Note: This entire fic was inspired by the amazing art displayed as the cover-pic. I have placed the link to the incredibly talented artist's tumblr in my main profile page, because it won't let me post it here. Anyways, you should really check out that babe's blog/art because it is breathtaking. Enjoy!

Sometimes I forget that my big brother is mortal.

Even now that I'm grown, a part of me always sees Dean as some sort of invincible superhero, regardless of the fact that I am often the one reminding him the he is not invincible.

I don't know if it's just that I'm the younger brother or what, but whenever Dean is injured or hurting - be it physically or emotionally - a part of me is always startled by his apparent vulnerability.

However, I am never put off by it, or look down on him for it, because he is human just like the rest of us.

Although to me, I suppose he will always be a hero.

Even now, after I've patched him up and he is lying concussed on the bed.

Even now, as I prepare to spend the night waking him every hour and asking him his name as I check his pupil dilation.

Even now, as he seems so small and breakable, stretched out on the mattress.

Even now, as I recall the first time I realized just how human my brother could be.

Even now, I know he is, and always will be, a hero.

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I was waiting in the car.

Again.

I had thought that my waiting in the car days were finally over, but apparently not.

Then again, at least this time I understood why they were leaving me behind.

I had seen Dad's research on the kitchen table and I knew that whatever it was him and Dean were after, it took children.

Dad had suggested that I stay back at the apartment, (the place we had been renting for the past couple months), but then Dean had pulled our father to the side and they had one of those hushed conversations. They always had those quiet talks, where they stand real close and whisper about a bunch of stuff they don't want me to hear. They've been having less of them since I learned about hunting, but it still happened from time to time, like earlier tonight for example. Anyways, after their hushed discussion, Dad had decided that I wasn't allowed to stay on my own anymore.

I knew they were both just worried about me, so this time when they left me sitting in the Impala, I didn't complain...well not that much.

They had been gone almost an hour now, I couldn't see them past all the trees, but I wasn't supposed to try and call them until another hour passed. I sighed, sitting back against the middle of the front bench seat, my homework spread out on my lap, the shotgun sitting next to me, and a flashlight in my mouth.

I grunted out of frustration. I wish Dad and Dean had been a little less concerned, because then I could have been back at the apartment where I would actually be able to see my damn math questions.

I smirked, well as much as I could with a flashlight trapped between my teeth, Dad would be so mad if he knew that I thought of that curse word. Dean would probably just smile, except he'd still tell me not to say it, because even though he got to curse when he was eleven, I wasn't allowed.

Another thing about my life that was unfair. Not that I really minded all that much. I didn't much care for swearing, but it was still fun to say those kinds of words sometimes, even if it was just to see the look on Dean's face.

I had just finished my multiplication worksheet when I heard a noise from outside, I dropped my homework over my shoulder into the backseat, and grabbed onto the shotgun, taking the safety off and pointing it forward.

I tried to stay calm and steady like Dad was always telling me to, but it was a difficult thing to do when you were all alone.

I held my breath as the noise grew louder, clenching my hands harder around the weapon, when they began to tremble.

I shook my head, flicking the hair out of my eyes as I kept my focus forward, staring steadily out the Impala's windshield.

Every single one of my muscles was coiled in anxiety, as my palms became clammy with the fear of what was approaching.

The sudden appearance of my brother had me sagging in relief, the tension melting off me as I finally released the breath I had been holding.

I flicked the safety on the firearm, letting it fall onto my lap as I watched my father exiting the forest right behind Dean.

Then, I did what I always did whenever they returned from hunts, (before I had started accompanying them), I checked them both over. Scanning their bodies, looking for damage; assessing their strides, searching for weaknesses; studying their faces, seeking distress.

Both Dad and Dean passed the physical test, no visible evidence of injuries, limping, or pain; but I was not yet sure about the emotional side of things.

Dad looked tired, his face downcast as he marched past me toward the trunk. Dean was not sporting the cocky grin he usually had on after a hunt. My brother loved the thrill of the kill, and he never had a problem displaying his glee when it went well. Even when it didn't, Dean would always send me a wink or a small smile, just to let me know that everything was okay, because he knew how nervous I would get when him and Dad went hunting.

That didn't happen this time.

Dean glanced momentarily in my direction, his eyes raking over my frame, the way they always did when he was checking to make sure I was okay. I saw my brother's face long enough to tell that something wasn't right. He looked pale, his mouth set in a tight line, as his eyes seemed to droop. The older teen hung his head before I could finish my examination, and followed our father to the trunk, where I could hear them returning their weapons.

I waited nervously in the front seating.

I was always waiting.

I rolled my eyes at my own dramatics. Dean was right, I could be a drama queen, not that I would ever admit to that aloud.

The sudden opening of the driver's side door startled me, but I settled immediately as my father dropped in behind the wheel. He didn't send me into the backseat the way he normally would, he didn't even ask if I finished my homework, he just grabbed the shotgun off my lap and placed it on the floor in the back. After that, Dad angled himself toward me. He had a sad sort of look when he placed his palm on my cheek, smiling softly for a moment, gently patting my face before he turned forward, pulling the keys from his pocket.

I didn't have time to ask any of the hundred questions bouncing around in my brain, before the passenger door swung open.

I turned to watch Dean slide into his seat, tugging the door closed after him, all the while gazing intently into the footwell. I attempted to subtly lean forward, hoping to get a better look at my brother's expression, but all that did was make him turn away, facing his side window instead.

I switched my attention to my father, hoping to acquire some more clues as to what the hek was happening, but he only stared out the windshield, starting the engine and steering the Impala back towards town.

I sat quietly in between the two silent hunters, biting my lip as I fought to keep all of my mounting inquiries inside of me.

I liked to talk about things. I needed to talk about things.

Dad and Dean didn't.

Dean would talk if I bugged him enough, but I always knew that was more for my sake than for himself, and Dad only ever got angry or sad when I tried to get him to talk about things.

I had learnt years ago, that both of them much preferred keeping their feelings silent, so in order for me to ever figure them out, I always had to watch closely. I was constantly looking for clues in their expressions, their body language, and what they said or didn't say.

It was no wonder I was getting so good at research. I had been doing it long before I knew anything about hunting.

I released a silent sigh and settled back on my seat, accepting the fact that no one in the car would react well to being asked for details about whatever had happened on the hunt.

However, just because I was electing to remain quiet for Dad and Dean's sake, it didn't mean I still didn't want to find a way to make my big brother feel at least a little better.

It was Dean's refusal to speak or meet my gaze that had me the most concerned. My father's gentle behaviour was definitely out of place, and I had caught a glimpse of deep sadness in his eyes and the lines of his face, but tonight wasn't the first time he had been that way, and I didn't imagine it would be the last. Dean however, well Dean had never been this reserved before. Even when I asked too many questions, especially ones about mom, and he got upset, he would just get angry and yell, or leave, or beg me to stop asking; he never got all sad and quiet like he was now.

And I really didn't like seeing Dean look so defeated.

I shifted closer to the teen, noticing belatedly that even with three of us on the bench seat, there was still room to move around. I inwardly scowled at the realization, because it attested to the fact that I was way too small.

I shook my head, ridding thoughts of my unfortunately tiny size, this wasn't about me. It was about Dean.

I slid to the right until my shoulder was brushing against my brother's...well...upper arm. Dean didn't move, his head didn't even twitch my way, but that didn't matter.

I glanced down, following his left arm until I found the hand he had fisted tightly on his lap. Without a moment's thought, I grabbed onto it, turning it over in my hands and carefully uncurling each one of my brother's fingers. Once his hand was opened and relaxed, I brought it back and tugged it over my shoulders, leaving it to rest on my left arm as I eliminated the sliver of separation between the two of us.

Once I had tucked myself fully into Dean's side, I relaxed; leaning into him and letting the back of my head fall gently against his chest.

It took a minute, maybe two, before I felt my brother grip my shoulder and place pressure on it, pulling me snuggly against him. It was only then that I released a breath, one I hadn't even known I'd been holding.

Whatever Dean was dealing with, whatever had him looking so broken, it wasn't so bad that he had withdrawn completely, it wasn't so bad that he couldn't accept some degree of comfort.

There was hope in that.

And it was all I needed.

Although my focus was on Dean, and my eyes were gazing out at the road, I didn't fail to notice my father glancing our way, or the way the lines around his mouth and eyes seemed to ease when he saw us.

Maybe I wasn't the only one who found hope.

We arrived at the apartment in silence, no verbal sound was made as all three of us climbed from the car, I didn't even take the time to grab my homework out of the backseat, and Dad didn't bother getting anything from the trunk. I supposed he had no desire to clean any of the weapons that night.

We all trudged inside, up to the fifth floor and into the small two-bedroom apartment.

"It's late. You boys best head to bed." Dad ordered, his voice gruff, but light, not containing the hard edge it often did when giving demands.

He gently ruffled my hair before nudging me in the direction of the master bedroom, which was being shared by both Dean and I. The other room only had a single bed, and seeing as we had to share, Dad gave us the master. It had a queen bed, along with the bigger closet, and its own bathroom.

I nodded obediently, reaching out and tugging on the sleeve my brother's jacket, when I noticed him just standing still and inspecting the carpet.

Dean didn't look up, but he reacted to my prompting and followed me into our bedroom.

He entered behind me and pulled the door closed, instantly snagging the double-barrel rifle that was always left resting up next to it.

My eyes grew at the action. Dean only ever held onto that when he was worried about something coming after us, or when Dad was late getting back. On most nights the knife he kept tucked under his pillow was enough security.

"Dean?" I questioned, my voice hushed as I took a step closer to the taller boy.

"Get ready for bed." He instructed, the sound coming from his lips not much louder than a whisper.

I hesitated, itching to know what was wrong and how I could possibly fix it, but I knew better than to expect my brother to just come out with it; so I obeyed his request, grabbed my pyjamas, and headed for the washroom.

I rushed, completing my nightly routine in half the time it usually took me. I didn't like leaving Dean alone, not when he was behaving so strangely.

By the time I returned, Dean had himself seated on the edge of the bed, the side closest to the door, where he always slept. The rifle was still in his grip, but it was now rested across his lap as he sat staring at the carpet. I could see his face better now than I could in the car, (finally one good thing about being short), and I couldn't miss the way his piercing green eyes had faded, looking almost dull and grey...and sad. I felt something in my chest twist, making it ache, as I watched my big brother.

I had never seen him like that.

And I never wanted to see him like that ever again.

I hated that hunting did that to him.

And I would never forget it, or forgive it.

"Get to bed, Sam." Dean ordered, glancing at me for less than a second before twitching his head to the right, indicating my empty side.

I nodded, tossing my bundle of worn clothes on the floor and climbing up onto the mattress, crawling until I was up by the headboard.

"Aren't you going to get ready, Dean?" I asked, moving closer to my brother when I didn't receive a response.

"Dean?" I repeated, coming around on his left, resting my hand on his shoulder and craning my neck around to see him.

His freckles were so much more prominent with his pale complexion, as were the scratches on his face. I had barely noticed them before, they were so small. I paid closer attention to them now, they weren't deep or bleeding, there were only three and they seemed as though the kind of mark one would get from a tree branch. The scratches were all too shallow to even cause infection, so I didn't make a comment.

There were more pressing matters at hand.

Like why my big brother refused to look me in the eye, and why he appeared so wrecked.

"Dean? What happened?" I inquired softly, not wanting to push or add to his pain, just needing to know what it was I had to fix.

"Nothing. We got it. Everything will be fine."

"Then why are you holding this?"

I tapped the weapon still clutched in his fingers.

Dean moved his gaze to the rifle, twisting his hands around it as he spoke.

"We think there was only one, but they could hunt in pairs. You can never be too careful."

Those were Dad's words he was reciting, but the raspy tone belonged to my hurting brother.

"The research didn't say anything about them hunting in pairs." I stated softly, not trying to argue, simply attempting to reason-away my brother's fears.

"I know. But if they do...and the partner wants revenge...he could...I can't let it get you." Dean whispered.

I tried to peace together his fragmented thoughts, and all I came up with, was that regardless of the creature's termination, Dean was still worried about it getting to me.

He had been since Dad took the hunt a few weeks ago. Kids disappearing, never to be seen again, no evidence as to their where abouts. Just gone, out of thin air. Dad and Dean had both been concerned about me, not letting me go anywhere other than school and home, one of them always keeping both eyes on me, which I hadn't argued with because I knew they were worried.

But Dean was more than worried now. He was scared.

I wracked my brain, trying to figure out why my brother would be worse off after the monster was dead than he had been before. Then I realized what might have changed.

Before Dad and Dean went on the hunt, they had no idea what was happening to the children. They discovered a supernatural creature that might have been snatching them, but none of the research had told them what it would be doing with all the kids, (that much I had been able to piece together from the research Dad left on the kitchen table and the hushed conversations I wasn't supposed to be hearing, because neither of my family members had permitted me to be able to participate in any aspect of the this particular hunt).

Perhaps when the two of them killed the monster, they found out what happened to all the children it took...maybe that was what frightened Dean.

"Did you...did you find the other kids?" I inquired timidly.

Wrong question.

Dean's eyes immediately filled with moisture as he turned his face away from mine.

"Yeah, yeah we did, Sammy. It was bad...they were all...that's why I can't...if there's another one, I can't let it get you." He croaked.

I winced, it sounded like Dean was choking on sobs. I watched him swallow several times and wipe hastily at his eyes before he spoke again.

"I can't let it get you." He repeated, more conviction in his tone, but it still came out as a hoarse whisper.

I frowned, struggling to figure out how to deal with a situation I had never been in before. Dean was always the one offering reassurance and comfort, giving it to me before I even knew I needed it, before I even had to ask. Now it was him who required those two simple things, and I had no idea how to provide them.

But I would damn well try.

I leaned back on my knees, shifting so I was further behind my brother, before I wrapped my arms around him. As my fingers grazed the amulet, I held onto it for a moment, brushing my thumb over that ugly little charm that Dean wore so proudly; I heard my brother release a sigh - that almost didn't sound strangled - and I let the amulet fall back where it belonged, resting against his chest. I clasped my hands together in front of Dean and rested my chin on top of his head, feeling his short hair tickle my skin as I settled against him.

I stayed like that a moment, content to feel the older boy's body relax a tad, his white-knuckled grip on the rifle easing as he breathed a little easier.

I chewed on my bottom lip as I stared blankly at a stain on the wall, trying desperately to think of what to say to make things better for Dean.

He always knew exactly what to say to make everything better for me, he had done it a million times before, the least I could do was return the favour.

"Nothing is going to get me, Dean. I'm safe. You and Dad killed the monster, and now I'm safe. You always keep me safe. I'm going to be alright. And so are you. We are going to be okay, Dean. I promise."

The words seemed so little. But they were all I had. All I could think to offer my big brother, the person who always gave everything.

I glanced down at Dean, just able to see part of his face past his hair. I studied him, hoping that I hadn't made it worse, that I hadn't caused him more pain.

I caught sight of the twitch of his lips, that eventually lead to a small smile.

"Thanks Sammy." He said, his voice a little more clear, losing that sorrowful undertone that had been infecting it since the hunt.

But I wasn't truly relieved until Dean brought one hand off the rifle and rested it against my clasped ones. He gripped onto me and I unfolded my fingers so that I could grip back.

It wasn't a cure-all remedy.

Dean was still hurting. I could see it as clear as the freckles on his face.

But it was better.

And when you were a Winchester, sometimes all you could hope for, was better.

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I never discovered what happened to all those kids, it remained one of the many family secrets that I would never be privy to.

But just like every other secret, I knew Dean only kept it to spare me the pain, and I could never begrudge him for that.

Keeping those traumatic memories to himself, was another way Dean protected me, another way he tried to save my innocence and keep me safe.

Try as I might, I will probably never be able to repay him for that, but I hope that - on occasion - I was able to return at least a fraction of what Dean gave to me.

I hope that on that night all those years ago, and other nights like it that have occurred since, that I was able to provide my brother with some of the reassurance, the comfort, and the peace of mind that he always handed over so willingly to me.

I hope that I was and am able to help my brother through the tough times, by simply displaying the complete faith I have always had in him.

The faith I still have in him.

More than anything, hope that I haven't failed Dean.

Because he has never failed me.

Note: Thoughts? Feelings? Opinions? Emotions? Please comment if you have a second, it would mean a lot! Thanks for reading! - Sam