Author's Note: Another story I wrote for the ongoing hurt!Sam challenge at Ohsam. Mild spoilers for the season 12 premiere and spoilers in general for all the previous seasons. Enjoy!

"Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you."

—Coldplay, "Fix You"

Mary can tell just how much of an overprotective older brother Dean will grow up to be.

"Mommy, give him!" Dean exclaims, arms outstretched, as if he is the only one capable of soothing a crying baby Sam.

"Dean, I've got him." Mary tells her eldest with a soft grin, but Dean just pouts, folding his tiny arms across his chest and oh boy, that one will be a tough one as a teenager, she can tell, he has his father's temper for sure. Still, she hates to see him upset and Sam is still wailing in her arms, the almost six month old set off by a car alarm going off across the street.

"Mommy." Dean insists.

Mary relents.

When Sam stops crying in his brother's arms, she can't help but smile.

Those two . . . they'll be the best brothers.

When Sam is five, he runs much too fast across the gravel in Bobby's salvage yard. He trips and falls, scraping his knee. He cries, of course, and before John can even react, Dean is there, picking his baby brother up, and soothing him with a calm, "It's okay, Sammy."

John watches as his eldest takes Sam to Bobby's couch and carefully washes the wound out, distracting Sam from the sting of the antiseptic by talking to Sam about his new favorite bedtime story, Robin Hood. Then, with a tenderness that he's never really seen from Dean, the eldest brother carefully places band-aids across Sam's skinned knees.

And just like that, Sam is back up and about, a grin on his lips.

"Sammy, slow down!" Dean chases after him, but he's laughing.

That's the moment John realizes he's been replaced in Sam's life.

Sam's 16 and he's grounded, yet again, sentenced to do research on the upcoming hunt as punishment for sneaking out to go to his high school dance.

"Hey, Sammy."

Sam looks up from the books, his gaze narrowing as anger rolls off him in waves.

Dean isn't fazed, "Dad will calm down soon."

Because this is Dean's job—look after Sam, keep the family together. It's the one job he takes more seriously than hunting and it's one that he refuses to fail. Both his baby brother and his father are stubborn as mules-it's up to Dean to play messenger between the two of them.

"It was a dance, Dean." Sam retorts, harshly turning a page in the book, "It's normal to go to dances."

And there's that word that Sam loves to throw out at every moment—normal. Sam is obsessed with normalcy, with living that white picked fence dream. Dean gets it, really, but he needs Sam to understand that hunting is what he will be doing for the rest of his life. He was born into this life and it's his destiny. And sure, right now, it sucks for Sam, but one day, when he's older, Sam will understand why John is so strict with him.

And he'll thank him.

But for now, Dean can sit next to his brother, let the keys to the Impala dangle from his fingertips and whisk Sam off to the diner down the road.

Sometimes, a little rebellion can be good.

Sam's gone to school.

His family is broken.

There's nothing more for Dean to fix.

And then they're back, on the road, searching for their father once more.

Sam spends his nights crying out for his girlfriend and Dean does his best to be there, to hold him while he cries, to make sure he's eating properly, that he's not letting his drive for revenge get in the way of being safe on hunts. Because, deep down, losing Sam . . . that's his nightmare. And the way Sam rushes into some hunts now, without regard for his own safety, it scares the shit out of Dean.

Because if he ever lost Sam . . . that would be the end of him.

"Hey." Sam rubs his red eyes-he's been crying again-as he comes outside of their shared motel room. "What are you doing up so late?"

"Nothing," Then, turning to Sam with a smirk, he adds, "C'mon Sasquatch. It's late. Back to bed."

The fact that Sam doesn't even protest proves just how much his little brother needs his rest.

No, as long as Dean is here, Sam will be okay.

Dean will make sure of it.

Sam's knees are skinned.

His jeans were well worn and when Sam fell onto his knees, onto the gravel of Cold Oak, the material gave away just a bit. His knees are skinned. There are traces of dirt and gravel on Sam's knees. A bit of blood too.

Dean needs to clean it. If he cleans the wound and puts a band-aid on it, Sam will be okay. Just like he used to do—you haven't really changed, have you Sammy?—and then everything will be okay.

Because Dean is Sam's big brother.

And he always patches him up.

Dean makes the deal and Sam refuses to give up.

He can't decide whether he's relieved or worried.

Hell burns.

And then Dean is back and Sam is broken, so broken, and it's Dean's fault, but this is not why he died, just to come back to see that Sam has thrown away everything they've ever fought against and God, it's hard not to be angry, hard not to let that anger harden into an impassable wall.

Because Sam is using his powers. Sam is teaming up with a demon.

And Dean? Dean is just lost.

Tell me how to fix this, Sammy.

Sam's dead, again.

He fell down into a pit and Dean wishes that he dove in after because this? This pretending to live a normal life with Lisa? It's excruciating. Sam is down there, being tortured for all eternity and he's just supposed to sit here and eat pie? To kiss Lisa and hug Ben and act like his life is good?

Please, Dean, do this. For me.

It's Sam that always wanted to be normal. Dean pulled him back into this fucked up life all those years ago and now look where it's gotten him.

Sam's dead.

Dean just wishes he could die too.

But then Sam is back and he's different, but Dean can't bring himself to care because Sam is alive. He's breathing. He's free from Hell.

"Your knees." Dean points out after they escape from a hunt gone wrong and Sam glances down, almost robotically, at his ripped jeans, at the blood rolling down his skin.

"It's nothing." Sam dismisses, but Dean shakes his head.

"Sit down."

And just like that, Dean is doing the one thing he's always known how to do—fix Sam.

There are seizures and the Wall and he knows at any moment he could lose Sam.

Don't touch the Wall, Sammy.

And he clings to his brother, tries to be there every step away, because if Sam does fall, then it's Dean's job to catch him. Dean is supposed to keep his brother safe. He'll be damned if he fails at that one more time.

"Dean," Sam grins tiredly at him, and he's missed that smile, didn't realize how much he cherished these moments until it was too late. "We getting dinner or what?"

This . . . this is what he fights to protect.

"Yeah, coming."

Sam's wall comes tumbling down.

But it's Dean's heart that shatters into a million pieces.

Purgatory.

Bloodied palms, dirt, skinned knees—Sam isn't there though.

No, Sam's free.

Bloody tissues line the waste basket.

Sam's body is shutting down. The fevers are climbing much too high—high enough that even overdoses of medicine aren't making a dent on them. His little brother refuses to eat, refuses to sleep and instead spends his time on researching the Trials.

The only way to end this is get through it, Dean.

Dean makes soup, cleans the bunker, and makes sure his brother is drinking water and taking his medicine around the clock.

"You can go out, you know?" Sam tells him softly one Saturday night, "You don't need to sit here."

Dean just takes a swig of his beer, forcing nonchalance.

"There's no other place I'd rather be, Sammy."

Sam just beams.

The Mark of Cain.

Chasing Sam down the corridors of the bunker with a hammer.

He doesn't like to think about that time.

Mary feels like she's living the same moment over again.

Her boys have grown up. They've passed all their milestones and they're grown men that have been through way too much trauma. They're living the life that she never wanted for them. Her husband is dead. Being brought back to life . . . it's not exactly as great as she thought.

But this . . .

"Sit down."

Sam sighs, rolling his eyes, "I can put a band-aid on myself."

Sam apparently trips quite easily. She can see how given how tall he is (and where did he get that? Not from her side of the family) and he scraped his knee. It's barely bleeding. It's not a big deal, but the way Dean pulls out a first aid kit and carefully cleans the wound before putting a band-aid on it brings a smile to her face.

These men . . . deep down, they are still her boys.

Dean catches her gaze, "Mom?"

She can't help herself from hugging both of them.

Some things never change.

Author's Notes: I would love to hear your thoughts. Please review if you have a moment! Thanks!