Dean knew.

Dean always knew.

I don't know why I ever bothered pretending, because he knew me.

He knew me better than anybody else ever had.

Even Jessica.

My heart clenched at the thought of the beautiful woman I had lost, and I fought to swallowing back the lump that seemed to have taken up a permanent residence in my throat.

I fucking hated Valentine's Day.

I always had growing up, but that had changed when I met Jess.

A lot had changed when I met Jess, including the romantic holiday. The day had finally held some good. It was no longer just another painful anniversary for my family to suffer through. The sweetness that Jess added to it, had managed to dilute the dark memories that had tarnished it.

I had thought that my Valentine's Days would all be better after I met her, especially this one. I had thought of purposing this Valentine's Day. I hadn't decided yet. I hadn't even bought a ring, but I was going to. I was planning it all out. I knew that Jess loved the holiday for all its cliché tendencies, but I wasn't sure if proposing would be too cheesy, or too lame; I had planned to ask Dean, he always knew about stuff like that. I was going to call him and ask him, the same time I was going to ask if he could come visit, because I couldn't propose to the love of my life without the approval of the person who had taught me what love was. The one who had raised me.

I fought to keep my breath from hitching, as tears escaped from beneath my closed eyelashes.

Because even though I knew, that Dean knew I wasn't sleeping, I didn't want him to know.

I wanted him to think I was sleeping, so that I could lay there and wallow in uninterrupted agony, drowning in self-pity.

All of which Dean wouldn't allow.

My big brother could never let me drown, even in my own emotions, he was always there pulling me up, throwing me a life-raft, even when I didn't want it.

That is why I didn't want him to know.

But he knew.

Dean always knew.

"Sammy, why don't you get some rest, buddy?"

Dean voice was as gentle as the hand he splayed across my back.

I sucked in a strangled breath, knowing that the gimmick was up, and there was no point in pretending any more, not that there ever had been.

Dean always knew.

I turned my head from where I had it buried in the floral motel pillow, and cracked my eyes open.

Dean was crouched by my bed, his hand steady on my back as his bright green eyes focussed on my face. I knew those eyes, and I knew they could see right through me. They always had, and no amount of time away at school had changed that.

"I can't." I rasped.

"You can. You just aren't allowing yourself to."

I sighed, because of course he was right. My body was exhausted and begging for sleep, something I hadn't been getting very much of lately, but I refused to surrender, because I knew what was destined to greet me when I did.

"I don't want to see her, again, Dean. Not like that." I admitted, figuring that if my big brother was just going to see through me anyways, I might as well just be honest with him.

Those green eyes that I knew so well, that knew me so well, softened with pain and sympathy. They didn't look at me the way all my friends from Stanford had after they heard what happened, or the way that all of Jess' friends had at the funeral.

They weren't full of pity.

They were full of pain.

Because Dean didn't feel badly for me, he hurt for me.

My pain, was his pain.

That was something I understood, because it had always gone both ways.

"I know, kiddo. But you need to rest. You only got a few hours of sleep last night and you didn't get any in the car today. You need sleep." Dean insisted, his hand rubbing circles on my back, something that had often soothed me when I was a kid.

"So do you." I responded, because I knew that Dean had only acquired a little more sleep than I had, last night.

"I'll sleep when you sleep. That's how this works." He explained, quirking a smile.

"Says who?" I muttered, not caring how petulant I sounded.

"Says the big brother, and-

"And big brother always knows best." I finished, my lips twitching into small smile of my own as I recited the familiar phrase.

"Damn straight." Dean replied with a grin.

The green eyes were alight with joy for a minute, before fading back to sadness.

I wondered if my eyes looked as sad as Dean's, and if that was – in fact – the case, I wondered how he could stand to look into them as often as he did.

"Please, try and get some sleep, buddy. Whatever happens, I'll be with you when you wake up."

"You're always here." I stated, remembering that I had thanked my brother for that same thing earlier in the night.

"Always."

I didn't know if he thought I was searching for confirmation, but he gave it to me anyways; because he knew I needed it, even before I did.

Dean always knew.

"Will you at least try for me, Sammy?" He asked, his fingers sweeping my hair from my face, as his hand continued to rub calming circles over my spine and across my shoulder blades.

Of course I would try for him.

Didn't he know that I would do anything for him?

Didn't he understand that if he told me to swallow my grief and man-up, I would have done it?

Wasn't he aware that if he had asked me not to go off to school, I wouldn't have gone?

I would have stayed for him.

On days like today and nights like tonight, I wished he had asked me to stay with him and Dad. Because then none of this ever would have happened. I wouldn't have ever tasted normal. I wouldn't have ever been lulled into a false sense of security. I wouldn't have ever met the most beautiful girl on the planet. And I wouldn't have ever stolen her life away.

If Dean had just asked me to stay with him all those years ago, I would have done it.

And Jess would still be alive.

But Dean would never have done that. Because he always let me be myself. He let me be soft, when Dad had always wanted me to be hard. He let me study, when I was supposed to be training. He let me dream, when I was meant to be focussing. He let me question, when I was instructed to obey. He let me eat greens, when I should've had meat.

He let me go, when he wanted me to stay.

And since he got me back, he let me grieve, he let me cry, he let me shatter.

And he never left.

It didn't matter how late I kept him up, or how many fights I picked, or how sullen I was, or how hard he had to pry to get me to talk, or how often he had to cajole me to eat; it didn't matter how broken I was.

Dean was always there.

He never asked for anything.

But didn't he know that I would give him everything?

"Okay, Dean." I agreed softly, closing my eyes, forcing my body to relax into the mattress.

I knew the night terrors would come, but it didn't matter, because I would face the pain, fire, and death again, for Dean. I would face it all a hundred times over if my big brother requested it of me.

I pushed my fear to the side and stopped fighting the exhaustion, that had been pulling at me for days. And as I gave in to the fatigue and allowed it to overcome me, I felt Dean's hand trail up my back and through my hair, before gently squeezing the back of my neck.

"That's my boy." He whispered, pride exuding through his tone.

And that right there, that made it all worth it.

Whatever cruel tricks my mind had in store, whatever traumas my brain wanted to torture me with, it was all worth it.

Because it was for Dean.

Unfortunately, my subconscious didn't give a shit about my conviction or my motivation.

It was still dark, maybe only a handful of hours later, when I was forced back into awareness, Jess' name on my lips as I shot straight up.

Dean was there.

Like he always was.

He was out of bed, with his hands on my shoulders, before I even had time to register where I was.

"It's alright, Sam. You're alright. It was just a nightmare."

I shook my head, my hands shaking as they reached forward and latched on to the front of Dean's shirt.

"It wasn't. It was a memory." I croaked, widening my eyes to keep from blinking, not wanting to see the last image that had been plastered to the inside of my eyelids.

My movements were jerky and uncoordinated as I made to stand.

"Woah, buddy, just take it easy." Dean said, his hands pressing down on my shoulders, working to keep me seated.

I pushed them away.

"I need to get up. Need to get off the bed." I replied between heaving breaths, the memory still too fresh in my mind. I could practically smell the smoke, and I just couldn't stand to feel the mattress springs against my back a moment longer.

Dean must have caught on to my panicked state of mind, because instead of pushing down on my shoulders, he grabbed my arms and tugged me to my feet.

"Alright, Sammy, you want up, we can do up. That's not a problem." He assured calmly, keeping hold of my elbow as I stood. I wasn't sure why he was gripping me so tight, until I realized how fiercely I was trembling. I didn't think I would be able to stand if Dean wasn't there to steady me.

Which he knew.

Dean always knew.

"Slow, deep, breaths, buddy. Slow and deep." Dean coached, placing the hand that wasn't keeping me on my feet, on my chest, measuring my breaths.

Both my hands were gripping Dean's shirt, fisting the fabric. I forced my fingers to unclench, and straightened them out, splaying them over my brother's chest. I felt it rise and fall, and did my best to mirror the process.

Dean never rushed me, he didn't get impatient or pull away, he just stood with me, allowing me to anchor myself in him. He knew that I would get there in my own time.

He always knew.

Eventually, my breathing evened out, but I was still shaking. Dean didn't seem to mind, he just kept a hold of me, supporting me.

"Bad one, huh?"

Dean knew, of course he knew, but he was asking, so I would answer.

"Yeah. The worst one I've had in awhile. Bad. Bad like the ones I got right after…" I faded off, not wanting to say the words. I didn't need to, anyways, because Dean knew.

Dean nodded, because he understood.

He didn't seem surprised. We both figured this would happen on Valentine's Day, and yet – somehow – I still hadn't been ready for it.

"How about we get you sitting down, before you fall down. Sound good?" Dean's voice felt like a warm blanket being wrapped around my shoulders. It was gentle and kind. It made me feel safe and cared for. It made me feel like I could be fixed. Like maybe I wouldn't always be so broken. Like maybe Dean could repair the cracks in my soul with the love flowing from his tone.

"Do I have to?" I asked, because if Dean wanted me to sit, I would sit, but I didn't want to sit. I really didn't want to sit.

My brother's eyebrows rose and confusion joined the concern lining his expression.

"No, kiddo, you don't have to."

I nodded, relieved. Because I didn't want to sit. I didn't want to be in the motel room anymore. I didn't want to be near the mattress or under the ceiling. I wanted out. I wanted out more than I wanted oxygen.

"What do you need, Sammy?"

Was that a trick question?

I only needed one thing.

I had always only needed one thing.

My entire life, in order to be okay, in order to be safe and happy, there was only one thing I needed.

Only one person I had ever needed.

Would ever need.

Dean.

"You." I answered. Too fractured and too raw to bother hiding my vulnerability.

Dean smiled, his green eyes staring into my hazel ones. I knew that he could see my brokenness, I knew that it was shining through my eyes, because I was too weary to hide it – not that I could ever hide anything from my big brother – and yet, Dean never turned away.

I wasn't too weak for him.

I wasn't too needy.

Or too broken.

He looked at me like I was enough, like I had given him something, like I didn't just take, and take, and take. He looked at me like I was important, like I was everything.

He looked at me the way I looked at him.

"I'm right here, Sammy. You've got me, little brother. I'm always right here." He told me with a smile, like saying it brought him joy. Like I made him happy.

I nodded. The promise soothing my soul in a way I didn't know was possible.

"What else do you need, Sam, besides me?" Dean inquired, his smile still in place, but his gaze serious, he wanted an answer.

"Out." I admitted, tearing my eyes away from my anchor to glance at the door, before returning my gaze to Dean. Always back to Dean.

"Sure. We can go out. We'll grab your shoes, get some fresh air."

I bit my bottom lip, because I wanted to go, to leave this place, but it was asking too much. It was still dark out, probably somewhere between really late or really early. It wouldn't make sense to pack up and leave now. We had already paid for the room for the full night. It would be a waste of money to leave. And Dean was tired. He was tired and he needed to sleep, he shouldn't have to drive away, just because I was falling apart, again. It wasn't fair.

"What is it, Sam? Tell me. What do you need?"

Of course Dean knew.

He knew that I was holding something back.

"Can we go? Please? I want to go. Go away from here." I confessed, my stupid body still shaking, as I stared apologetically at my big brother.

Dean squinted at me, looking perplexed, and then his face smoothed out and he opened his mouth, but I spoke before him.

"I'm sorry. It's stupid. Never mind, I'll be fine. I'll just—

"Sam. We can go. If you want to leave, we'll pack our stuff and leave."

"But—

"But nothing. Let's get out of here, little brother. Let's go."

"You sure that it's okay? I can stay—

"Sam, buddy, whatever you need is good with me. Leaving a drafty room with a shitty TV that doesn't even have any half-decent channels, to go take a ride in my baby with my kid brother, that's no sacrifice."

I sniffed, blinking the tears from my eyes and patting Dean's chest, silently thanking him for something I would never truly be able to thank him enough for.

We packed up our stuff and climbed into the car, driving out into the silence of the night. The only sound that could be heard was the rumble of the Impala's engine and the slight wind, all that was left of the storm that had rolled through several hours earlier.

Dean drove like it was just a regular day. Like I hadn't shocked him from sleep and dragged him out into the night.

I sat in the passenger seat, enjoying the silence, the lack of mattresses, and the absence of a ceiling.

Dean kept glancing between me and the road, and I couldn't figure out why, until I realized that I was staring at him.

"What?" He asked me, before I had the time to turn away.

"I just-just…you're always there."

Dean smiled again. I liked making him smile, it meant that I was giving him something, something to be happy about. It made me feel like I wasn't just taking from him all the time, that maybe I was giving something back.

"Dude, you've said that already tonight, multiple times." He chuckled.

"I know. I just- it's just, I-I…" There weren't any words. I didn't have the words. I'm not sure the English language even had the words to properly express how grateful I was to have Dean. How much he mattered to me, or how much I needed him. There weren't enough words to thank Dean for everything that he did, and everything that he was.

"I know, Sammy. I know. Me too, kiddo." Dean stated softly, his calloused hand reaching across the bench seat and sliding beneath my hair, squeezing the back of my neck.

I didn't have the words.

But I didn't need them.

Because Dean knew.

Dean always knew.

Note: For the record, when I finished writing this sucker, it was still Valentine's Day; but editing is a bitch, so it's now 30 mins after the holiday. Many apologies. Hope you enjoyed this! I'm not totally sure how I feel about it, but I thought I'd share it anyways. Thanks for reading! - Sam