Note: Not entirely sure what this is. It's a new thing. I hope you enjoy it!

It was the little things.

The little things that made them who they were.

The little things that made their relationship what it was.

The little things.

Like how Sam couldn't stand having blood in his mouth. Ever since his addiction, and the trials, that tangy metallic taste could no longer be tolerated. Sam nearly bit through his tongue once on a hunt, the blood dripped down his throat before he could stop it; he spent the next two hours hurling. Dean had eventually rolled up some gauze and shoved it into his brother's mouth, hoping it would soak up the metallic liquid before it could proceed to slide down Sam's esophagus and flip his stomach inside out.

Dean now kept a spare roll of gauze and a bottle of grape juice in with the rest of their first-aid supplies, in case the kid ever bit down on his damn lip.

It was the little things.

Like how Dean still flinched at the sound of a barking, snarling dog. They would come across a dog or two on hunts and the eldest Winchester would take them all on quite stoically. Hell, Dean had done his best to face down a hellhound a few years back, though Sam had been the one to off it in the end. Sam knew it still bothered his brother though, he knew that regardless of the fact Dean could stand up to his fears, it never meant he didn't have any. They had gone to interview a witness, when a massive, snarling mutt had answered the door. Sam had quickly taken his place in front of his brother, not to be moved so much as an inch until the animal's removal. Another time, the boys were squatting in a house, only to be stuck listening to the constant barking echoing from the pack of dogs residing next door. It had taken Dean flinching only twice for Sam to march out to the car and dig his long-forgotten ipod and a pair of headphones out from under the backseat. Dean had bitched about the song selection all evening long, but he had slept peacefully, not even twitching at the hollowing that sounded from outside.

Sam now created a playlist just for Dean on that ipod, and ensured that the seemingly insignificant piece of technology was always within reach whenever they were staying somewhere new.

It was the little things.

Like how Sam could not stand being cold. After all his years in the cage, years of freezing from the inside out, and feeling as though he would never be warm again, not even when Lucifer would light him on fire; being cold took the young man to a place he didn't want to be. Dean realized it shortly after his brother returned from the cage. Dean had noticed even before the wall was knocked down, how his little brother would become withdrawn whenever he was feeling a chill. After the wall fell, it didn't seem to matter how many layers Sam was dressed in, he was always shaking for one reason or another. Now, even though Sam's sanity had been restored, the cold air seemed to possess the power to pull the kid right back into that fucking cage. Therefore, Sam was never cold, Dean made sure of it. He always kept a close eye on how many layers his brother was wearing, always made sure to buy him insulated sweaters and jackets, always watched closely for any quivers attacking the long frame.

Dean now had extra blankets stashed in the Impala, all the air vents were always pointed in Sam's direction and the younger man had complete control of the heater both in the Impala and the bunker. If didn't matter if Dean felt like he was living in a sauna, if Sam so much as shivered, the temperature was being raised.

It was the little things.

Like how Dean's nightmares had become ten times more violent since purgatory. Sam knew his brother had experience with night terrors – though it had never been quite as extensive as his own – but Dean used to awaken from them rather quietly. That all changed after purgatory, and it got worse after becoming a demon, and even more so after the mark. The nightmares caused Dean to often shout amidst the dream, as well as come out of it fighting. However, Sam was forbidden to wake his brother from his dark dreams. There was an incident shortly after purgatory where Sam had softly shaken his brother out of his night terror, only to end up slammed down into the floor with a knife to his throat. Ever since that particular occasion, Dean was adamant that his brother not wake him. He was more than fine to suffer in his sleep, as long as Sam wasn't hurt. The youngest Winchester, however, could not stand to watch his brother suffer, so he got creative. He would make a loud noise that would seem entirely coincidental, but successfully pulled his brother from whatever violence was playing out in his mind. He would slam a door, or drop a plate – if they were in the Impala, he would turn the music up – he would find a way to wake his older brother from a safe distance.

Sam would find a way to bring his brother back to consciousness, without risking his own wellbeing, not because he was afraid of Dean – he knew the older man would come to his senses before truly injuring him – but because he didn't want his brother carrying around anymore undeserved guilt.

It was the little things.

Like how Sam was still haunted by the cage. He was okay most of the time, no longer unsure of his reality, but traumas like that, they didn't just disappear. Sam suffered from flashbacks, ptsd episodes, or hellments – as Dean chose to refer to them – essentially they were moments when Sam's mind took him back to the cage. It could come out of nowhere. There were occasions Dean understood the reason for the arrival of a hellment and there were times he had no hope of predicting the flashback. It was as though the world were a minefield, and there was no way to detect when the next bomb would be set off. It didn't matter though, because whenever the moment did arise, Dean was always there. He knew that Sam needed physical contact to bring him back and comfort him in the aftermath. If they were seated at a diner, Dean would squeeze his brother's forearm until Sam's return, and then he would rest his legs up against the longer ones underneath the table for the remainder of the meal. If it happened when they were out and about, Dean would keep hold of Sam's elbow, or leave a hand resting casually on his back. If it happened in the bunker, Dean would sit next to his brother, their hips and shoulders touching. Dean had learned quickly that after a flashback, Sam needed to physically feel that he wasn't alone. He needed a real tangible reminder that Dean was with him, and everything was okay.

Words were just words, Lucifer could spill them out a mile a minute, but gentle, reassuring contact was something the devil had never offered Sam, and it was something that Dean always had. Dean knew that, and he knew that Sam did as well.

And when Sam got embarrassed about it, when his face coloured, or he began to bite his lip and hang his head in shame, Dean would speak up.

"Hey, none of that." He would say.

"I'm sorry." Sam would mutter, as though a century of torture was his doing, as though he hadn't saved the fucking world.

"Don't be, don't you ever be sorry. You haven't done a damn thing wrong. Don't ever apologize for what he put you through, or for how you're dealing with it." Dean would adamantly insist.

Sam would give his brother a shy smile, but his eyes would still shift about insecurely.

"You are doing fucking awesome. You are dealing with it better than anyone else could, including me. You are a fucking hero. You don't have the right to be sorry." Dean would confidently declare, leaving no room for argument.

Sam would give his brother one of his genuine dimpled smiles, and try his best to believe his words, but it was okay if he couldn't; because the next time he had one of those moments, Dean would repeat every word he said if it was required.

Regardless of the time or place that the mental landmine was set off, Dean would find a way to physical lure his brother to the present and settle his mind once he arrived.

It was the little things.

Like how Dean hated barbeques. It had taken Sam by surprise. He had proposed once - after a particularly strenuous hunt - that they attend a community barbeque that was taking place in the town they were holed up in. Sam had thought it would cheer his brother up, but Dean's expression had gone instantly dark at the suggestion, and he had said no, refusing to elaborate on his reasoning even after Sam's curious prompting. The youngest Winchester had thought his brother's response to be strange, but had reluctantly dropped the matter. However, a couple years later, when they were in the bunker and Sam had wanted to do something special for his brother, he made the mistake of purchasing a barbeque. It had been his attempt at making the place feel more like home, hell, maybe he would have put up a white picket fence if they had had a front yard. They didn't have a patio or anything, but Sam assumed they could find somewhere to put a barbeque, where Dean could use it for whatever carnivorous meal he desired to create. When Sam had presented the gift to his brother, Dean had practically recoiled, as though it were poisonous.

"Take it back." He had ordered.

"Dude, it's not going to bite, it's just a barbeque." Sam had attempted to reason.

"I don't care, take it back."

"I got it on sale." Sam stated, wondering if perhaps it was the expense that was the issue.

"Get it out of here, Sam." Dean had ordered.

Sam had been baffled, but had complied, because underneath his brother's cross dismissal, he had seen something else, distress. He had returned the gift to the store, and picked up pie on the way home. Dean had graciously accepted his favorite food, even sharing some with Sam, behaving as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

Sam never discovered the reason for Dean's hate of barbeques, the events as well as the appliance in itself. He thought maybe it brought back memories of Lisa and Ben, assuming the last time Dean had even had anything to do with a barbeque had been when he was staying with them. He would never learn that not only did barbeques remind Dean of the family he had given up, but the one that had been ripped from his grasp. That it reminded him of the year he had spent without his little brother, of the year he had spent struggling to live with only half a soul, it was a simple object, but it brought about the most excruciating level of pain.

Sam didn't need details to know why the subject of barbeques caused his brother distress, the fact that it did was enough of a reason for him to never bring it up again.

It was the little things.

Like how Sam forbid Dean from consuming tacos. It had baffled the older brother at first. They had been on the road for a while, and were at the umpteenth diner in the past couple weeks. Dean was momentarily tired of his regular order of a burger and fries, so he opted for something he hadn't had twelve times in the past week. Sam had heard his brother's intention of ordering tacos, and vehemently objected, insisted that Dean choose something else. Dean had assumed his brother was just being pissy, the result of too many late nights, and had went ahead with ordering his desired meal. Sam had returned from the bathroom in time to see his brother biting into the taco, the younger man had leapt across the table and ripped the offending food from Dean's hands. Dean had been shocked and angered by his brother's behaviour, but all that quickly dissipated as he watched Sam begin to have – what he could only think to classify as – a full on panic attack. It had taken nearly an hour to get the kid to calm down, and Sam still refused to speak to him until three days later, by which point Dean was practically grovelling for forgiveness.

Dean never discovered the reason behind his brother's peculiar behaviour, but was afraid to needle him about it, worried it might result in another extreme reaction. It had killed Dean that his flippant decision had resulted in Sam momentarily losing the ability to breathe naturally, and had upset him so severely that he couldn't so much as speak to Dean for nearly half a week.

Dean now avoided tacos like they were the plague, because according to Sam, they very much were. He had no problem avoiding such a delectable food, if it were for Sam's benefit. It was a small sacrifice to make for the purpose of his little brother's peace of mind.

It was the little things.

Like how on the few occasions Dean would become ill, Sam made him tomato rice soup, even long before he understood the reason his brother loved it so much; and Dean knew better than to try and tempt Sam with food when he was sick, but rather tea was what he wanted.

It was the little things.

Like how when Dean was having a particularly difficult night; when the memories, worries, or guilt refused to leave him be, it was distraction that got him through. Sam would find something entertainingly stupid on television, or suggest they go out, anything to pull Dean from his mind for a moment.

With Sam it was different. When Sam was having a rough time of it, when his mind was doing all it could to remind him of all the reasons he wasn't okay, he needed reassurance. Dean had learned a long time ago that nothing could distract his big brother's brain from whatever it was hyper-focusing on, but he could sooth the insecurities that were picking away at it. Dean would remind his brother that he wasn't alone, and that the two of them were still fighting together. Be it with words or actions, he gave Sammy that assurance on those bad nights.

It was the little things.

Like how Sam hated shopping. Whenever it was time to pick up some new non-bloodied clothes Dean would often be the one to do it.

It was the little things.

Like how Dean hated rats. So much so that when one was found creeping about the motel room, Sam tried to hunt it down but was unable to find it, and ended up going to the office to get them a new room.

It was the little things.

Like how pie was always a good way to cheer Dean up, and often Sam's version of a peace offering. Dean's peace offerings for his brother usually involved a new novel or watermelon.

It was the little things.

Like how Sam knew to text his brother every hour if he were off on his own, especially after an argument. There were times when they were younger and Sam was furious with Dean, but he would never neglect to text him on the hour, even it if were just to tell him he was being an asshole. It was also known between the two of them that after a fight, regardless of the texting rule, if Sam was gone for more than four hours, Dean was going out to find him.

It was the little things.

Like how Sam threw away the taser in their hunting arsenal after Dean's near-heart failure, and his brother never questioned him.

Or how Dean knew that Sam couldn't ever sleep on his back unless he was stretched out in the backseat of the Impala, because to this day he still couldn't stand waking up to stare at the ceiling.

It was the little things.

Like how Dean teared up whenever a Beatles song played over the radio.

Or how both boys cringed anytime they drove past a junkyard.

It was the little things.

Like how they both knew the locations and causes of each other's physical scars, better than they knew their own.

Or how they knew which drugs or methods of healing worked on each other, better than any doctor ever could.

It was the little things.

Like how Dean always took the less comfortable sleeping option, be it the couch or floor, leaving the more pleasant spot for Sam (because his brother had enough trouble with sleep as it was, without adding back pain to the list).

Or how Sam always made sure that his brother always got enough to eat, because there were too many times as kids where his brother had sacrificed, taking less than his share of the food so that Sam wouldn't be hungry.

It was the little things.

Like how Dean knew which of Sam's fears were serious, and which ones he could tease him about.

Or how Sam knew which of Dean's laughs were real, and which ones were attempts to disguise a deeper pain.

It was the little things.

Like how the world may have seen Sam as evil or broken, but Dean always knew him to be the strongest most good-hearted human being there ever was.

Or how the society may have viewed Dean as nothing more than a rebel without a cause, but Sam knew him to be more intelligent and more caring than anyone he'd ever known.

It was the little things that made them who they were.

It was the little things that made their relationship what it was.

It was the little things that they knew about each other.

The little things that no one else knew.

The little things that made them friends.

The little things that made them co-dependent.

The little things that made it all mean something.

It was the little things that mattered.

The little things were everything.

The End

Note: I know, not my normal flavor of fic, but I really hope someone enjoyed it! Thanks so much for reading! Please let me know what you thought of this peculiar creation. - Sam