Note: This was a little unintentional. It started as one thing and totally transformed on me, but I hope you still like it :)

Sam tapped his foot restlessly.

Dean was waiting.

He knew his brother would have finished at the morgue by now.

The hunter was probably already sitting in the Impala out front.

Waiting.

Sam began to drum his fingers on the desk.

He hated to keep Dean waiting.

Especially when he knew his brother was hurting and exhausted.

They had just finished a hunt last night and things had gotten a bit…sticky. Dean had wrenched his left knee pretty badly and Sam had received a minor concussion. The hunt had attracted too much attention and the authorities had been on their tales, forcing the hunters to vacate the state immediately. They had been driving most the night, well Dean had. The older man refused to let Sam behind the wheel, regardless of how much pain his knee was in. The younger brother had insisted, but Dean had been adamant that his concussed sibling was not permitted to operate his baby. Sam had played his part, grumbling and whining about Dean's obsession with the Impala, when - in reality - the youngest Winchester knew full well that it was him being protected, not the car. Sam had done his best to stay awake and keep his brother company during the over-night journey, but his pulsing skull, the soothing rumble of the engine, and the idiot who kept turning the hot air up had eventually lulled the passenger to sleep. Dean had been up all night, only acquiring a few meager hours of rest once they had arrived in Montana this morning, before waking-up and having to jump in on researching the next job. The newest supernatural creature they were hunting had a strict schedule, and the boys had to find it before its next kill. However, Sam had recently discovered that the pair did have a little more time than they had previously thought, and he was determined to use that new-found leeway to force his big brother into getting some much-needed rest.

Sam felt a vibration against his thigh and quickly pulled his cell from his pocket, answering the moment he spotted 'De' on the screen.

"Hey, what'd you find out?" He asked.

"Nothing we didn't already know. How's it going at geek-central?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "The library is fine. But they haven't computerized the city records, so I had to sort through a mountain of paper-work by hand."

"Sounds like a party."

"Oh, yeah, definitely."

Dean snorted in response to the sarcasm.

"I am getting copies made of some of the more significant documents."

"Alright, I'm out front when you're ready."

"It might be a while." Sam reported regretfully, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the elderly librarian struggling with the archaic photocopier.

"That's fine. I can wait."

"You don't have to."

"It's fine, dude. I don't mind. I'd come in if I wasn't afraid of catching book-germs."

Sam snorted at his brother's lame excuse, but he sobered a second later when his brain reminded him of the real reason Dean didn't want to enter the library. He was in pain, his knee had to be killing him.

"Just go back to the motel and rest up, maybe put some ice on your knee." The younger brother suggested.

"My knee is fine."

"Bullshit."

"It's no worse-off than your head, which is probably pounding after all the reading you just did."

Sam frowned, because of course his big brother was spot on. The younger man's skull was aching, but that didn't mean that Dean should have to suffer as well.

"Seriously, man, I don't know how long this is going to take. Just head back to the motel and I'll meet you there."

"How, Sam? You going to teleport?" Dean inquired incredulously.

"I'll walk."

"All the way across town? I don't think so." The older man dismissed.

"Then I'll catch a cab." Sam suggested.

"Don't be ridiculous." Dean scoffed.

The younger brother shook his head in silent exasperation. He was a grown-ass man, and was still forbidden to acquire his own transportation.

There were days that Dean's protective nature made Sam feel both loved and smothered.

"Sammy."

"Yeah?"

"Do what you need to do. I'll wait."

But mostly loved.

"You don't have to." Sam stated so softly that it wasn't much more than a whisper.

"C'mon kid, when have I ever had a problem waiting for you?" Dean questioned in a surprisingly sincere tone.

The taller man cocked his head to the side as he leaned back against the front desk, trying to think of a time - just one damn time - that Dean hadn't waited for him. Sure, there were occasions when his brother complained about the length of his shower, but that was it. Sam couldn't think of a single instance when Dean hadn't been more than okay with waiting for his little brother.

He used to wait for Sam to be ready for school in the mornings, and for him to finish his homework before training, and for him to finish his laps – prior to the younger boy's growth spurt Dean always had him beat – before sparring. Sam always found his big brother waiting for him outside of every school he ever attended in his childhood.

Every school but one.

Sam got lost in his own mind as the memory of that one school grabbed hold of him.

Sam sauntered up to the high school, stopping next to the tree standing outside the large building.

He dropped his book bag on the ground, and tiredly leaned back against the tree trunk, holding his casted arm against his chest. He had been given a sling for the injured limb, but had left it back at the motel. His broken arm was obvious enough thanks to the big white cast, he didn't need a bright blue sling to attract any more attention. Sam couldn't even fit his arm into his jacket, so he stuffed the outerwear into his backpack. He didn't want to only wear it half-on like he had been this morning, because it looked stupid, or so all the other kids had told him. Thankfully, the shirt he was wearing was a hand-me-down (as were all his shirts) and stretched easily over his cast.

Sam winced, leaning more heavily against the bark at his back, and cradling the pulsing limb. The young boy began to restlessly tap his feet against the ground. He didn't mind waiting for Dean - really he didn't - he had been doing it every day for almost a month, but today he was tired. He was tired, he was cold, and his arm was killing him. Today Sam didn't have a lot of patience. He wanted to go back to the hotel where it was at least warm, where he could get some pain killers, and maybe some soup. He wanted this crappy day to end.

But more than anything, Sam wanted Dean.

He wanted his big brother to march out of those doors and walk straight to the tree they always met at after school. He wanted the older boy nearby.

Because Dean always made everything better.

Sam shifted against the tree, his eyes trained on the doors from which his brother would soon appear.

Just not soon enough.

A small group of older boys were loitering out front, a couple dozen feet away from the youngest Winchester. Sam had seen the boys before, they were Dean's friends or at least they knew him and liked him. They usually exited the school with the teen or would wave or nod at him when he left.

Sam thought the three boys looked older than his big brother, but Dean appeared older than he was and he was the absolute coolest; so, Sam imagined that all the kids in school would want to hang out with the teen, regardless of his age.

Sam smiled to himself. He felt so lucky to have such a cool big brother. His smile faltered, as his traitorous mind reminded him that Dean wasn't so lucky. Dean didn't have a cool brother.

Sam was a dork. A short, small, skinny, looks-younger-than-his-age eleven-year-old, that was the brother Dean got stuck with. A brother who was often the target of bullies and always seemed to be getting hurt. A brother who constantly needed to be taken care of. A brother who wasn't popular, cool, fast, or strong. A brother who was no better at making friends than he was at hunting.

No, Dean didn't get lucky at all.

"Who's this tiny twit?"

Sam flinched at the question. He had been so busy wallowing in his own short-comings, that he had neglected to notice the approach of the three teenagers. They were close, and moving closer, as they all stared down at him.

Sam opened his mouth to answer, but one of the teens - the one with spikey hair - spoke first.

"That's Winchester's brat." He declared with a sneer.

Sam frowned at the description. He liked being Dean's brother, he was proud of it. Why was he being ridiculed for it?

"So, this is the fun-sucking twerp we keep hearing about." The tallest one grumbled, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers.

Sam glared up at the older boy, distractedly wondering what Dean had been saying about him to his schoolmates; however, he quickly disposed of such an absurd thought. His big brother would never say bad things about him, especially to strangers. Sure, sometimes he got annoyed with Sam and on occasion the two of them would fight, but the preteen couldn't imagine Dean ever ridiculing or insulting him in front of other people.

"Get away from me." Sam bit out, trying to sound far tougher than he was currently feeling, as he stood backed up against a tree and surrounded by three much older boys who were all leering down at him.

The group of teens laughed, the tallest taking a long drag of his cigarette before bending forward and blowing the smoke directly into Sam's face. The younger boy coughed, his scalp knocking against the tree trunk as he angled his head away. A harsh grip snagged his chin and forced his head forward, as another exhale of smoke was released in his face. Sam choked and hacked as the poisoned air infiltrated his lungs. He reached out to push the older boy away, only to have both his arms grabbed by the other two teens.

"What the hell?" Inquired the one students - who had yet to speak - as his hand wrapped around Sam's cast.

He tugged the child's sleeve up, revealing the stark white material beneath.

"Oh, look at that, the little shit has a busted bone." The leader stated with a smile, reaching out toward the injured limb.

"Don't!" Sam shouted, fighting to pull away. But the hold on his cast was iron, and his other wrist was still locked in the spikey-haired-teen's grip.

"Did your big brother do this, huh?" The tallest boy asked with an all-too-gleeful grin, pulling the cast closer to him.

Sam cried out in pain as his damaged arm was handled with such careless aggression

"I'm not surprised. Did he finally get sick of that short fucking leash you keep him on?"

Sam had been ready to shout and curse at the three teens towering over him, he had been planning to make a scene, but that question threw him off. He froze, stopping his struggle as he stared up at the smoker.

"What?" He choked out, fear and confusion creating a tornado of turmoil inside of him.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, you fucking stain."

Sam cringed at the insult, and the harsh tug on his arm.

"Your big bro hasn't been able to have any fun, he hasn't gone to a single damn party, because he's too busy looking out for your worthless ass."

"But I- I never—

Sam wanted to proclaim that he had never forced or even requested that Dean stay home with him instead of going out, but he wasn't given the chance.

"The dude could have screwed Jessica Landsale more than a dozen times by now, if he wasn't so busy babysitting you." The teen spat.

Sam opened and closed his mouth, like a fish out of water, but he couldn't find any defense to give. He may have never demanded that his big brother stay with him, but he knew that he was the reason Dean didn't go out at night.

"I figured that you somehow had the poor guy whipped, but I can see now that he makes you pay for leeching the goddamn life out of him." The tallest teenager snickered, pulling again at Sam's casted arm.

"You're wrong. Dean would never hurt me!" The smallest boy argued, his voice strong and sure, even as his bottom lip quivered with emotion.

"Your broken arm says different." The leader ridiculed with a laugh.

Sam ripped his good arm from the teen's grip, and swung at the tall body in front of him. The well-rehearsed right hook, made a swift and solid connection with the smoker's chin. The cigarette fell from his mouth, as the tall boy dropped down on his ass.

Sam's smirk of success was only present for the briefest of moments, before his arm was re-captured and ruthlessly restrained.

"You mother-fucking pissant!" He hollered, climbing quickly to his feet and advancing on the young boy.

The eleven-year-old cried out as he was shoved violently into the tree trunk. His spine was slammed mercilessly into the bark and a shock of pain reverberated up from his tailbone all the way to his skull.

"You're going to pay for that, you little maggot." The teen spewed, his face inches from Sam's.

"Zack, here."

Sam glanced to his right, and watched as the other teen placed something into the taller one's hand.

"Fuck-yes." Zack exclaimed with a wicked grin.

Sam's eyes grew as he saw the permanent marker being toyed with in the nicotine-stained fingers.

"Hold him." He instructed.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, ashamed at the shrill panic he could here ringing in his own voice, as the two teens at his sides held him firm against the tree.

Sam tried to kick out with his feet, but his legs were too short to do any good and all the boys did was laugh at his efforts before stepping on his feet to contain them.

"Let me go." Sam shouted, relentlessly and purposelessly struggling against his human restraints.

"We will. Right after I sign your cast." The leader – Zack – declared cheerfully.

Sam fought to move the white plaster away from the cruel teenager, but the grip on his injured limb was too hard and the young boy was forced to watch the permanent marker violate the blank canvas.

He couldn't read what it said, Zack's hand was in the way, but Sam knew it would be something awful. Something awful that he would have to wear for months before the cast could be removed. Sam sniffled miserably at the thought, trying to swallow his distress, refusing to give his tormentors the satisfaction of making him cry.

Zack finished his inscription, smiling through the entire process, and opened his mouth. Sam figured he was about to read out what had been written, but he would never know because the bell interrupted before a word could be spoken. The moment the ring sounded through the air all three of the teenagers released Sam and stepped back. They were still crowding the kid, but no longer restraining him. Sam nearly collapsed, his back aching as he struggled to steady himself by placing his good arm against the tree.

"You can tattle on us to your bro, you little twit, but just remember that we can make his life a living hell if we want to." Zack threatened, leaning back into Sam's space and aggressively forcing his shirt sleeve back down over the graffitied plaster. "Then again, he would probably thank us for teaching your dumb-ass a lesson." He added, straightening up to his full height.

Sam shied away. He hated himself for it, but he couldn't help but shrink back in fear.

"Hey! Get the hell away from him!"

Dean's booming order brought immediate relief to Sam's soul.

The younger boy knew when the bell rang-out that his brother would appear soon, Dean was always one of the first students out the door when school ended. He had been rapidly exiting the building every day all month, because he knew that Sam was waiting and he didn't like that. He had been annoyed when they arrived in town and he found out that the high school didn't let out until thirty-minutes after the elementary school. The youngest Winchester had been okay with it, the two buildings were close together and he didn't mind walking over and waiting. Dean always waited for Sam out front of all the other schools, so it was only fair that the younger boy took his turn.

Sam had to stop himself from running to his big brother. Not that it was necessary, Dean was practically sprinting towards the tree.

"Hey, Dean, what's up?" Zack greeted casually, taking another step away from Sam. The teen's tone was nothing like it had been when he communicated with the eleven-year-old. It was light and playful now, instead of wickedly amused and threatening.

But Dean didn't care. Sam could see that clear as day.

His brother was furious.

"You're way too fucking close to my kid brother, that's what's up." Dean seethed, stepping into the group, planting himself firmly in front of Sam.

The younger boy released a breath he hadn't known he was holding, once the great-wall-of-Dean was situated between him and the danger.

"Back the hell up!" Dean shouted, crowding Zack's space.

The teen raised his hands defensively and took a couple more steps back, but the smile never fell from his face, not even for a moment.

"What was going on here?" Dean asked, his tone demanding a response.

"Dude, we were just chatting with the kid, it's no big deal." The spikey-haired teen stated. He wasn't smiling as he backed away. Sam had no doubt that all three boys could see the fire he knew was alight in his brother's vibrant eyes.

"Chat's over now. Get lost." Dean growled.

The two shorter teens began to back off even further, but Zack didn't move.

"C'mon, Dean. Don't be like that. I thought we were cool, man." The taller boy claimed.

"Yeah, Zack, we were. Until I came out here and saw you towering over my little brother, you smug sonuvabitch."

Finally, the teenager's amused grin dissipated, but Sam shied away at the dangerous glint that returned to the boy's eyes.

"That's a big mistake, Winchester." He warned darkly.

Dean stepped forward, becoming impossibly more threatening as he reached out and snagged Zack's collar. Dean appeared shorter and younger than the other teen, but that didn't seem to bother him as he dragged the boy forward and got right in his face.

"No, you made the mistake, asshole. The second you went near my kid brother. You stay the fuck away from him from now on. And if you or your goons ever so much as speak to him again, I will rip your lungs out." Dean vowed in a deep thundering voice, before shoving Zack backwards.

The three teenagers stalked off, but the tallest one didn't move away before sending a sinister look at the two Winchesters. Sam gripped the back of his brother's coat, and Dean reached an arm behind him and wrapped it protectively around the smaller boy, as he stepped further in front of him and completely blocked him from Zack's furious glare.

It wasn't until the trio was out of sight, that Dean stood down and turned to face Sam.

"What happened? What were those scumbags doing? Did they hurt you?" The older boy questioned, ducking down and checking Sam over.

"I'm okay, Dean." The child answered in the most reassuring voice he could muster.

Dean shook his head.

"You're not. You're scared. I saw the fear on your face the moment I stepped out the door. What did those assholes do to you?"

"Nothing, really. They were just talking."

"Talking about what?"

"Just- just stuff." Sam evaded with a shrug.

"Did they threaten you?" Dean questioned, glancing menacingly over his shoulder, as though the teens were still standing there.

"They just called me names, it's not a big deal."

"Those bastards!" The older boy shouted, standing to his full height and turning back toward the school.

"Dean, please. It's nothing. I'm fine. Can we just go?" Sam requested.

He wanted to leave. He didn't want Dean to go after the boys.

He didn't want his big brother to get hurt.

He just wanted to go home, and he couldn't be home without Dean.

Because Dean was home.

"Please." He repeated softly, tugging on the taller boy's jacket.

The teen seemed reluctant, but eventually turned back toward his brother.

"Okay, Sammy. We can go." He stated softly.

Sam sighed in relief, moving to grab his bag, but was stopped by the hand that landed on his shoulder.

"Where's your coat?" Dean asked, glancing around.

"In my bag. It' doesn't fit over my cast. Looks stupid." Sam mumbled to the ground.

He looked up when he heard movement, and watched Dean slip out of his jacket.

"I'm okay, you don't—

"Shut-up, Sam. You've been standing out here for half an hour, I can see how cold you are, and we still have to walk back to the motel."

"But you—

"I'll be fine. I've got lots of muscle and fat keeping me warm. Your skinny-ass doesn't have any of that." Dean pointed out, winking playfully at Sam as he helped thread the casted arm through the sleeve, before zipping the jacket up.

"I'm not that skinny." Sam sulked.

"Sure, kiddo. Whatever you say. How about we get out of here now?"

The younger boy nodded appreciatively, bending to snag his discarded backpack from the base of the tree, but his big brother beat him to it.

"I can carry it."

"I know you can. And when you get that cast off, I might even let you." Dean announced with a smirk, slinging his arm over Sam's narrow shoulders as they started their stroll down the street to the motel.

Sam remained silent at the mention of the cumbersome object encasing his left arm. He was both itching and dreading to discover what had been scrawled on the white plaster, but he didn't want to risk Dean seeing it.

"How bad is it?"

"What?" Sam asked, glancing up to the right, the side Dean always walked on, the side closest to the road.

"Your arm, how much does it hurt?" He questioned, his eyes squinted in concern as he nodded at the limb Sam hadn't even noticed he was cradling.

"Not bad, it's just sore." The younger boy shrugged dismissively, letting his arm fall to his side, hoping that not holding it against his chest would make it easier to forget – or rather make it easier for Dean to forget.

"I know you don't like the sling, dude, but the support would probably make your arm feel a lot better."

"It doesn't." Sam mumbled to the pavement.

He heard his big brother suck in a deep slightly-frustrated breath, but was relieved when the older teen made no further comment.

Once they arrived back at the motel Dean helped his little brother remove the large jacket and then the young boy slipped quickly into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

Sam took a few deep breaths before he reached down and tugged the hand-me-down sleeve up and out of the way.

Worthless Mother-Fucking Pissant

He failed to hold back a sob as he read the black inscription.

"Sammy?"

The boy snapped his jaw shut, blinking the tears from his eyes, and breathing sharply through his nose as he fought to calm himself.

"What's going on in there?" Dean questioned, as Sam heard him lean against the door and tap on it softly.

"Nothing." He choked out, wincing at how much distress had smuggled its way into the simple word.

There was no way his big brother was going to back off now.

"Bullshit. Open the door, Sam."

Typical.

"I'm fine, Dean. Please just leave me alone." The child requested, knowing he would be denied the petition for privacy the moment he heard his own voice crack.

"No way, kiddo. You know I can't do that."

His big brother may not have left things alone like Sam wanted him to, but he had softened. Dean's voice had adopted that soothing comforting quality it always did when he was trying to get Sam to open-up.

"Talk to me, Sammy."

It wasn't an order or a demand, it was a plea. And no matter how hurt or humiliated the youngest Winchester was, he would always cave to his big brother when he sounded like that.

Sam tugged his sleeve back down over the plaster, before reaching out and unlocking the door. Dean took that as the invitation it was, and slowly stepped into the small space.

"What's going on, kiddo?" He inquired, glancing around the bathroom before his worried gaze returned to the sniffling eleven-year-old.

"I need a marker." Sam declared, satisfied that he kept his voice steady.

"Okay, random. What do you need a marker for?"

"Do you have one?"

"No, dude. All we have is a couple of pens, and Dad might have left the highlighter on the table."

Sam shook his head.

"No, those won't work. I need a marker. A permanent marker."

"Why?"

"I just need it!" Sam almost shouted, his desperation rising as he thought of the cruel words scribbled on his cast.

"Hey, buddy. Calm down. We'll find one, alright? I will get you one, but not until you tell me why you need it so badly." Dean bargained, crouching down in front of Sam, so that his face was level with the younger boy's.

Sam chewed on his bottom lip. He didn't want Dean to know what had happened. But he needed that marker. He didn't want to go to school on Monday and risk the other kids seeing the inscription. He also knew that Dean was bound to notice it soon enough.

"You have to promise not to get angry." Sam replied.

The teen shook his head.

"You know I can't do that, Sam."

The smaller brother sighed, flicking the hair out of his eyes before responding.

"You have to promise not to get angry with me."

Dean squinted, his green eyes examining Sam's face, and making the smaller boy wish that he had left his bangs curtaining his features.

"Okay, I promise." The older boy agreed after a moment.

Sam released a sigh of relief, because Dean never broke his promises.

He hooked his fingers onto the edge of the stained grey sleeve, and pulled it up over the cumbersome cast, revealing the vile words boldly-written beneath.

"What the hell?" Dean breathed, reaching out for the broken limb.

Sam tensed, bracing himself for the pain as Dean took hold of his arm, but none came; the teenager's large hands were nothing but gentle as they manipulated the limb. The younger boy watched as his brother trailed his long fingers over the vivid lettering.

He was looking to see Dean's reaction, but all he could see was his brown hair, as his head was angled down.

"Who did this?"

Sam may not have been able to see any emotion, but he had no problem hearing the venom in his brother's tone.

The child didn't answer, knowing that the older Winchester would soon figure the truth out on his own. None of the kids at Sam's school had a vocabulary as vulgar as the words etched out on the medical material. He didn't even think any of the elementary school kids knew what a pissant was.

"Did those assholes do this to you?" Dean barked, looking up, his face a collage of shock, misery, and rage. He had clearly arrived at his own conclusion, but was awaiting confirmation.

Sam continued to gnaw on his bottom lip as he nodded.

Dean grazed his fingers over the hateful engraving once more, before abruptly releasing his brother's arm and standing to his full height.

"I'm going to kill them." He growled, rapidly exiting the bathroom.

"No, Dean. Stop!" Sam called out, rushing after his brother and snagging the sleeve of his green button-up shirt.

Dean paused, his breath coming fast and hard as he turned to look down at his little brother. Sam could see the fire in the green eyes, and knew that the infuriated teenager wanted nothing more than to go seek vengeance. The child could tell that his big brother was fighting hard not to shake off Sam's grip and book it out the front door.

"Stay. Please."

The two simple words were all that was required to alleviate the teen's temptation to take-off; not that the gentle tug of the sleeve or the moisture-filled eyes weren't of any assistance. However, Sam didn't release the breath he had been holding, until the teen angled himself fully away from the motel room door.

Dean slid his hands beneath Sam's armpits and swiftly lifted the child off the ground. Sam was placed on the kitchen counter, just a couple feet away and a children's Advil was promptly placed in his palm. He gratefully popped the medication into his mouth, and chased it down with the glass of water that appeared in front of him. The cup vanished as quickly as it had materialized and Dean leaned down toward Sam, placing a hand on either side of the boy's knees as they rested on the counter-top.

The youngest Winchester stared at the older one through the fringe of his hair, waiting for him to speak.

"Sam, Why—

The words died on the teen's lips as his eyes grew. Sam looked down, searching for what it was that had caught his brother's attention. Long fingers wrapped around his uninjured forearm, and brought the limb forward.

"Did they do that too?" Dean bit out, his thumb grazing over Sam's right wrist; it was only then that the small boy spotted the bruise forming on his pale skin. It hadn't been there earlier, and those guys had been quite aggressive in their efforts to restrain him.

Sam nodded.

Fury flashed across the Dean's expression, as he released Sam's arm.

"Did they hurt you anywhere else?"

The eleven-year-old shook his head.

"Sam." Dean warned.

"My back." He confessed. "They – uh – they pushed me against the tree."

"Let me see." Dean demanded briskly.

Sam obediently leaned forward, sighing softly as he dropped his forehead against his brother's broad shoulder, resting against the firm frame.

Dean released a soft chuckle, his fingers brushing through Sam's shaggy hair before they slid down his back to the hem of his shirt. The young boy remained relaxed against his older brother as he felt his shirt pulled up, he shivered as his bare skin was exposed. He heard and felt Dean's chest rise in a gasp, which meant there must have been evidence of the pain pulsing up and down Sam's spine.

"Those bastards!" Dean's voice dripped with ire, but his touch was feather-light as he gently felt his way up Sam's spine.

"Bruised?" Sam mumbled into the fifteen-year-old's shoulder.

"Yeah. Half your goddamn back is black." He reported darkly.

"Already?" Sam wondered aloud, shamelessly nuzzling against his brother's collarbone, wincing as Dean placed pressure on a particularly sore spot.

"How much does it hurt?" Dean questioned, pulling the child's shirt back into place before sliding his hand to rest on the back of Sam's neck beneath the shaggy mess of hair, giving it a comforting squeeze.

"Not bad. Just sore. Makes me forget about my arm." The youngest Winchester pointed out optimistically.

Dean grunted, his right hand coming up to comb through Sam's long brown locks as his left squeezed the kid's neck once again.

"Why didn't you tell me, Sammy?"

Sam frowned at the question, and the despair he detected in his brother's tone.

"I did." He answered, listening to the thump of Dean's heartbeat.

"Why didn't you tell me before? When I saw you with those assholes?" The teen clarified.

Sam sighed, shrugging in response.

He had hoped that would be enough of an answer, but inside he knew that there was no chance Dean would settle for it.

Sam moaned his objection as Dean took hold of his slender shoulders and pushed him upright. The vibrant green eyes levelled the young boy with a stern look.

"They said they were your friends." Sam muttered.

The tall teenager snorted in disgust.

"What else did they say?"

The smaller brother looked down at his feet dangling above the floor as he whispered his reply.

"The truth."

"That'd be a shocker." Dean scoffed. "What truth was that exactly?"

"That I ruin everything."

"They said that?" Dean snapped.

"Not exactly."

"Then what exactly did they say?"

Sam sucked in a long breath before delivering a response.

"That I keep you on a short leash." He quoted.

The teen's baffled expression was an open portrayal of his confusion.

"They said that you never go to parties 'cause of me. And that you could have hooked up with the girl Jessica lots of times by now, if you weren't stuck babysitting me."

"That sounds like the truth to you?" Dean inquired

"Isn't it? Isn't that what you tell them about me?"

"You think I would ever say that about you?"

The disbelief in Dean's tone was both comforting and confusing to his little brother.

"They said that I was the fun-sucking twerp they were always hearing about." Sam explained with a shrug. "I thought maybe that was the kind of stuff you told them about me."

Dean's silence caused Sam to glance up from the swinging feet he had been concentrating on. The teenager's mouth was open, but no words were coming out. Sam tried to think of what he had said wrong, and made an effort to fix it.

"It would be okay if you did. It's all true."

That remark put an instantaneous end to the older boy's silence.

"You think that bullshit was true?" He nearly shouted in outrage.

Sam shied away at the exclamation, which resulted in his brother quieting his voice.

"You seriously think that, Sam?" He repeated earnestly, ducking down into the young boy's line of sight.

"I keep you from having any fun. You never go out with your friends, 'cause you're stuck with me."

"I'm not stuck anywhere. I choose to stay with you."

Sam frowned, it seemed like the same thing to him, either way Dean didn't get to have any fun.

The teenager released an exasperated sigh, before elaborating.

"You have been on your own a hell of a lot, kiddo. A lot more than I like to think about."

The younger boy squinted, unsure what point his brother was trying to make.

"You don't need anyone to babysit you. If I wanted to go out, I could go out. You aren't trapping me here. I choose to be here. Because I am my own goddamn person and I can make my own decisions about what to do with my time. And I choose to spend it with you."

"Why?" Sam questioned, honestly confused as to why someone as cool as Dean - someone who could do whatever he wanted with whoever he wanted – chose to spend his free time with his lame little brother.

Dean raised his eyebrows briefly, before his features softened and he leaned forward, moving in closer to Sam, their faces mere inches apart.

"Because I like you, Sam. Because I like hanging out with you."

"But – but I'm not cool like your friends."

"Yeah, some friends I have." Dean spat bitterly. "Those scumbags treated you like shit. They lied to you, they upset you, they wrote that bullshit on your cast, they put their fucking hands on you, and that fucker Zack smoked near you, didn't he?"

The younger boy bit his lip.

"I can smell it on you." Dean added.

"He kept blowing it in my face." Sam admitted miserably.

"That sonuvabitch! I'm going to tear him apart!" The teenager vowed, pushing away from the counter.

"You can't!" The smaller boy proclaimed, reaching forward with his good arm and latching onto his brother's sleeve.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because he said he could make things bad for you!"

"Zack said that?"

Sam nodded.

"Is that why you didn't tell me what happened sooner? Did he threaten me to keep you quiet?"

Sam snagged his bottom lip between his teeth as he nodded once again.

"Do me a favour, kiddo, alright? Don't ever fall for that shit. Not from asshole teenagers or anybody else."

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Dean held up a finger, a silent request to be permitted to finish what he was saying.

Sam waited.

"I can take care of myself, and I can take care of you. So, if anybody ever makes a threat, you come to me, Sammy. Okay?"

"Okay, De." The younger boy agreed, his voice raspy with emotion.

"Good." Dean said with a nod.

"I'm sorry." Sam whispered.

"For what? For being bullied by a bunch of asshats three times your size?"

"No. I'm sorry you didn't get as lucky as I did." Sam hadn't intended to be so honest, but the words fell from his lips before he could stop them.

"What are you talking about?" The teen inquired with patient curiosity.

"I have the coolest big brother ever."

Dean squinted in what looked to be confusion, but the corners of his mouth pulled upwards in apparent amusement.

"But you're stuck with me." Sam mumbled dejectedly, watching as Dean's smile faded to a frown.

"And what the hell is so wrong with you?" He queried.

The boy seated on the counter-top shrugged, glancing down at his cast, before quickly looking away from the vial words written there.

"I'm not cool or fun or popular. I'm boring and dorky and…and a pissant." The child choked out.

"Hey! I wouldn't let anyone else call you shit like that. What the fuck makes you think you can?" Dean snapped.

Even through his tears, Sam couldn't help but quirk a smile at his brother's remark.

"You want to know what I tell the people at school about you?" The teen asked.

Sam wasn't sure if he truly did, but he nodded nonetheless.

"I tell them that my kid brother is brilliant, that he is the smartest person I know. And that he's funny. That's all I tell them about you, buddy, because I don't like people knowing too much. But If I were to tell them more, I would talk about how awesome you are. I would tell them how independent and stubborn you can be. I would mention how kind you are and how fucking brave you always are. I would tell them all about the times you took care of me when I was sick or injured and all the times you helped save other people. I would tell them about how my kid brother is a fucking hero, and my favourite person on the damn planet."

The eleven-year-old sniffled, swiping at the moisture building in his eyes, as he felt his heart swell inside of him.

"And sometimes when they ask me to go someplace, I say that I can't because I am going to hang-out with my little brother. That's all. I don't tell them that I have to babysit, because I don't. And I don't tell them that you're some fun-sucking loser, because you're not. Those assholes lied to you, and they are going to pay for that. But I don't ever want to hear you talking shit about yourself again. You got that?"

Sam nodded, sucking in a shaky breath as a pair of calloused thumbs wiped away the tears that had escaped and were trailing down his cheeks.

"That's my boy." Dean praised, grinning as he leaned forward; Sam smiled as his brother placed a chaste kiss atop his head, while simultaneously squeezing the back of his neck.

The younger boy eagerly absorbed his big brother's blatant display of affection, drinking in every drop he could get.

"I took a swing at them." Sam reported, trying and failing to hide his smile.

"Yeah? You land anything?" Dean asked, a smile in his voice, his hand sliding from Sam's neck to his shoulder as he met the younger boy's hazel gaze.

Sam nodded. "On Zack's jaw."

Dean barked out a laugh. "Hell, yeah you did!" He praised.

Sam couldn't help but grin once he saw his big brother's face glowing with pride. He loved making Dean's green eyes sparkle the way they were in that moment.

Sam loved being the reason that the person he loved most in the world had a smile on his face.

"Alright, slugger. Let's get you sorted." Dean declared, lifting the smaller boy off the counter and placing him on the floor.

Sam stood at his brother's side, looking up at him, awaiting instruction and trusting his big brother to take care of him.

Dean's smile was softer this time as he looked down at Sam, and gently ruffled the younger boy's shaggy head of hair.

In a few short minutes, Sam found himself situated against the headboard, propped up by a mountain of pillows with towel-wrapped ice against his back. Dean was sitting cross-legged on the mattress next to him, a permanent marker snagged from the motel office being twisted in his long fingers.

"Can you just do it already?" Sam queried impatiently, glancing at his brother and then down at the words scribed on his arm, feeling his chest tighten at the sight of them.

"Hey. We talked abut this. Stop looking at it. Watch T.V." Dean ordered, two of his fingers reaching up and pressing against Sam's jaw, forcing his gaze back to the Three Stooges playing on the television.

Sam huffed, but kept his eyes ahead, even as his mind wandered.

It was another minute before the younger boy heard the scratch of the writing utensil against the plaster. He glanced down to his left, to see Dean sketching an odd pattern on his cast.

"What are you—

"Eyes on the Stooges, Sammy." The teen instructed, without lifting his concentrated gaze.

Sam frowned, but reluctantly did as requested.

"I thought you would have signed it already." He pondered aloud.

"I'm working on it, kiddo." Dean assured.

"No, I meant before. When I got it. You're always the first one to sign it."

'And the only one' Sam thought silently to himself.

He sensed his older brother shrug.

"I was going to, but you had it all wrapped up in your sling until today. I would have gotten to it." Dean answered, sounding completely sincere.

Sam nodded along with the logic, surprised at how relieved he was that his brother had ever intention of signing his cast. Ever since that time Sam had launched himself off the roof of the shed and busted his arm, Dean had always been the first one to sign each and every one of his casts. And Dean's scrawled signature and his funny little doodles always made Sam feel better about his injuries.

It was another one of those little things that Dean did that made everything better for Sam.

Dean always made everything better.

"You know why I hit him?" The younger boy asked, attempting to resist the temptation to look down at his arm.

"I can think of a few reasons." The teen growled.

Sam smirked, his heart warmed by the protective anger he could hear in his big brother's voice.

"He thought that you broke my arm."

The long body at Sam's side went stiff, and straightened from where it had been bent over the plaster canvas.

"He thought what?" He spat, his voice drenched in disgust.

Sam swallowed, he hadn't intended to re-ignite his big brother's fury.

"Yeah, uuh, he thought you did it as payback or something." The younger boy muttered, shrugging as he spoke, doing his best to sound nonchalant while he distractedly watched Curly get smacked over the head with a frying pan.

"Payback for what?" Dean asked, in a way that made it clear how absurd he thought the situation to be.

Sam gave an evasive shrug, regretting having started their current conversation.

Dean kept one hand over the cast, as his other hand came up to grab Sam's chin and angle his face to the left.

"I thought you wanted me to watch T.V." Sam recited, doing his best to sound petulant as he smirked at his big brother.

"I do. And right after you answer my question you can watch all three of the Stooges pound on each other to your little heart's content." Dean paused, all humour fading from his expression. "Payback for what?" He repeated.

Sam sighed, his smirk falling as Zack's words played out in his head.

"For 'leeching the goddamn life out of you.'" The young boy quoted, his voice shaking.

Sam sucked in a deep breath in an effort to control his emotions, all the while watching Dean's reaction. The teenager's jaw clicked as it was viciously clenched, his nostrils flared, and rage shone through his eyes.

"He said that to you?" Dean seethed.

Sam nodded, his right fingers reaching forward and latching onto the front of his brother's shirt, tangling in the amulet that rested on top of the fabric. He wanted to keep Dean with him. He could see the anger and he knew the teen wanted nothing more than to go tear apart his little brother's tormentors, but Sam didn't want that. Sam didn't care about Zack and his henchmen.

All he cared about was Dean.

"You know that's not true? Right?"

Sam blinked, and registered the shift in his brother's expression, from ire to earnest concern.

"Right? You know that you don't take anything from me at all? You give, Sammy. God, you give me fucking everything, kiddo. You know that, right?" Dean's voice cracked, his green eyes pleading softly as they oozed sincerity.

It was nearly too much for Sam. The young boy tried and failed to swallow the lump in his throat and blink the moisture from his eyes, as he gave his big brother a shaky nod in reply.

"And you know that I would never ever hurt you. No matter what. That would never fucking happen. You know that, right?"

"Why do you think I punched him?" Sam quipped around the emotion clogging his airway.

Dean chuckled, grinning as he briefly palmed the younger boy's cheek.

"That's my boy." Dean rasped for the second time that day, pride flowing through his tone and shining from his eyes, as he gently patted Sam's cheek before letting his hand fall away.

Sam beamed with joy, staring at his big brother – his hero – for a moment longer before chancing a glance to his left.

"Ha! Nice try, kiddo. Back to the Stooges, little man, until I'm finished." The teen admonished as he blocked Sam's view of his injured arm.

The younger boy released an exasperated huff, as was his little-brother duty, before doing what was asked of him . He found he was able to actually enjoy the humorous television show now that all of his fears and insecurities had been demolished by his big brother.

Because if someone as cool as Dean could like Sam, if someone as awesome as the older teenager enjoyed hanging out with Sam, if someone as strong and heroic as Dean could be proud of Sam; well, than Sam couldn't be all that bad.

Maybe he was even a little bit cool.

A short while later when the young boy saw his cast and the drawing of the Impala that strategically disguised the vial words that had once been so distressingly evident, Sam dared to think that maybe he was more than cool.

He was special.

Maybe only in the eyes of his big brother, but that was all that mattered to Sam. How Dean saw Sam, how he felt about him, that was all that had ever mattered to the youngest Winchester.

Dean was his big brother.

His hero.

His home.

His whole world.

And if the teen saw enough worth in Sam to spend an hour sketching a model of the Impala onto his cast, and he if cared about Sam enough to seek vengeance on the teenagers that hurt him, and if he loved Sam enough to skip his last class every day so that he could be outside the elementary school the moment the bell rang for the remainder of their time in town; if Dean could do all that for Sam without being asked or forced to, than that had to mean that the younger boy was special to him.

That Sam mattered to him.

That, according to Dean, he had worth.

And that was everything that Sam had ever wanted, or needed.

"Sam? You still there, man?"

The younger man snapped back to the present.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here." Sam stated, clearing his throat and standing up straighter, sending an impatient glance towards the office.

"You alright? You zoned out on me there for a minute." Dean was doing his best to sound nonchalant, but his little brother could clearly depict the underlying concern in his tone.

"I'm fine." Sam dismissed with a sigh.

"Is it your head?"

"No. I was just thinking."

"Thinking about what?" The hunter questioned in complete curiosity.

Sam was about to tell his brother not to worry about it, but then he took another look at the elderly woman still struggling with the photocopier, and decided a little conversation might help the time past. It also might distract Sam from the pain pounding in his skull, and maybe do the same for Dean and his knee.

"About that time I waited for you outside of school." Sam said, knowing that the vague reference would do the job. There was only one school the youngest Winchester had to wait out front of for his big brother, and there was only one occasion where it all went wrong; after which Dean had made certain that Sam was never left waiting for him again.

Sam could hear Dean's jaw click under the pressure of which it was being clenched.

"I don't want you thinking about that." The older man nearly growled.

Sam couldn't help but quirk a smile at the protective anger.

"Thinking isn't going to do me any harm, Dean." He fondly reminded his big brother.

"Maybe not, but recalling a shitty memory like that sure ain't going to do you any good either." Dean responded, rage still present in his tone all these years later.

"It wasn't all bad." Sam stated with a shrug.

"Oh really? Which part? The part where they shoved you so hard against that tree that your back was bruised and hurting for weeks? Or the part where they wrote that trash on your arm? Or how about the part where they made you feel like absolute garbage?" Dean ranted, livid disgust dripping from each and every word.

"I'm thinking maybe you're the one who should stop thinking about it." Sam suggested, both amused and touched that his older brother was still so furious about the wrongs that been committed against him in childhood.

"It wasn't me those bastards hurt, Sam." Dean grumbled.

"They threatened you." The younger man reminded the hunter.

"Yeah, through you." He spat back.

"They said it was you who broke my arm." Sam spoke softly.

Dean went quiet. Sam knew that the implication that his brother had been the one to bring him harm had caused Dean more pain than any physical attack ever could. And the fact that the older man was making no attempt to deny that, spoke volumes.

"And I know that they spread that lie all over your school." The younger man added.

"I had a bunch of assholes come up to me that Monday and pat me on the back." Dean snorted disgustedly.

Sam grimaced, knowing how much that would have stung his big brother. Causing Sam harm went against every fibre of Dean's being, and to have other people accuse or congratulate him for committing an act he would label as most egregious – an act that would repulse him to his very core - well that couldn't have been easy.

"How'd you know about that?" Dean questioned.

"My school was ten feet from yours, news travels fast." Sam reported, remembering having heard the rumours at his elementary school on the Monday he had returned to class. "I also recall hearing about the condition that Zack and his goons showed up to class in, all bloody and bruised."

"They didn't get it nearly as bad as you did." Dean bit out, regret flavouring his hate.

"From what I heard, they got it a lot worse." Sam commented, thinking of his classmates gossiping about the three teenagers who got the shit beat out of them over the weekend. The young boy had known instantly that it was his brother's handiwork. Dean must have stolen away at some point during the weekend to exact his revenge.

"Physically, maybe." Dean grunted.

"There's no 'maybe' about it." Sam stated.

"I can't believe I was friends with those scumbags."

The taller man didn't like the self-recrimination he heard in his brother's voice.

"It wasn't your fault, Dean. You couldn't have known what they were going to do. You're not the psychic of the family." Sam joked, hoping the levity wouldn't affect the gravity of his point.

"They bullied you, belittled you – a kid one-third their size - without any reason or provocation. I should have known that they were capable of shit like that."

"You were a teenager. Not a psychiatrist."

"That's no excuse." Dean dismissed.

"No, it's not. Because you don't need an excuse, because only guilty people need an excuse. And you aren't guilty of a damn thing." Sam declared assertively.

"Yes, Sir. Whatever you say." Dean mocked, but his little brother could hear the fond sincerity in his tone.

"Good." Sam affirmed with a nod, knowing that his older brother may not buy into all he had said, but at least Dean knew what Sam believed.

"Bossy Bitch." Dean accused, a smile in his voice.

"Stubborn Jerk." Sam quipped in return, relieved to finally see the librarian returning with his copied documents. He nodding his thanks as he reached out for them and began to make his way out of the building.

"You do know that I wouldn't get attacked by bullies on my way back to the motel, right?" Sam checked, spotting the classic black car idling outside.

"You're a trouble magnet, kiddo. There's no telling what could happen to you."

The youngest Winchester knew that the older one was joking, but he didn't miss the serious undertones in Dean's voice.

"Take all the time you need, Sammy. I'll wait."

His big brother, always the protector.

No one had ever made Sam feel more loved and cared for than his over-protective big brother.

Not their father.

Not even – God help him - Jess.

Nobody but Dean.

Sam grinned as he made his way towards the Impala.

He would never consider himself to be a particularly fortunate person.

He was constantly losing everything and everyone that he loved.

His dream of normalcy remained impossibly unattainable.

His life was wrought with chaos and tragedy.

No, Sam had never viewed himself as fortunate.

But he always knew how miraculously lucky he was to have a big brother like Dean.

A big brother who would give up his life for him.

A big brother who saw value in him.

A big brother who fought for him.

A big brother who saved him.

A big brother who waited.

Sam ended the call as he opened the passenger door and dropped down into his designated spot.

"What are you grinning about?" Dean questioned, an amused smirk on his face.

The taller man shrugged, his wide smile still firmly in place, as dimples pitted his cheeks.

"Nothing, just..." Sam faded off, unable to find the words. What could anyone say to sufficiently thank someone for being everything they ever needed? And what gratitude could Sam offer that his brother wouldn't scoff at, or shrug off in discomfort. Because Dean hated to be thanked, especially for doing things he thought should be expected of him. So, Sam elected simplicity, but he was sure to pour every ounce of love and appreciation into his tone, not holding anything back, knowing that his brother would be able to hear it.

Dean always heard what Sam's couldn't say.

"Thanks for waiting."

"Anytime, Sammy."

Note: This is going to be a two-shot. I am so sorry to those wondering why I am not on tumblr. I have gotten behind on the again but I finally finished moving and I am going away tomorrow. I am hoping to find some time during the week to catch up on the show, after which I will promptly return to the tumbling world. So sorry for my absence. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first instalment to this odd little creation.