"We're here Sam. Hey Sammy wake up."

I watched as my brother slowly came out of sleep, rolling his head lazily in my direction and drowsily opening his eyes. A life time of waking up my little brother had me used to his sleep-deprived mannerisms, what I wasn't used to was Sam violently flinching back at the sight of my face.

"Whoa, easy there tiger. It's just me. The real me." I placated; my hands in the air, taking the least threatening position possible.

"Dean." Sam sighed in relief as he looked around in confusion. "Where are we?" He rasped; his voice completely wrecked from being strangled by my body double; the constant reminder adding to my guilt.

"Bobby's." I responded simply, allowing Sam to gather his bearings before exiting the Impala.

"Why?"

I rolled my eyes at the young man's confusion. He was always groggy after waking up; between that and the beating he took last night, it's no wonder he didn't have a clue what was going on.

"Because we need somewhere to stay while you heal up..."

"Dean I'm fine we don't have to-"

"And, I want to work on my baby. She hasn't been running as smoothly lately and I need to spend some quality time under her hood." I finished smoothly, hoping Sam would buy the excuse.

"Only you could make working on a car sound sexual." He commented with a chuckle as he slowly began to climb from the vehicle. I eyed him carefully, quickly exiting the car and moving to stand by his side as he stood hunched over and panting.

"I'm alright." Sam wheezed.

"Yeah, you're terrific." I replied, gently pulling his arm over my shoulder and angling us in the direction of the house. I waited for Sam to find his footing before heading towards the steps, ignoring the cool rain steadily falling onto us.

We made our way slowly to the house. Sam looked at the steps leading up to the porch as though they were Mt. Everest. I gave him a moment to breathe, knowing that he had to be sore as hell and a day spent curled up in the Impala didn't do him any favours.

She may be a prize, but her small interior was not at all forgiving when it came to sasquatches.

"Ready?" I inquired.

Glancing over at Sam's pained expression I found myself wishing (not for the first time) that he was smaller and I could just carry him up the steps. Not that I couldn't; sasquatch or not that kid was all skin and bones and if needed I could lift him no problem. Unfortunately, he had that whole independent thing going and would not allow me to carry him unless he was physically incapable of walking…even then he would probably choose to crawl.

Sam nodded and we began our trek up the mountain, about the third stair in I'm guessing Sam's head started to spin because his body began to wobble. Instinctively I placed a hand on his back to steady the long body, but instead the contact had the injured man gasping and contorting away from my touch. My error came to me quickly and I removed my hand immediately.

"Sorry Sammy, I forgot." I said, maintaining a firm grip on his arm to keep him stable and watching his face contort as he breathed through the pain. I forgot how fucked up his back was. I had looked at it last night and it was already turning an array of colours. By the sight of the broken bookshelves and busted up table I could piece together what had messed it up. Sam had spent the entire drive here either resting on his side, or squirming around to keep his back from pressing against the seat.

The front door was opened, made obvious by the scream of hinges in desperate need of oil.

"Hey Bobby." I greeted calmly, without taking my eyes off of Sam as he heavily climbed the next step.

My tone must have indicated to the older man the level of exhaustion we were both experiencing, because instead of going into some sort of tirade or a string of insults, he asked a simple question.

"You boys need any help?"

I looked at Sam, searching for his response.

"We're good." My brother declared, proving his point by climbing up the last step and attempting to straighten to his full height.

Bobby looked at me with a raised eyebrow, an obvious sign that he wasn't buying it, but he made no comment. The older hunter held open the front door as Sam and I made our way inside. The fact that the kid made no attempt to shake me off was a powerful indication of just how much he was hurting. Showing weakness in front of me was one thing, when there was only two of you it really couldn't be helped. But displaying such weakness before someone else, even somebody who was as close to the two of us as Bobby, well that was quite uncommon.

I may have mocked Sam a lot in the past for being a girl, but when it comes to pain he was anything but.

I had seen my little brother get stitched up without blinking an eye, watched his bones get reset without him letting out more than I hiss, and apart from John Winchester and possibly myself, there ain't nobody tougher on the whole damn planet. So the fact that Sam was currently standing in Bobby's front room panting and viciously clenching his teeth, made it clear that there was no joke about the kind of pain he was feeling.

"Come on buddy, let's get you horizontal." I encouraged, gently guiding Sam forward, not relinquishing the steadying grip I had on his arm.

We travelled through the kitchen and stopped at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the bedroom.

"Couch." Sam announced, pulling away from the stairs.

"Good idea." I agreed.

The injured man moaned loudly as I eased him into a seated position on the old worn in piece of furniture. The second he was sitting the kid started tilting to the side in an effort to lie down.

"The other way." I said as I tried to turn his body.

"What?" He asked staring up at me in confusion.

"You need to lay down facing the couch." I explained, manoeuvring him carefully.

"Why?"

My little brother, always the inquisitive one; couldn't ever do a damn thing he was told until he knew exactly why he was doing it.

Pain in my ass.

"Because I need to take a look at your back." I replied; sliding a pillow under my little brother's shaggy head as he slowly positioned himself on his right side, facing the back of the couch like I had requested.

"It's fine Dean."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"The doctor at the clinic said it was fine."

"No, the guy at the clinic said you didn't have any internal bleeding, he never said it was fine." I stated, gently pulling off Sam's coat. He grunted as it slid free and I tossed it to the side. I kneeled down beside the couch and cautiously pulled his t-shirt up.

"Shit." I breathed as I looked at my little brother's back. It was as black as the Impala. Some spots fading into a bluish shade, but most of it black. It looked a hell of a lot worse than it did last night, but so did the bruises littering his face so I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised.

"Balls."

I glanced over my shoulder at Bobby standing dumbfounded a few feet behind me holding a several bags full of ice. He walked over and placed them on the floor beside me, squatting down to survey the damage.

"Damn kid, you're going to need a hell of a lot more than some ice." The hunter commented, ghosting a hand over Sam's back, about as afraid to touch it as I was.

"Here, put this on your neck." I said, passing one of the ice bags to Sam.

"Why?"

Pain in my ass.

"Because I don't want your throat swelling up again."

"Dean it's not going to…"

"Really Sam? You want to argue about this after you woke up just this morning barely able to breathe?" I questioned, my fear of the memory coming out in frustration.

"Fine." Sam relented, begrudgingly grabbing the ice and dropping it onto his neck wincing as it landed on his hand printed bruise. I smirked, because that's what you get for being a bitch about it.

"How are your ribs feeling Sammy?" I asked as I pulled his shirt up a little higher, feeling as though there was no end to the damage done to my kid's back.

"Fantastic." Sam grumbled, his body shuddering as I grazed a hand over a practically dark cluster of bruises.

I shook my head, at a loss of what to do with all this damage.

"They broken?"

I had almost forgotten about Bobby's presence in the room until I heard the gruff question.

"Ya, two of them." I answered, leaning forward as I gently shifted Sam towards me so I could get a better look at his chest.

"The doc couldn't wrap them because his back is so messed up." I continued, feeling gently along my little brother's ribs, being sure that the two broken ones hadn't gotten worse or shifted position. The doctor at the clinic had told me to watch them, make sure they weren't moving around, because if they did they could do more damage, like puncture a lung.

"Fuck." Sam gritted out, grabbing at my hand with his and pulling it away from the injury.

"Sorry man, I've got to check the other one, can't have them sliding out of place on us." I explained calmly, hating myself for having to cause the kid any more pain.

Sam shook his head uneasily, reluctantly releasing his hold of my wrist and forming a death grip on his jeans instead.

"I'll just be a second buddy." I promised, tracing his broken rib as lightly as possible, fighting to keep from pulling away as I felt Sam's body flinch in pain and heard him choking back a gasp.

Once I was content that both his broken ribs were still in place and not causing any further damage I pulled my touch from my brother's battered body and gently tugged his t-shirt back into position.

"You happy?" Sam bit out as he attempted to regulate his breathing.

"Ecstatic." I quipped dryly; placing the remainder of the ice-packs against the darkest patches of his bruised skin in a feeble effort to do something to help my little brother.

"Does he need anything for the pain?" Bobby asked as I stood up and pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, gently arranging it so it was somewhat covering the sasquatch.

"Yes." Sam moaned; closing his eyes, in what I hoped was an attempt to get some sleep.

"Not for two more hours." I interrupted, sending Sam a regretful look. "He's topped up for now." I explained, turning to face the older hunter.

I could tell from the look Bobby was giving me that he was itching to know what happened, and I had no intention of revisiting the event in front of Sam so I nodded my head towards the kitchen. Bobby took the hint instantly and made his way out of the room.

"We'll be in the kitchen Sam." I said.

"Kay." Sam muttered, shifting minutely as he nuzzled his shaggy head into the pillow. I smirked at my brother's cat-like antics, giving him one last look over before heading to the kitchen.

I dropped into a chair and gratefully accepted the beer being handed to me.

"So you going to tell me what the hell you boys got into?" Bobby questioned, taking the seat across from me with a beer of his own.

"I thought you'd never ask." At the hunter's questioning look I continued.

"Usually you're barking that question at me before we even get in the front door." I said with a smirk.

"Sam looked like he was about to drop, so I figure I'd give you time to get him settled before I demanded an explanation. And he's settled. So get on with it." Bobby replied impatiently.

"Shape shifter." I responded simply.

Bobby quirked an eyebrow, but made no comment, waiting for me to continue. I told him the basics of the case, how things went down, taking a long pause near the end, searching for the words to describe how Sam ended up hurt.

"And then some bastard wearing my face beat the hell out of my little brother." I finished darkly, emptying my beer in one last gulp.

"It wasn't your fault kid."

I stared at Bobby, a dangerous look in my eyes; warning him not to go down that road, because I wasn't having it. Before I was able to vocalize my thoughts we were distracted by a cry coming from the other room.

"What the hell?" Bobby mumbled, but I barely heard him because I was already racing to my little brother.

The young man was sitting straight up on the couch; and from years of Sam Winchester experience I could tell just by the look on his face that my little brother had just shot up out of nightmare.

What I would never forget was the look Sammy gave me when he saw me approaching.

Horror filled his face and he started scrambling backwards desperately. I stopped in my tracks and raised my hands, afraid that Sam would hurt himself trying to get away from me.

"Sammy, calm down man it's just me." I stated calmly.

"No, you're not him." Sam shouted, gasing as he tried to get up from the couch.

"Sammy stop! You're hurt. You need to rest." I said, taking a small step toward my brother.

"No! You stay the hell away from me." Sam rasped, trying again to get to his feet, groaning as he curled over his ribs.

"Sam! Lie down." Bobby's command was loud and authoritative, but not at all threatening and it got the kid's attention immediately.

"Bobby?" He croaked in confusion, looking up quizzically from his hunched position.

"Yes boy, it's me. And that right there is your brother Dean. The shifter is dead. So just calm down befor you hurt yourself." Bobby said, approaching Sam slowly with open arms.

My brother looked between Bobby and me, I could practically see his exhausted mind trying to separate his nightmare from reality, slowly sorting out what was going on. But he must have still been lost in his nightmare, because he refused to relax, instead he just sat in a tense, no doubt painful, position.

"Hey uh Dean do you want to grab your brother a bottle of water." Bobby suggested casually, throwing me an apologetic look as he took a careful step closer to the ball of frayed nerves jittering on the couch.

"Yeah, sure." I responded, choking out my words with a dry throat.

I had always been the one dismissing people from the room for Sam's sake…I had never in my darkest dreams imagined I would be on the receiving end of such dismissal.

I entered the kitchen shaking with rage.

I clenched on to the back of the chair I had been sitting in mere moments ago. My arms were vibrating as I white-knuckled the wood frame, furry pumping through my body.

I hated myself, hated that I had let my little brother get hurt. I hated that hands identical to my own had been wrapped around my baby brother's neck, while my face sneered down at him, watching him struggling to breath.

A part of me knew that it wasn't me who did it, but another part of me knew it was my fault, I has allowed it to happen.

I had let Sammy get hurt.

My anger became too much and I chucked the chair. Next I picked up the empty beer bottle sitting on the table and hucked it across the room, watching it shatter against the wall.

"I ain't cleaning that up." I turned suddenly, watching as Bobby eyed at the mess.

"Sorry." I muttered, making my way across the kitchen and placing the chair back on four legs.

"How is he?" I inquired quietly.

"He's fine, was out the second I got him horizontal, honestly I'm not sure he was ever really awake." Bobby mused.

"He sure looked awake to me." I mumbled.

"Oh come on Dean. Cut the bullshit already. The boy's beat half way to hell, he's tired; wait until he has a clear head, then he'll be fine."

"You don't get it Bobby." I accused, surging to my feet. "The kid can't even look at me without flinching. Every time he wakes up he thinks I'm attacking him."

"Well no shit, his heads so scattered he can't even recall where he is. The last clear memory Sam's got is of something looking just like his brother pounding on him. So until he gets all his ducks lined up in a row he's going to be a little squirrely." The older hunter explained.

"I know." I grumbled. "It's just…I…we…"

"I know Dean." Bobby placated, giving me a knowing look. "Cut Sam a break, and cut yourself one to."

I nodded, looking around awkwardly.

"Here, clean up your mess." Bobby ordered, handing me a broom.

"Really?" I quirked an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Don't know, just never figured you for the broom kind of guy Bobby." I said with a smirk.

"You have to be when you got Winchesters making a mess of everything." The hunter grumbled, turning his back and heading for the stairs.

"Idjits."

I smiled at Bobby's version of sentiment and set to work cleaning up the glass shards littering the floor.

I couldn't remember the last time I even used a broom, but as it turned out sweeping was a great distraction. By the time it was time for Sam's next dose of pain meds, I had the entire place swept clean.

I was tempted to go wake up Bobby and have him take Sam his medication, partly because I didn't want the kid to hurt himself trying to get away from me, but mostly because I wasn't sure how many more times I could handle watching the one person who I had always fought to protect shy away from me in fear.

I dumped some pain pills in my hand and filled a glass of water, taking a deep breath, readying myself for whatever my brother's reaction might be.

Sam was fast asleep on the couch and I was weary of waking him, but I could tell by his slight shifting that even in an unconscious state he was starting to feel the pain. I knew if I waited any longer to get some pills in him he would be waking up to a world of agony.

"Sammy?" I whispered, knowing that if he was just drowsing that would bring him around, but he gave no indication that he heard me.

I went around the back of the couch so I could see my brother's face, the bruises dark and breathing heavy. He had a bag of what, by now, had to be warm water resting against his neck. I noticed the bag was leaking onto the couch, so instinctively I reached down to remove it.

That was a mistake.

The second I had a hand on the bag Sam startled awake and the next thing I knew my head was snapping back as response to the upper cut delivered to my chin.

"Fuck." I swore; stumbling backwards, losing the grip I had on the glass of water and hearing it smash on the wood floor.

Unfortunately my brother's defensive outburst cost him more than it did me. The momentum he had used in his swing sent him toppling off of couch. Sam landed hard on his back, immediately releasing a strangled cry and rolling over, curling himself up in the fetal position.

"Sammy." I called out quietly, slowly approaching the gasping and trembling young man.

Afraid of me or not there was no way I could just stand there and watch as my little brother suffers. I allowed my body to follow its every instinct and I crouched down and reached out. I gently gripped Sam's elbow, trying my best to ignore his aggressive flinch at my touch.

"Come on, let's get you up." I encouraged, doing my best to stay calm, while inside I was breaking.

Sam had always been comforted by my touch. When he was younger it was a hug after a nightmare or an arm over his shoulders whenever we entered a new school. As he got older the contact changed but it was still there; a squeeze of the shoulder or pat on the knee.

I pretended it was nothing, but I could feel Sam relax after any sort of physical reassurance, which is why I had always made an effort to provide that no matter how uncomfortable it could be.

I never understood how much those small actions meant to me until they were rejected.

I hated not being able to provide my brother with any sort of physical reassurance or comfort. I hated that my hand had suddenly become a threat; that my touch caused my baby brother fear instead of peace.

My thoughts were running wild as I carefully helped Sam back up onto the couch. He was panting, trying to regain his composure. I held his arms and supported his weight as he slowly eased into a seated position, curled over his aching ribs.

I squatted down in front of Sam, ducking my head so I could catch a glimpse of his face under all that hair. My protective instincts screamed at the sight of tears trailing out of those hazel eyes.

"How you doing little brother?" I whispered, careful not to startle him, unaware of how coherent he was.

"I'm alright." He rasped, raising his head to look at me. His face lined with pain, but eyes drying and breathing steadier.

"Here, I'm going to grab you some water." I said, placing the two pain pills into his hand.

"I could ju…"

"You're not dry swallowing with that throat." I admonished, knowing that not only would it be painful, but potentially dangerous if his throat was still the least bit swollen.

Sam nodded tiredly.

He must have dazed out because when I returned with a new cup of water less than a minute later he was startled at my approach.

"Sorry." Sam muttered.

"Don't worry about it."

I handed him the water and watched him swallow the pills, draining half the glass before shakily returning it to my grasp. I set the glass to the side and remained squatting, watching my little brother and unconsciously rubbing the freshly forming bruise on my face.

"Sorry about that, and the glass." Sam apologized, eyes turned down in guilt.

"You hit like a girl Samantha. And as it turns out I'm pretty skilled with a broom." I quipped with a smirk.

Sam stared at me quizzically, obviously not having the slightest idea what I was going on about. He just looked pained and exhausted and I wanted nothing more than to tuck him in and have him sleep soundly for eight hours straight.

"Alright buddy, lie down. I'm going to have to check those ribs again."

Sam groaned loudly, clearly expressing his disapproval of my plan.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." I muttered, lifting my brother's ridiculously long legs onto the couch and helping him manoeuvre onto his side. I gently lifted is shirt, relieved to see that nothing looked to be out of place, but dreading the fact that I was going to have to feel it out.

I spread my fingers as gently as possible across Sam's chest, carefully feeling along his ribs to be sure nothing had shifted. He hissed and flinched at my touch, I knew it was from the pain and maybe not just the contact, but the reaction still made me uneasy.

"Looking good Sammy." I said, satisfied that my brother was no worse off now than he had been a few hours ago.

"But how bout we try and stay on the couch from now on?" I commented, smiling at Sam's snort.

"It's late, get some rest." I instructed, watching as the pain meds took effect and Sam struggled to keep his eyes open.

"Sorry." He muttered sleepily.

For what the apology was for I'm not sure, but I didn't have time to ask because the kid was already out.

"Nothing to apologize for little brother." I whispered, swiping the long bangs from Sam's forehead before climbing to my feet.

"Everything alright down here?" I looked up at Bobby standing on the bottom step peering in and wondered how long he had been there.

"I got it covered." I replied. The older hunter nodded and lumbered back up the steps.

I spent the rest of the night either dosing in the kitchen chair or checking on my little brother.

Sam had two more nightmares and it killed me not be able to help, but I knew my presence would only make it worse. So I watched from the doorway as he startled awake, often appearing far from lucid as he looked around. It was only a minute or two before the kid was fast asleep again. It must be the pain medication making him drowsy, because normally once Sam is woken from a nightmare there is little hope in him returning to sleep for the remainder of the night.

"You sleep in here all night?"

I was pulled from a restless slumber by the loud question. I raised my head off the table and looked at Bobby, mentally forgiving him for waking me once he placed a cup of coffee in front of me.

"I figured you wouldn't do the smart thing and go sleep in a bed, but I thought you at least had the brains to choose a more comfortable chair to snore in." Bobby mused as he took a seat.

I chose not to respond to the comment, mostly because the answer was one I'd rather not voice out loud. Knowing that your face scares your little brother is one thing, admitting it verbally was another entirely. Bobby looked at me, his eyes searching as I ignored him, focusing instead on the steaming mug in my hands.

"Well I can tell you slept like shit, but how about Sam?"

"Woke up a few times and when he was asleep he seemed pretty restless. He'll be exhausted." I summed up, not wanting to go in to detail.

"Makes sense." The older hunter said with a nod.

We sat at the table a few minutes enjoying the strong coffee.

"You want some grub?" Bobby asked.

"Nah, I'm alright. I'm good with this." I replied, nodding down to the cup in my hand. I let a few minutes go by and then checked the time, seven in the morning. Sam should be out for a couple more hours.

"I'm going to go work on the Impala, you mind keeping an eye on him?"

I had thought the question to be relatively straight forward, but the look Bobby gave me had me wondering.

"What's going on with you?" He queried.

"What do you mean?" I asked innocently, getting to my feet, uncomfortable with the degree of scrutiny I was receiving.

"I've known you your entire life kid, and this is the first time you have ever asked me to watch Sam."

"That's not true, I've told you to watch out for him before."

"Only when John was making you leave him here."

I nodded my head, recalling the few times when we were younger, before Sam was deemed old enough to be on his own, when we would have to leave him with Bobby. I remember hating those hunts, knowing that someone else was doing my job and worrying that they weren't performing to my standards.

"You going somewhere?" The question caught me off guard.

"No." I stated.

"Okay, so this is the first time you have been here and asked me to watch Sam."

"Yeah, so? What the hell are you trying to get at here Bobby?" I asked.

"I'm wondering why the kid who never trusted anybody to treat his little brother's paper-cut is now okay with letting someone else take care of him after he's taken a beating."

"Bobby it is way too early for this kind of crap. You going to keep an eye on him or what?" I asked in frustration.

The older hunter looked at me tiredly, releasing a long sigh before nodding his head in affirmation.

"Thanks." I said, grabbing my jacket.

"He's going to need two of these when he wakes up." I instructed, pulling the bottle of pain meds from my pocket and setting it on the table.

"Make sure he takes them with water." I added, waiting for Bobby to give an indication that he heard me and then heading out the door.

I spent the majority of the day working on my girl; and while my hands worked to fix her, my head was working on how to repair my other responsibility.

"She's looking good Dean." I slid out from under my car to see Bobby under the hood.

"Hell yeah she is." I agreed, climbing to my feet and rubbing my oil-slicked hands off on a rag.

"How's Sam?" I asked.

"Sore, tired, quiet. He's veg'd out on the couch watching the idiot box." Bobby reported, handing me a sandwich. "Here, you missed lunch."

"Did Sam eat?" I inquired automatically, taking a bite of my meal.

"Not really."

At my look Bobby continued. "His throat is too messed up; he can hardly swallow those pills."

I shot to attention at the comment, ten more questions already on the tip of my tongue.

"So he hasn't eaten all day?" I asked, cursing myself for leaving my post.

"That's why I came out here, I'm going to drive into to town and pick up some yogurt and smoothies, stuff the kid can actually swallow." Bobby explained.

I nodded in agreement with the plan.

"I shouldn't be more than an hour. Sam's up at the house, he should be fine, but given that kid's history you should probably keep an ear out for him. You good with that?" The older hunter queried.

I sent a glare Bobby's way, exhibiting my disdain toward his question.

"Hey, that wasn't the story I was getting this morning." Bobby pointed out defensively.

"I've got it covered." I assured darkly, hating that the older hunter seemed to be implying that I wasn't willing to take care of my little brother. That every part of me wasn't screaming to go sit with Sam and make sure he's taken care of. Like it was my choice to keep my distance from the one person on this planet I couldn't bear to be separated from. I wasn't staying away because I wanted to. I was staying away because I was trying to make the whole recovery process easier on my little brother. Because I was trying not to scare him. Because I was desperate not to cause my kid any further trauma.

Bobby nodded; quirking a smile I didn't totally understand, and made his way to his truck.

I sighed loudly and fought the urge to run back to the house and check on Sam.

I needed to give him space.

Space to heal.

Reluctantly, I ducked my head back under the hood and continued fixing the one thing I actually knew how to repair.

It was about half an hour later when I heard steps approaching the shop, I assumed it was Bobby, but if I had been more attentive I would have realized sooner that the gate was more of an unsteady shuffle and the footing unsure.

"Dean?"

The painfully sounding rasp of my name had me spinning on my heels. I was shocked to see Sam standing at the entrance, hunched over and leaning against the wall.

"What the hell are you doing?" I barked out, my concern for my little brother coming off as aggravation.

I approached Sam on instinct, not even realizing what I was doing until I was within arm's reach, causing me to halt immediately.

"Uuh, here, sit down." I said, dumping some clutter off a nearby chair and setting it next to the shaky young man.

Sam gracelessly collapsed into the seat, sitting on it sideways so that his back was not in contact with the wood.

"Thanks." He huffed, catching his breath as he held a hand to his ribs.

"You alright?" I asked, fighting to keep my body a few feet away and quickly realizing that giving Sam space when he was injured was much more difficult than I would have ever thought it to be.

"Yeah, I'm good." Sam replied, looking up at me with a sweaty face and a half smile.

"Do you need anything?" I questioned awkwardly.

"No." Sam replied simply, looking casually around the shop.

"Then why the hell are you here?" I snapped, not intending to sound harsh, but frustrated that my little brother would put himself through that much pain for seemingly no reason what so ever.

"I was bored." Sam answered, acting as though the situation were entirely normal.

"Bored? You risked puncturing a lung because you were bored?" I inquired in disbelief.

"I'm fine Dean." Sam insisted, dimples showing.

"You could have fallen." I pointed out, trying to get my brother to understand the possible consequences of his actions.

"But I didn't." He grinned.

"Why are you smiling? I'm not kidding about this."

"Because it's hard to take you seriously when you have grease smeared all over your face."

"Whatever man." I dismissed, walking back to the Impala.

"How's she doing?"

I raised my eyebrows at Sam's use of the word she. My brother just shrugged in response, making me smirk, because I knew he would come around. I was about to answer with something reasonably snarky, but then I saw Sam wincing and shifting uneasily in the chair.

"Better than you." I responded seriously, looking him over in concern.

Sam snorted, twitching in discomfort.

"Come on, let's get you back inside." I said, walking towards him.

"No, it's alright, I'm good."

I paused, assessing my brother, watching him trying to straighten up and prove his statement to be true. And to his credit he did manage a relatively erect position. If I were an amateur I might have said he did indeed look fine. Unfortunately for Sam, I am an expert on all things little brother; and while his posture looked good, the lines around his mouth, the look in his eyes, and the clench of his jaw told me an entirely different story.

"No you're not." I stated with a shake of my head.

"Please let me stay Dean, just for a few minutes?"

I was caught off guard by the soft sincerity of the question. The way in which it was asked letting me know that this wasn't Sam being stubborn, but genuinely requesting permission. He was admitting to the pain, but hoping I'd allow him to stay anyway, asking in a tone that indicated he was willing to do what I wanted.

"Fine, but just until I'm finished cleaning up. Then we are going in." I asserted, giving no room for argument. "And don't fall off the chair." I added with a smirk.

"Deal." Sam agreed with a smile, relaxing just a little. I realized how good it felt to have your little brother feel relaxed around you, a situation I had recently feared would never happen again.

I was wiping my baby clean of grease when I looked up and watched as a shiver ran through the kid's skinny body.

"Moron." I mumbled, rolling my eyes as I stared at the shaggy haired kid clothed in nothing more than jeans and a t-shirt, even his shoes weren't on properly.

"What?" Sam asked innocently.

"Next time you make a great escape from the house how about you grab your coat first, huh Einstein." I mocked, sliding my jacket off as I approached my cold little brother. I carefully draped the coat over Sam's shoulders, carefully not to apply any pressure as I wrapped it around his bruised body.

"It's like your five." I continued as I squatted down, pulling my brothers runners fully onto his feet and loosely tying them up. It was a wonder he made it all the way here form the house without tripping on his laces.

"Hey, you of all people know that dressing with broken ribs is practically impossible." Sam defended, obediently lifting his other foot as I fixed his shoe.

"Yes, that's why I don't go wondering around outside when my ribs are busted up." I replied as I tied up the last sneaker.

"Well we can't all be geniuses."

"Ha! I'm sorry, which one of us got a full-ride to university?" I laughed. As I stood I instinctively reached out to ruffle my little brother's shaggy hair.

Without thinking I went to place my hand on his head, but as my open hand approached him; I watched as Sam shied away. It was the slightest of movements; he pulled his head back a mere inch and his face scrunched up for less than a second. But it was enough.

Enough to tell me that he wasn't ready, that my presence still put him on edge, that my touch still frightened him. I retracted my hand instantly, like I'd been burned, and in some ways I felt as though I had.

Sam realized immediately what had happened.

"No Dean, it's not…"

"It's alright Sam." I declared, turning back to the Impala.

"No Dean don't do this…"

"It's fine. Just leave it." I snapped, my anger at myself sneaking out into my words, something I didn't realize until I saw the hurt expression on my little brother's face.

"What's going on?" We both looked to see Bobby walking in to the shop.

"Bobby, can you help Sam back to the house?" I asked, keeping my eyes off my little brother.

"No, De…"

"You're hurting, Sam, and cold. Go with Bobby." I ordered, my tone leaving no room for argument.

I could see the protest forming on the young man's lips and instead of listening to it I turned my back, physically removing myself from the conversation. I walked out the back of the shop, unable to spend another second looking at the disappointment on Bobby's face of the hurt in Sam's eyes.

Why was I always hurting Sam?

Even when I tried to protect him I was doing more damage than good.

When would I stop causing him pain?

Why wasn't I doing my job?

Why couldn't I protect him properly?

How could I protect him from myself?

What the fuck was I supposed to do?

I was furious, hating myself more and more every second.

The anger was growing in my gut and pumping through my veins, my body could no longer contain it. I lashed out.

My victim was a junk car sitting near the shop. I kicked it repeatedly, grunting and slamming my fists against the roof, a string of vile curses being spat from my mouth. I kicked until the car door was severely dented and my foot was throbbing. My face was wet, and I knew that the sole source was not the rain dropping from the dark clouds above.

I trudged back into the garage, methodically putting everything back where it belonged. It was dark by the time I was finished and the rain was coming down harder. I had run out of excuses not to head back to the house.

I cursed those rusty hinges as I opened the front door, abandoning the idea of a subtle entrance. It really wouldn't have mattered though because Bobby was sitting at the kitchen table, the two steaming mugs set out making it clear he was expecting me.

"Coffee?" I asked, kicking off my boots and approaching the table.

"Decaf." Bobby said, staring at me expectantly.

"By drinking this coffee am I committing to some sort of chick-flick special?" I asked wearily because I knew this strategy, it had Sam written all over it.

Bribe me with something you know I want (a hot beverage on a chilled rainy night) and then bombard me with talks of emotions and other girly garbage.

Bobby's only reply was to give me a stern look, one that told me coffee or not I was going to have to sit my ass in that chair.

"You've been spending too much time with Sam." I grumbled.

"Whose fault is that?"

I was taken aback by the comment. Although it appeared harmless I could tell there was accusation in the tone.

"Where is he?" I questioned, attempting to divert the conversation.

"Sleeping on the couch, he'll probably be needing a couple more of these in about half an hour."

I nodded, catching the bottle of meds Bobby tossed across the table.

"Which gives you and me time to talk."

I raised an eyebrow at the order, which is what it was, not a request, but an order.

"You been watching Dr. Phil again Bobby?" I asked

"That was one time Dean." The hunter glowered.

"Whatever you say old man." I cracked.

"Good, cause I've got some things to say."

"Bobby I rea…"

"Shut your pie hole boy. I got things to say and you're going to keep your trap shut and listen." Bobby's command left no room for argument, the man was bossy as hell but he rarely ever barked out an order John Winchester style.

"I don't know what the hell is going on with you two boys, but…"

"It's not…"

"Stuff it Dean."

I rolled my eyes, but obediently closed my mouth, waiting for the older hunter to proceed.

"Like I said, I don't know what's going on between you two. But what I do know is that that boy needs you and for some reason you're determined to keep your distance."

"It's not like that Bobby." I interjected, unable to sit there and allow my surrogate uncle to believe that I was refusing to help my baby brother.

"He's not scared of you Dean."

"He is! Just today he ducked away from me; like he was afraid I was going to strangle him."

"It wasn't you he was afraid of!" Bobby raised his voice in insistence. "God all you Winchesters are as dense as molasses! Thick in the head all three of you." He grumbled.

"You want to wrap this up sometime tonight?" I sighed.

"You remember when you were little; hell you couldn't have been more than 5. You got bit by a dog that lived around here, a German Shepard I think. Anyways the dog bit you and for years you were afraid of dogs, wouldn't go near them, no matter how friendly they might have been. Even now you still ain't much of a dog person."

"What are you saying Bobby? That Sam is never going to be comfortable around me again?"

"No, what I'm saying is that Sam's mind is playing games with him. He knows that you would never hurt him, but his mind is telling him that you did and after a beating like that his nerves are bound to be on edge and his instincts are on high alert. You just got to give the kid some time to regain control."

"I am giving him time! That's why I'm staying away. I'm making it easier for him."

"No Dean you're just making it harder for him to remember who you are. If you aren't spending time with him and you aren't acting like yourself how the hell is he supposed to know for sure that you aren't the shape shifter? You have to reassure him Dean."

"Damn Bobby, I take it back. You haven't been watching Dr. Phil, you've been watching Oprah."

"I don't know why I waste my time with you Winchesters." Bobby griped climbing to his feet. "Bunch of idjits. Turned me into a fucking therapist."

I watched with a smirk as the older hunter stalked up the stairs. For all I mocked Bobby, I knew there was a lot of truth in what he said. Now that I thought about it I understood the old man's point.

How was Sam supposed to get used to me being me and not some stupid shifter if I wasn't around to be me?

It was a messy logic, a confusing situation all around. And for one of the first times in my life I was not at all sure how to help my little brother. I didn't know what to do to get him past all this. Whether I should stay away and give him time to deal, or do as Bobby said and stick around to show him I was me. It was hard to keep my distance, especially with Sam hurt, but it was harder still to be the source of his pain, to watch him cringe away from me in fear.

"Dean?" The call was soft and raspy, and had I not grown up so attuned to my little brother I may not have heard it.

I grabbed the pills off the table and a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Dean?" The call came again with a little more volume but equally as gruff.

"I'm here Sammy." I responded, walking into the room.

Sam was sitting up on the couch, his legs on the floor, looking as though he was about to push up onto his feet. He stopped struggling to stand when he saw me. He sat slightly hunched over, arm around his ribs, looking up at me.

"Here, take these."

I placed the pills into his palm, opened the bottle of water, and handed it to him.

"Thanks." Sam croaked, painfully swallowing the pills. I winced at the sight of his neck, the bruises were a vicious black and in the distinct shape of fingers. I looked away quickly, not able to deal with the fact that those handprints were identical to mine.

"It wasn't you." I looked back down at my brother; his eyes were focused on mine, filled with an uncomfortable amount of love and compassion.

"Shut up Sam. You sound like you smoke 10 packs a day."

Sam chuckled. "Feels more like I swallowed sandpaper."

"Yeah I bet. How's the rest of you?" I asked, ashamed that I didn't already know.

"I'm good."

"Sam." One word in that tone was all it took, that was my "don't you mess with me little brother" tone, and he knew it well.

"My back is killing me, ribs aren't so bad anymore. Everything's just sore."

"Yeah, the doc said that you'd be pretty sore for a while. Do the meds help at all?"

Sam shrugged. "They help my muscles relax a little, but mostly they just make me tired."

As though to prove his point, Sam released a loud yawn.

"Well than you best get some shuteye." I said, picking up the glass of water and making my way out of the room.

"Dean?" The raspy voice was soft, but I could hear just as easily as though it had been shouted out through a megaphone.

I turned to my brother and eyed him expectantly

"Could you uuh, maybe just stay down here tonight?" Sam requested uneasily, looking nervously between me and the floor beneath his feet.

"Yeah don't worry man; I'll just be in the kitchen." I said, tilting my head towards the room I was heading.

"No, I mean, like in this room."

"Not sure that'd be a good idea buddy."

"Well than could I come upstairs with you?" The young man questioned shyly, hiding his face behind his hair.

"Don't be a moron Sam, you can hardly make it to the can. You're not climbing all those stairs."

"I could do it if you helped me."

"Is the couch uncomfortable? Think you'd sleep better in a bed?"

"The couch is fine, but if you're sleeping upstairs…"

"Sam, I told you I was going to be in the kitchen."

"All night?"

"Yeah, so just get some rest."

"Dean, stay in here. The recliner is a lot more comfortable than anything in the kitchen."

"Dude don't worry about it, I'll be fine." I assured, turning to leave the room.

"Dean." I turned to face my brother again, on instinct.

"Yeah?"

"Stay…please."

The plea was soft and gravelly. I looked at Sam, unsure of why he was being so adamant. I knew this was a bad idea and that he would realize that the moment he woke up screaming form a nightmare to see the face of his attacker staring over at him. But regardless of good ideas or bad, I have never been able to resist the stupid puppy-dog eyes that were currently staring up at me, wide and hopeful.

"Sure Sammy." I relented.

Sam sent a soft smile my way before carefully laying down onto his side and getting comfortable. I walked over and covered him up with the blanket, tucking it in around his feet, knowing from years of sharing a bed with the little brat how icy his feet got at night.

Sam watched me wearily as I moved about the room, not closing his eyes until I was comfortably laid back in the recliner.

I was pulled from sleep hours later, not by a call or a cry, but rather a change in my little brother's breathing. Growing up protecting Sam had made me very attentive, conscious or not, and I always noticed when something changed.

I cracked open my eyes instantly, looking directly over at my little brother watching him squirming uncomfortably in his sleep. I figured he was in the throes of a nightmare.

It wasn't until he started clawing at his neck and hyperventilating that I realized this was no nightmare, but rather a memory and I knew exactly which part of it was currently playing out in his mind.

"Sam." I called quietly; weary of startling the younger man.

On an average night my call would have woken my little brother, but not tonight, not when he was so deeply enveloped in his memories.

I climbed out of the chair and cautiously approached the couch, crouching down beside it and reaching out my hand, gently and lightly gripping Sam's shoulder.

"Sam. Wake up." I ordered clearly, as I shook him a little.

That was all it took.

Sam shot awake like a bullet fired from a gun. Gasping and crying out as he bolted upright. The second his eyes landed on mine his face contorted in fear and he flinched violently away.

"Sam, relax. It's alright." I soothed, taking a step back with my hands in the air, a position of surrender that was becoming all too familiar.

I watched as the fear on my brother's face gave way to confusion, which eventually faded in to an embarrassed understanding.

"Sorry Dean." He mumbled upon catching his breath, looking up at me with regret.

"Don't worry about it Sam." I said, letting my hands fall to my sides.

Seeing my brother grimace and shift uneasily on the couch was all the prompting I required to go grab his medication.

"Here, take these." I encouraged, cautiously outstretching my hand and letting him take the pills, holding out the glass of water as well.

"I'm going to leave these right here." I said, placing the water and the meds on to the coffee table after he had swallowed.

"Where are you going?'

"Kitchen."

"Why?"

"I don't think it's a good idea for me to stay in here." I explained tiredly, turning to leave.

I was surprised by the slim fingers that locked around my wrist as my little brother's arm snaked out to stop me. I stared down at him, confused.

"Don't be an idiot Dean."

"What?"

"I'm not afraid of you." Sam declared sharply.

"The nightmares and the flinching suggest otherwise." I pointed out.

"I can't help that!" He rasped in defense.

"Maybe not, but it's obvious that you aren't over what happened." I reasoned.

"I'm trying to be." Sam whispered, ducking his head in shame.

"I know." I agreed quietly, waiting a moment before attempting to pull my arm from my brother's hand, only to have his grip tighten.

"Sam." I sighed, making a second attempt to tug my arm away.

"No, I'm not letting you do this." Sam stated, clenching his fingers impossibly tighter around my wrist.

"Do what?"

"Blame yourself."

I rolled my eyes at the response.

"Sam don't be stupid."

"I'm not! You are. What happened is not your fault Dean." He insisted, staring up at me desperately.

"Whatever you say Sam." I appeased, trying to walk away.

"Cut the crap Dean!" Sam hollered, pulling hard on my arm and forcing me to take a step closer to him.

"You're the one always telling me that shit happens. Well shit happened Dean. I took a beating from a shapeshifter and there's nothing you could do about it."

"Yeah there was. I could have listened to you." I bit out angrily.

Sam gave me a quizzical look. "What are you talking about?"

"I should have stayed out of the fucking sewer like you told me to Sam, we shouldn't have split up." I argued in frustration.

"You had no way of knowing what was going to happen."

"That's not the point, the point is you told me not to go there alone and I didn't listen and I almost got you killed."

"No Dean. The shifter almost got me killed. You saved me." Sam announced with conviction, gazing up at me assuredly.

I didn't believe him, didn't agree, but I could tell by the look in Sam's eyes that he fully believed what he was saying, which brought about a question.

"Then why…" I tapered off, not sure how to ask.

"Do I flinch?" Sam finished. He shrugged, letting his hair fall over his eyes. "I know that it wasn't you, I know you would never hurt me, but … it looked like you… and it did hurt me…so I am just trying to get my mind around that."

The shame in Sam's tone had me instantly regretting my inquiry.

"It's alright Sam. If I had to see the face of the guy who tried to kill me every day I'm pretty sure I'd be a little skittish." I admitted.

"I just…I need some time, that's all."

"That's what I'm trying to give you. Time for you to deal with all this without having to look at the face of the asshole who beat the hell out of you."

"No Dean! You're right I need time, but I need you here more. I need to be reminded that you are still you, my big brother, the only person in my life who always protects me. The one person I can trust and depend on. The one person I know would never ever hurt me. And you have to be around to remind me of that." Sam insisted, his gaze so full of love and trust that I had to turn my face, ignoring the sting in my eyes and the lump in my throat.

"It's hard Sam. It's hard watching you flinch away from me."

"I'm sorry!"

"It's not your fault. It's just…" I faded off.

"What Dean?"

"I've always protected you. I've always been the one to keep you safe. I don't know how to be there for you without making you afraid. Every time I try and make it better for you, I just end up making it worse."

There was a pause, me shifting uncomfortable under Sam's thoughtful stare.

"You want to know how you can help me?" He asked after a moment.

I nodded.

"Ignore the flinches Dean."

"What?" I inquired in confusion.

"My mind messes with me sometimes, makes me think you're the shifter and you are going to come at me."

I looked away in anger, furious with myself.

"But it only lasts a second."

My focus was drawn back to Sam as he tugged gently on my arm.

"After that second I need you. I need you to make me feel safe again." The admission was full of vulnerability and love and it caught me completely off guard.

I stood there, trying to swallow my emotions and decide what to do.

"Dean. Please."

I studied my little brother, his shaggy hair pushed away from his wide pleading puppy dog eyes. He looked so much like the child he had once been. And I found my love for him and my need to protect surging up and surpassing the rage and hate I was feeling toward myself.

Sam shifted down on the couch, tugging on my arm as he moved.

"Sit." He ordered softly, pulling persistently until I relented.

Sam gave me a short minute to situate myself before laying down.

He was careful to keep his back from coming in contact with the couch as he rested his head on my thigh. I rolled my eyes as my little brother refused to relinquish his grip on my wrist and instead used it to pull my arm over his shoulders.

"You're impossible." I sighed, a fond smile spreading across my face.

"Jerk." Sam replied with a yawn.

"Bitch." I whispered with a grin, unable to help myself from swiping Sam's bangs gently off his face. I found myself being filled with joy at the absence of a flinch from my contact.

"I just need time De." Sam whispered, using the version of my name that always made my heart clench.

"I got all the time in the world little brother." I replied, relieved at the ease of our conversation, not noticing how much I missed it until its return.

After years of absence, it was clear that I need to brush up on my efforts to protect my little brother. The mistakes I had made in the last hunt appearing blaring obviously to me as I gazed down at my little brother and memorized the bruises marring his face and neck; promising to never let myself forget one, so that I might remember what could happen when I don't protect him.

Sammy was my baby brother and it was my job to keep him safe, at any and all cost.

Note: Thanks for reading! Please leave a review if you have a moment. - Sam