Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural related.
AN: I may end up taking this down because it looks so crappy with the line dividers. I wanted a double space between scenes, for the flow, but that's not allowed here. Basically, the italics are happening in the present and then there are flashbacks that run together in normal font.
Dean pushes him out of the way.
He falls to the ground, dirt in his mouth.
Déjà vu.
Dean's always been about the pushing.
When he was five, he'd stepped off the curb.
He was too big to be clinging to Dean's hand anymore. He could walk by himself.
Daddy had already taught him how to use the little derringer pistol.
But he'd misjudged the curb and his sneaker had slipped off the edge and he'd had to stumble to keep from falling.
He hadn't seen the car.
Dean had pushed him to the pavement, back onto the sidewalk, bruising his shins.
The car's horn had echoed in his ears and he'd felt Dean's arms around him, shaking.
The poltergeist in Reno had liked to throw knives.
He was only ten but he'd killed a werewolf at 500 yards with a crossbow the previous weekend.
His dad said he was good at hunting.
But the flickering of the lights had distracted him. He didn't even realize that the knives were levitating until he heard the sound of the blade sinking into Dean's shoulder right before his chin bounced off the floor.
And that night, after his dad had put ointment on the cut on his face, Sammy went into the bathroom and helped Dean stitch up his shoulder.
"You've got to watch where you're going, Sammy," he'd said, smiling at him. "I'm not always going to be around to watch your back."
Dean was fourteen and Sammy had never known a time when Dean hadn't been taking care of him. "Yeah, you will."
Dean smiled. Sammy knew Dean wouldn't leave him.
He was already bleeding, but they were all bleeding.
Dean shoved him down, on top of their unconscious father, and Sam had forced himself to ignore the shard of glass that was still protruding from Dean's thigh.
"You don't touch Sammy!" he growled, pushing forward determinedly with the cross in one hand and the stake in his other hand.
The vampire was wild with bloodlust alone he'd taken them all down and Sam was worried about his brother's sanity for a moment when he watched the stake impale the monster's chest with a harsh sound like wood into flesh.
Dean's went wide when the blood started pulsing out of the monster and he staggered back.
It gurgled, blood gushing from its mouth before it burst into flames, throwing them all backwards with the force.
"Sammy…Sammy…" Dean's voice had brought him back to consciousness and he coughed through the smoke. "You gotta get up, Sammy, I can't drag you both…"
Dean always pushes him out of the way.
His dad always told him that he was the luckiest in combat that he'd ever seen. But Sam knew that it was because Dean was his armor.
Dean pushes him all the time.
When Sam's dad found the flyer for varsity basketball, he'd flown into a rage like Sam had never imagined.
He was drinking for breakfast these days and the only reason they had food on the table was because of Dean's part time job at the grocery store.
Dean stepped into his room that night with a greasy white bag from the diner next door to his job and put it on the desk on top of his abandoned school books.
"Dinner. Figured you and dad were fighting again. You all right?"
He nodded indifferently, reaching for the bag. "How'd you know we were fighting?"
"Dad puked on the couch again. I thought about rubbing his nose in it but he's pretty gone," Dean joked.
"You think it's stupid?"
"What? Basketball? I wouldn't know, you're the tall one," Dean replied, moving the books aside and sitting on the edge. He reached behind him and pulled out an envelope.
"What's that?"
"I wish it was a paycheck. I got fired today. Something about lacking people skills or some bullshit," he muttered, holding it out.
Sam recognized the SAT logo on the outside. "SAT's?"
"You said you wanted to take them. And you know Dad's not going to pay for it," Dean replied.
"But…"
"As long as you remember one thing, Sammy," Dean said seriously.
"What?"
"You'll never be smarter than me," he replied.
"Is that her?" Dean asked.
Sam dropped his backpack on the seat through the window and turned to see what his brother was talking about. "Who?"
"The girl that's crushing on you."
"What?" Sam hated the way Dean had to worm his way into every part of his life. Jenny was watching them from the front steps of the school.
"She likes you. She's cute. You should ask her to the dance," Dean said, turning around and opening the door to the Impala.
"The dance?"
"It's your senior prom, Sammy. You should go. It might be the last time you get to do anything normal in a while. We're leaving next week," Dean said.
Sam sighed.
"I've got an old tux in my stuff somewhere I had to use on a job once. Zombie valets, remember?" Dean smirked.
"Sammy?"
"You all right?" Sam asks, not correcting him as he accepts his help off the forest floor, brushing off.
"Yeah. Did you see that thing?" Dean asks.
"Yeah," he replies.
Dean's gaze flickers across his face. "Well, we took care of it. Want to do the honors?" he asks, holding out the lighter fluid and nodding toward the carcass.
"Sure."