his hands and tugged them over his shoulders, instantly his little brother comprehended the situation and carefully climbed onto the broad back. Before the taller teen stood to full height he made sure that his jacket was properly draped over Sam, so the sunlight wouldn't penetrate. Once Dean was satisfied, he stood slowly, opening the door and stepping out into the afternoon light, feeling Sam's hands clench, balling up his black shirt as the shaggy-head pressed into his back. Dean hoisted him up carefully, cautious not to dislodge the jacket or disturb Sam as he got a better grip and started towards the car.

He unloaded Sam carefully into the backseat, attempting to arrange him on the seat, but watching as he crawled down into the foot-well, insisting it was darker. Dean sighed and quietly got into the driver's seat, cursing his baby's loud rumble, personally loving the sound, but hating that it would only add to his little brother's agony.

When they arrived at the motel, Dean was hoping that Sam would have fallen asleep but as he opened the back door to lift the kid out he peeked under the jacket and cringed as he saw tears slipping out from underneath the closed eyelids.

"It's okay, Sammy. I got you, kiddo." The taller boy assured as he ignored Sam's attempt to climb out and gathered the small body into his arms instead. One hand under his knees and another on his back Dean lifted him out of the car, readjusting his grip as Sam turned into him, pressing his face against his big brother's collarbone. Dean winced as the younger teen flinched in his arms at the sound of the Impala's door blowing shut.

Sam may be fourteen, but he was a tiny fourteen, nothing to him but skin and bones and little height to speak of, although their father insisted he would sprout up eventually. Luckily, that hadn't happened yet, therefore holding him as Dean unlocked and opened their room door was not a problem.

He placed Sam on the bed, watching him turn onto his side, hands immediately clutching at his head. Dean made sure the lights were off and blinds closed before he wet a wash cloth and ran it over Sam's forehead under all that hair, then down his face; wiping away the tear tracks. He left the cool cloth to rest on his little brother's neck as he took a seat against the headboard next to him. Dean reached out and slowly rubbed Sam's back, knowing there was nothing more he could do, and hating that he had to sit here and watch his kid in pain until the migraine had run its course.

Sam turned slowly, pressing his face against his older brother's side, one hand buried in his long brown hair gripping his head as the other wrapped around the bottom of Dean's black t-shirt. It always amazed the older teen how open and vulnerable Sam would get during his migraines, having no shame and clinging to his brother like he had back when he was a young child. Dean wanted to say something reassuring, but was afraid of adding to the pain; so he did all he could do and simply continued to rub Sam's back as he clung.

That night, after Sam had finally fallen asleep, Dean did some research, discovering that there were medications offered for those who suffered from migraines. He immediately called his dad, standing outside the room as to not wake Sam. Dean informed John that he was taking Sam to the doctor and getting him a prescription. His father fought him, the older man's perpetual distain for hospitals and doctors, dictating the conversation until Dean told him Sam had been reduced to tears because of the pain today and that every migraine he had was worse than the last. The teenagers offered to pay for the appointment and any meds required, saying he'd do whatever was necessary to make sure Sam got the proper medication.

Because Sam was his responsibility and there was no way in hell, Dean would ever let him suffer – especially if there was anything he could do to prevent it.

Dean was torn from his reflective state as he felt Sam's body lurch away from his hold; understanding the speed of the movement when he saw the thin frame hanging over the toilet. He winced as he watched Sam's entire body quaking as he wretched into the bowl. He stood over him, placing his hand on his forehead, supporting the shaggy noggin as Sam spewed out the meager contents of his stomach.

"Awe Sammy." He sighed as he watched the younger man pant for breath, tears sliding down his face as the pain seared through his brain.

"Dean." Sam sobbed as he fell against the bowl, still dry heaving, his body wracking so hard from the pain that he was unable to properly support himself. The elder hunter kept a hand cradling his brother's head as he placed an arm around his chest, holding him above the toilet while he gagged nothing but stomach acid. In his current position Dean was again reminded how thin his little brother was, hating that he could support the tall body so easily.

The older man cursed silently, horrified that he couldn't do anything to help Sam and furious they didn't have his meds; even though Dean knew that even if they did have them it would be too late now, the migraine had been too far along by the time Dean found him for the meds to do much of anything.

Finally, Sam finished expelling everything and anything within his stomach and pushed back from the commode, wiping a shaky hand across his mouth as he caught his breath.

As Dean felt his brother's body tremble at having just exerted itself in a way that was bound to have caused the level of agony in his skull to sky-rocket. Dean wished that the kid could just pass out. It had happened before during migraines when there hadn't been any meds or they'd been administered too late to do anything; the pain rising to unbearable levels and forcing Sam's body to give in to the anguish.

"Ooh gawd, Dean." Sam moaned softly.

"You always were one for dramatics." Dean joked with a smirk as he readjusted them on the floor, Sam's head resting on the shorter boy's thigh as his body curled up on the cold tile. He used to always want Sam to lie on a blanket whenever they ended up camping out in the bathroom, concerned about the discomfort and nasty germs presented by hotel floors; but he remembered from years ago that Sam preferred the cool temperature in the tile and that any discomfort from the floor was nothing compared to what was going on in his head.

"Jerk."

Dean heard the whisper and smiled, because insults were a sure sign that they were on the road to recovery, even though the destination was still out of site. It would be at least another day before the two so much as attempt an average volume conversation or go out into the sunlight.

"Bitch." Dean responded as he massaged the shaggy head that was pressing a little less desperately into his leg, and lazily rubbing Sam's back, content it was trembling only minimally.

"I missed you."

The older man was taken aback by the statement. Sure, the kid got a little cuddly during migraines, but that confession was a little to candid, even for Sam.

"What? You mean Jess didn't fuss over you when you got like this?" He queried in disbelief, knowing that any girl would have been all over this kid with his injured puppy impression. He waited for an answer, wondering for a second if Sam had fallen asleep, but knowing it was too soon for the pain to have let up enough to allow such a small pleasure.

After a couple minutes without a response Dean grew concerned that he made a mistake mentioning Jessica and had added emotional pain to the physical. Before he could ask if he had said the wrong thing, Dean felt Sam reach up and grip the bottom of his shirt; just like he used to when he was a kid.

Next, a soft voice floated through the air.

"She wasn't you, Dean. I always need you." Sam nuzzled his head into his brother's leg after the statement and released a soft sigh, still gripping Dean's shirt as the rest of the long body began to relax.

The elder Winchester was left tripping over his tongue as he tried to digest the absolute and honest love that had just been presented to him.

"I missed you too, Sammy." He whispered when he was finally able to pull himself together, squeezing the back of his little brother's neck gently as he leaned back and closed his eyes.

Because Dean had no problem sleeping on the nasty hotel bathroom floor.

He had no issue spending tomorrow in a dark room doing everything possible to not make a sound.

He would do whatever was necessary for the younger man.

Because Sam was Dean's responsibility.

Sam was his little brother.

Sam was his fucking soul.

And that would never change.

The End

Note: I feel like something funky happened with the formatting, but maybe I'm just going crazing. Please review/comment if you have a moment! Thank you so much for reading! :) - Sam