Note: "I'm just going to write a small tag." - When the hell am I going to stop telling that same lie to myself.? I hope you enjoy my not small tag. ;)

"She gone?"

"Yeah, Dean. She's gone." Sam responded, stepping out of the dark hallway he had been standing in to silently observe his big brother, but of course, Dean had known he was there without even turning to look.

After Dean's derisive snort, the younger man cautiously shuffled further into the kitchen.

Sam watched his brother's back as he was hunched over the counter next to the stove, the thump of a knife against the cutting board all that could be heard in the industrial-sized kitchen. Sam swept the hair back off his face, opening and closing his mouth, but unable to find the words.

Because what the hell was he supposed to say?

What words could possibly fix this?

All Dean had ever wanted was to have his family together, and he was being continually denied that simplistic dream.

It was so fucking unfair, and Sam couldn't think of a goddamn thing that would repair the damage that had been done to his big brother's heart that night.

"Dean, I'm—

"You hungry?"

The interruption was disguised as a question, but the taller man knew perfectly well that it was doubling as a diversion. Sam allowed it, only because he couldn't think of a single damn direction of conversation that would do anything to help the older hunter.

"No, not really." He mumbled. His insides were twisted up in knots, as they had been since hearing his own mother had teamed up with the Brits.

"You need to eat, Sam. You haven't had much more than coffee in the past twenty-four hours."

Sam shrugged, not bothering to contradict the truth. He had also learned long ago that the best way to distract his brother from the shit that was going on in the world, was to allow Dean to take care of him. Looking after Sam was a job that was familiar to the older man and something he often used as an anchor. The younger man didn't always understand, he used to think in choosing to mother- hen his little brother in times of turmoil, Dean was neglecting his own needs.

But it wasn't avoidance.

It was coping.

It took several years for Sam to truly comprehend that, but the moment he did, he stopped fighting it.

Some things never change.

"And you still haven't gained back even half the weight you lost in lock-up. So, hungry or not, you're eating." Dean declared, waving the knife in Sam's direction.

The younger man was helpless to prevent the corner of his lips from quirking up in fond appreciation.

"Once I do gain that weight back, you are going to have to come up with a new excuse to force-feed me." He joked.

"I've had to cajole you into eating since you started sprouting teeth, little brother. You barely eat enough to keep a damn bird alive, let alone a sasquatch-sized human-being. I don't think I'll ever need an excuse to shove food down your gullet." Dean declared, glancing over his shoulder and tossing a parental look at the younger man.

Sam shook his head in fond exasperation, but didn't argue, causing the older hunter to give a satisfied nod.

"The food Mom brought is still out on the table, you want me to grab it?"

"If you want it, sure. Go ahead. I'll pass." The statement was casual enough, but Sam didn't miss the bitterness entwined in his big brother's tone.

Sam shook his head at the eyebrow that was arched in his direction. He would take Dean's cooking over takeout any day of the week. And yeah, maybe it wasn't just about food. Maybe Sam was using the seemingly simplistic situation to subtly re-insinuate where his loyalties lie.

Where they had always been.

And where they would forever remain.

With his brother.

Dean squinted at Sam for an extra minute, before moving over to the fridge.

"You want bacon or sausage with your omelette?"

Sam shrugged, staring absently at the refrigerator door that his brother's head had disappeared behind.

"Both it is." Dean declared as he pulled out a package of bacon and a bag of breakfast sausages.

Sam smirked, typical.

"Do you want me to go grab the beer?" He inquired, canting his head out toward the other room.

Dean gave a thoughtful look as he set the meat on the counter and turned back to the fridge. Sam waited to see which alcoholic beverage his brother was opting for, finding it curious that Dean was digging around inside the icebox, when the stronger liquor was kept elsewhere.

To Sam's surprise, the older man selected a carton of milk, giving it a quick sniff before nodding his head in approval and setting it out.

"Milk?"

"Yeah. What about it?" Dean queried as he began laying the meat out on the frying pan.

"You want to drink milk?" Sam wondered, trying to recall the last time he had even seen his older brother down a glass of diary.

"Not really, but I want you to, because it's good for you. And since you were an ankle-biter, it has always been easier to get you to do things if I join in."

Sam's eyes widened in surprise at the revealing truth that had so casually fallen from the hunter's lips.

The sound of sizzling bacon was the only response Dean heard, which prompted him to glance over his shoulder at his little brother. He took in the look on Sam's face and twitched a grin.

"Dude, do you know how many afternoon naps I had to take when you were a toddler? Because you would fight it and deny yourself sleep until I crawled up on the bed and under the covers? After I was set, it took all of two seconds for you to scramble up and worm your way in next to me. You would be out like a light the moment you shut your eyes."

Sam smiled softly, appearing to recall those same memories.

"I used to always watch what I ordered when we would eat out, even those few times Dad gave us free range of the menu, because until you turned twelve you would always order the same thing as me. Even if I knew it was food that you didn't like." Dean reflected, his tone displaying his amusement as he glanced between Sam and the eggs he was whisking in the metal bowl. He thought back to the number of times he had been stuck eating pancakes or sandwiches instead of the meat-heavy meal he preferred, because he wanted to choose the foods Sammy enjoyed.

Because he wanted his kid to be healthy and happy.

Some things never change.

"I always wanted to be just like you, man, you know that." Sam confessed, his cheeks colouring, but his hazel gaze remaining steadily trained on his big brother.

Dean swallowed, unable to prevent the softening of his voice as he replied.

"I know, Sammy."

Dean cleared his throat and turned back to the meal prep at hand, wanting to bypass the chick-flick moment he had unintentionally initiated.

"You remember when you got really sick and I tried to read to you, but I didn't know how?" Sam inquired as he leaned forward and rested his hands against the kitchen island.

He waited, knowing that it wouldn't take longer than a couple blinks for his brother to recall the event, Dean was good like that. He kept their past, Sam's childhood and Dean's own unjust forced entry into parenthood, filed safely in his brain. He was their history book. He was Sam's past, his present, his whole damn world; and the only one who really, truly, knew who Sam was. That was one of the reasons it had been that much more terrifying when his brother had started to forget. Sam flinched at the memory, rapidly pushing it away, forcing it into the restricted corner of his mind where he shoved all his greatest fears – where possession and the damn devil were locked away.

As expected, Dean remembered the event Sam had mentioned and recollected it aloud flawlessly, without even taking his eyes off the stovetop.

"You couldn't have been a day over four, you hadn't even started school yet."

Sam nodded along.

"I was down with the flu and Dad had given you strict orders to keep your distance, because the last thing he wanted was two kids blowing chunks all over that closet of a motel room. But of course, you ignored him and every time I woke-up you were planted on the mattress right next to me." Dean sent his little brother an exasperated, yet affectionate look.

Sam smirked.

"At some point, you had a stack of comic books in your lap and you started making up stories to match the pictures. I was barely with it half of the time, but I still remember how fricken hilarious they were."

Sam snickered. "You always read to me, especially when I was sick. I wanted to return the favour."

"Is that why you started hounding me to teach you how to read the minute I was better?"

The shaggy head moved up and down. "I didn't ever want to let you down again."

The simplicity of the statement in no way eclipsed the weight of it. Dean's heart clenched as he turned back to the stove, studiously flipping the bacon and working to blink back his emotions.

"You didn't." He decreed gruffly, loud enough to be heard over the crackling of the cooking food, but he didn't dare look back – knowing the pair of puppy-dog eyes would send him over the edge.

As silly as it all was, Sam felt relief roll over him. Dean had always done so much for him. He had given and sacrificed so fucking much. Sam had always done what he could in return, but it had never been enough, it would never be enough. The youngest Winchester knew all too well that there was nothing he could ever do that would repay his big brother for everything he had done for him. But that didn't keep him from trying. It would never stop him doing whatever he could for Dean. It would never prevent him from protecting his protector.

The eternally unbalanced scales would never deter Sam from sacrificing for the well-being of his big brother.

Even if that sacrifice was twisting Sam up inside and causing his hands to tremble.

"You don't have to be mad at her for me, Dean." The admission was husky and barely made it out past Sam's clogged throat.

Because he was terrified.

He was so scared that a large part of Dean's anger towards their mother came from his duty to his little brother and Sam thought that if the older man was released of that commitment, perhaps he would join Mary.

The idea alone practically paralyzed the younger hunter.

But he was willing to risk anything for Dean.

Abandonment.

Paralysis.

Fear.

He would accept any or all of it, for the sake of his big brother's happiness.

Some things never change.

"Sam. What the fuck are you talking about?" Dean demanded, the food all but forgotten as he spun around to face the thinner hunter. His gaze squinted as he stared down the taller man who was hunched in on himself, gazing down at the fingers he was aimlessly twisting about.

He was nervous.

And scared.

That Dean could detect clear as day.

What he couldn't – for the life of him – understand, was what the hell Sam was trying to get at with his hushed declaration. Large timid eyes hesitantly raised to meet the demanding green ones.

"Mom is working with them and- and I know what they did to me, but if that's why you're mad at her, you don't have to be."

Dean's jaw rippled as his nostrils flared. He sucked in a deep breath in a failed effort to calm himself before delivering his reply.

"They tortured you, Sam."

"I know."

"They broke bones, drowned, and fucking scorched you."

Dean winced in a pang of regret as the thin frame standing before him flinched at his selection of vocabulary.

"I know, Dean. Believe me. I've had half a dozen nightmares of being stuck in that damn cellar again."

The older hunter nodded, because he knew that much. He had heard each one. He had rushed to Sam's room every night it had happened at some ungodly-hour, summoned by his kid brother's waking scream that echoed down the hallway.

He knew all too well the horrors Sam had experienced in that cellar at the hands of those monsters. He knew that not only did those agonizing memories haunt his sleep, but they resurrected the traumas the kid had experienced in the cage with Lucifer - for that alone, Dean could easily slaughter ever one of those British douchebags, without a lick of regret.

"Then why aren't you pissed? She sided with the asshats that did all that shit to you. And you're all chill and freakin yoda about that?" Dean nearly shouted in disbelief.

"I'm not. I'm sick over it. I can't believe that she…after they- I don't understand it."

Dean nodded, agreeing with that much.

Sam swallowed and clenched his jaw, stealing himself as he continued.

"But if you're angry with her for siding with them because of what they did to me. I just – you don't have to be. Not for me. You can feel however you want to feel, for you."

"Gee, Sam. Thanks for the permission."

"No. That's not what I meant. I don't want to tell you how to feel. That's not what I'm- I don't—

"Sam."

Thankful that Dean put an end to his increasingly stuttered rambling, Sam gave him an indebted look.

"That Stanford-sized vocabulary is failing you, kiddo." The older man commented with an amused smirk.

"Dean." Sam sighed helplessly.

The shorter man's face softened, as he took in his little brother's defeated posture.

"I know what you're trying to say, Sam. Mary is working with the scumbags that hurt you, and you want me to be okay with that."

"I don't want you to be, I'm just- I'm okay if you are okay with it." Sam failed to elaborate.

"Well I'm not. I'm pretty fucking far from okay with it."

Sam frowned, his brother's fury coming across loud and clear as he aggressively pulled the frying pan off the burner and slammed it down on the counter. The younger man silently cursed himself, frustrated with his inability to properly communicate.

He wasn't helping.

He was screwing everything up even more.

Typical.

"How about I make those British bastards a muffin basket, would that be buddying-up enough for you? Or how about we all wear matching friendship bracelets!? Hell, why don't we just invite them to move in?"

The exclamations would have been comical, if Dean wasn't so thoroughly outraged.

"It's not like that." Sam muttered miserably.

Dean released, what sounded very much like an aggravated sigh, discarding the metallic tongs and wiping his hand distractedly on a towel, before tossing it to the side and leveling the other hunter with a stern look.

"Then what's it like, Sam?"

The younger man fidgeted under the intense gaze.

"I don't like the Brits, for obvious reasons."

Dean snorted, but Sam remained undeterred.

"But Mom thinks that they are alright, I guess. And I just want you to know that you don't have to be angry on my account. It's okay if you want to be alright with her decision. And maybe even if you want to join her—

"Sam—

"Just, if you do, it's okay. I don't know if I could. I could try for you, but I don't know…but even if I wasn't able to work with them, I am okay if you want to, for Mom." Sam finished, hiding behind his hair as it crowded his face.

Some things never change.

"Are you finished?" Dean queried flatly.

Sam bit his lip, his brother sounded entirely unimpressed, and the taller man wondered if there was something he could add to clarify things, but his mind was blank and all he had left to do was nod and await Dean's reaction.

"First off, and let me make this crystal clear, I would never even think about asking you to work with those fucktards."

Dean paused after his statement, and assuming he was expecting a response, Sam nodded his understanding.

"Secondly, there's something you're not getting here, kid."

The elder hunter watched his little brother cock his head to the side, his brow furrowing.

"What that bitch did to you in that basement, what any scumbag does to you, I take that personally. Not because it's my job, or because I feel like I have to, or because I am guilted into it, not even because we are brothers."

Dean watched Sam's eyebrows shoot-up in both shock and confusion, and softened his voice in response.

"I take what happens to you personally because what happens to you, happens to me. Seeing my kid brother beaten like that? I fucking felt it, Sam. The shit that happens to you, I always feel it. And I don't need to explain that because I know it is the same way with you. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

The hazel eyes swam as they stared over at the shorter man and Sam nodded, vehemently this time, like he meant it – like he got it.

Dean quirked a smile, because good.

It was about damn time.

"If those assholes had tortured me, you wouldn't think twice – hell, you wouldn't think once about teaming up with them, no matter what Mary did."

Sam gnawed on his bottom lip, Dean was certain that he was going to break through his skin if he kept up with that nervous habit of his.

Sam couldn't argue his brother's point. It was true. He knew that much. He just wished everything wasn't so damn complicated.

"Don't ask me to be less than I am, Sammy."

It wasn't a demand or an argument.

It was a request – a plea.

And it stole Sam's breath and snapped his heart in half.

The vibrant green eyes gleamed as they stared straight through the younger man. Sam sucked oxygen back into his lungs, blinking the moisture out of his own eyes.

"Dean, I would never – I could never…you can't ever be less, De. You're everything."

The words slipped out. Sam's heart was diving unobstructed directly through his mouth.

It was Dean's turn to have his oxygen seized.

Sam was always doing this to him, saying shit that left Dean reeling and breathless.

"I never meant to make you feel like that. I would never—

"Sammy, relax, buddy. I know." Dean placated softly, reaching out and grabbing one of his little brother's long flailing arms.

Sam always did like to talk with his hands, even as a kid, especially when sufficient linguistics evaded him.

Some things never change.

The younger man gave the older hunter another helpless look, one that sent Dean's protective instincts afire and made him wish that his little brother was still three feet tall and could be swept up and held until everything was okay again.

"It's like I keep taking her away from you and I just – I don't want to be the reason you lose Mom…again." Sam confessed through a stuttered exhale.

"Goddammit, Sam. I thought we covered this last time-" Dean released a bitter, humourless laugh. "Last time Mary walked out."

Sam's heart ached for his brother, but he fought to maintain his composure.

He would be strong for Dean.

"It is not your fault. Nothing she has done or will do, will ever be your fault. It wasn't your fault that she died. It wasn't your fault that she needed space. It isn't your fault she's partnering up with those British scumbags, and it is not your fault for being hurt by that; and how I feel about Mary or her choices, sure as shit ain't on you." Dean proclaimed, watching relief and gratitude smooth away the distressed lines previously marring the young face.

Dean would never understand why Sam needed to be acquitted of any blame, but he was happy to offer all the absolution he could, regardless of how unnecessary he thought it to be.

For Sam, he would offer it all day, every day.

There had never been anything he wouldn't do for his kid.

"Alright, well if we are clear on that, let's get back to making some grub. I'm starving."

Sam nodded, subtly swiping at his eyes, as he willfully followed his brother's overt transition, knowing how Dean detested the chic-flick territory that had been entered.

Some things never change.

Dean gave the forearm of Sam's that he was still holding a reassuring squeeze, before releasing it and turning back to the forgotten, partially-prepped meal.

Sam shifted about aimlessly, wishing he was a fraction as useful in the kitchen as his big brother.

Dean must have sensed Sam's insecurities - didn't he always? – because he quickly spoke up.

"Bro, get your ass over here and make sure this meat doesn't turn into charcoal." Dean instructed, waving his brother towards the frying pan he had returned to the burner.

Sam eagerly jumped to the task, grateful to be given the chance to help-out.

The rest of the meal was made in an efficient time, the lanky hunter heartily following his older brother's instructions through the entire process. In no time at all, both men were seated at the kitchen table, each with a full plate and a tall glass of milk in front of them.

Sam hummed as he took a bite of his omelette. Dean had filled it with all the vegetables he loved and he appreciated each flavour that mingled on his tongue.

"I missed your cooking a ton when I was away at school." Sam admitted after another couple bites.

Dean's eyebrows climbed as he munched on some sausage.

"You're joking, right?"

Sam shook his head, swallowing his next mouthful of egg before he continued.

"It was the one thing I could actually understand when my classmates would talk about home. Because our family and our life was so—

"Fucked-up."

"Different. That usually when everyone else would talk about their home-life, I couldn't relate. But when they talked about missing home-cooking, well that I understood." Sam explained.

"Dude, I barely cooked. What'd you miss, my gourmet mac&cheese?" Dean joked.

"For starters."

The older man's face was lined with sheer disbelief, prompting Sam to elaborate.

"You always knew how to make everything the way I liked it. Even if it was just the simple things, like eggs." Sam used his fork to point down at his partially-eaten meal. "Or how you cooked my hot dogs until they split, or how you would always spread the perfect ratio of jam and peanut-butter on a sandwich. I could never make any of that as good as you made it. Even the cafeteria's grilled cheese didn't taste nearly as good as yours."

"What about Jess? I'm sure she cooked for you a time or two." Dean pointed out, knowing that his brother's lost love was no longer a forbidden topic – and hadn't been for years; however, Dean was always prepared every time he mentioned the young woman who had captured his brother's well-guarded heart, for an equally wistful and sorrowful shine to enter the hazel eyes.

The glimmer appeared, just as Dean knew it would, and Sam's voice fell to that raspy register it often adopted when he was running high on emotions.

Some things never change.

"She could bake, cupcakes, pies, …cookies." He paused, slowly refilling his lungs, a playful grin suddenly pulling at his lips. "But when it came to cooking, she was as helpless as I am."

Dean released a surprised laugh. "She couldn't have been that bad, nobody is that bad."

"Oh shut-up." Sam responded through his own chuckle, tossing a piece of bacon at his brother's head.

The two smiled at each other for a moment as they continued to eat, Dean breaking the silence a couple minutes later.

"You seriously missed my cooking?" He wondered, both perplexed and flattered by such an absurd idea.

Sam nodded, his expression genuine, no hint of a mocking smirk.

"Dude, that's pathetic." Dean snorted, thinking of what a sad state it was that Sam missed his older brother's low-budget culinary creations.

Sam's face fell a fraction as he shrugged, his fork poking through the remaining few bites of omelette.

"I didn't think so." He mumbled.

Dean felt appropriately chagrinned at the sight of his dispirited little brother. He absently chewed his food as he watched Sam's hair crowed his face and the younger man do nothing to push it back into place.

"I guess it makes sense, if you think about it." Dean amended, before taking a quick sip of milk, struggling not to grimace as he swallowed.

"Yeah?" Sam asked, perking up, his expression brightening with hope.

The older hunter couldn't help but quirk a smile, sometimes his kid didn't look a day over ten-years-old.

"Sure. I mean, people miss the things they are familiar with, right? The things they are used to."

Sam nodded, his head quirking to the side just a tad as he looked thoughtfully over at his big brother.

"Well, you grew up with my cooking, didn't you? There was diner food, and on occasion Dad or Bobby would whip together a meal for us, but for the most part you were stuck eating what I made."

Because you didn't have a mom, remained unspoken, but that didn't keep the phrase from echoing traitorously through Dean's skull.

"I wasn't stuck." Sam pointed out. He was being sincere, he had always been thankful for his big brother's cooking. The older he got the more grateful he became, because Sam had figured out early on that Dean's food tasted far better than anything the youngest Winchester managed to create on his own. At the tender age of nine, Sam had discovered how difficult it was to make a decent meal in a motel kitchenette with next to no money and no supplies. That realization had opened the younger boy's eyes to his older brother's talents and had made him all the more appreciative. Dean's ability to make a good meal with their extremely limited resources had just been another one of his super-powers, or so a child-Sam had thought.

Adult-Sam couldn't help but agree with the assessment, as he took another bite of his breakfast.

Some things never change.

"Whatever you say, dude. All I am trying to get at is that my cooking was what you ate on the regular, it was what you got used to. So, it makes sense that you would miss it." Dean declared.

Sam warmed at the statement, knowing Dean had only bothered to work through such reasoning, because the younger man had been put-off by his brother's previous proclamation on the matter.

Sam had never thought that missing anything having to do with his older brother was the least bit pathetic.

The taller boy sent a thankful smile across the table, unsurprised when the shorter man went out of his way to avoid it, staring studiously down at the sausage on his fork.

Sam ate the remainder of his omelette, thinking all the while how pleased he was that their permanent place of residence had a kitchen. Dean had cooked for him lots as a kid, but since they had returned to the road they had been staying mostly in motels and eating nothing but take-out. Sam had always secretly enjoyed it when they opted for renting, visiting, or squatting someplace that had a kitchen, because often Dean would put together a meal or two; and whatever he managed to scrounge up always tasted far better than any fast-food Sam had ever digested.

"Seriously, Sam, aren't you pissed?"

The question flew out of left-field and had the younger man squinting in confusion.

"About your cooking?" He ventured.

Dean gave an exasperated headshake.

"About Mom." He clarified.

Sam's eyebrows arched. He had thought they were avoiding that topic, and had no idea why his brother had returned to it.

"You were all worried about how I felt and making sure that I could feel however I wanted to feel. But you never really said how you felt." Dean pointed out, his food forgotten as he stared intently across the table.

Sam rolled a sausage distractedly around his plate as he replied.

"Of course I'm angry."

He glanced up at his older brother to see him looking both distressed and relieved by the declaration. Sam sucked in a deep breath before continuing.

"But mostly I'm hurt."

Dean's fists clenched.

"And confused. Sort of like the rug has been pulled out from underneath me, like I'm unbalanced and trying to pick up the pieces, again. You know?"

Dean nodded, because that was a feeling both brothers were all too familiar with, a by-product of spending an entire life careening from one crises to the next.

The older man sat waiting for Sam to finish. Waiting for the fury, or even the tears. Awaiting the rant and release. Prepared for Sam's response to being sold-out by his mother yet again, because whether it was unintentional or not, this wasn't the first time Mary's choices screwed Sam over; and Dean was beginning to fear that it wouldn't be the last.

But none of it came.

Seconds turned to minutes and Sam did nothing but stare down at the pork he was pushing back and forth across his plate.

"That's it?"

Sam looked up, the hazel eyes surprised as he gave a thoughtful nod.

"You don't feel betrayed?" Dean inquired in disbelief, thinking maybe Sam was downplaying his anger for his older brother's sake. But the younger man appeared to be giving the question honest consideration before replying.

"No, not really."

Sam could tell that the hunter across from him was not buying into his claim, so he elaborated, working to find the words he needed to efficiently convey the complicated way he was feeling.

"I'm shocked that she could do that after- after what they did to me. And it hurts, a lot."

The confession alone had Dean's heart clenching, but the broken tone in which it was delivered made the damn organ feel as though it were cracking to pieces.

"But I don't think she could ever betray me."

"Really? Because she's done it at least twice now. But, hey, who's counting." Dean remarked bitterly.

Sam was taken aback by the depth and degree of his big brother's anger, but he knew that it was more than justified. For a long time Sam had been aware of Dean's issues with abandonment. The elder hunter had been left by every individual he ever loved at one point of another, including the very child he raised. Dean had been carrying the weight of his shattered family for way too damn long. He had been forced to grow up far too soon. He had given everything he had and everything he was to those he loved, and had still been burned by them countless times. The younger Winchester's heart blead for his older brother. Dean's pain and hurt overwhelmed Sam more than any of his own emotions.

Some things never change.

He did his best to clear his throat and stymie his leaking heart, in an effort to answer the unasked inquiry.

"That's not what I meant. I just…" Sam paused, gathering his thoughts. "I trust Mom, or I did, I don't know anymore. But even before today and what happened, I never trusted her like I trust you. You know?"

Dean nodded, the wrinkles around his eyes exhibiting his confusion. "Yeah, sure. But what does that have to do with—

"I'm trying to explain. Just stay with me for a second here."

Dean nodded once again. His expression still pinched, but gaze steady as he focussed on his stuttering little brother.

"The way I trust you – the way I've always trusted you – it's different from how I trust other people. I have never trusted anyone like I do you. Not anyone. Not Mom, not even Dad."

Dean's head twitched but his face didn't change.

"I remember how annoyed he used to get with me, because every time he gave me an order or any instruction at all, I always looked to you. I never moved until you nodded." Sam recalled, his lips twitching upwards.

"You weren't the only one he got irritated at for that." Dean stated with a satisfied smirk.

Sam chuckled softly, before growing serious once again.

"Even when I was a little kid, it was you I trusted the most. I knew that Dad loved us, and I know now that he did his best, but it was you I trusted to know what was best for me. You were the one I knew would always put me first." Sam declared, his voice growing raspy as his gaze awkwardly wondered the kitchen, but always returned to the man across the table.

"And I don't know how it is supposed to be with mothers. I know that I love her, and I think she loves me too, but I don't depend on her. I don't expect her to know and do what's best for me. And maybe that's wrong, I don't know. I've never really had a mom before." Sam admitted softly with a shrug, embarrassed over his lack of knowledge. He felt like an insecure, unintelligent child, but that didn't change the fact that he didn't have the slightest idea what sort of relationship that was meant to exist between a mother and son.

Dean must have picked up on his brother's disconcerted state, because he quickly piped in.

"Nothing you feel is wrong, Sam."

The statement was so certain, that Sam believed it almost instantly, tossing his brother a grateful look for the confident assurance.

"I have never trusted or depended on anyone else as completely as I do with you, Dean. You are the only one I expect to have my back, the only one I know is always looking out for me."

Emotion was threatening to clog Sam's airway, but he swallowed it down and forced his roaming eyes to focus on the soft green orbs directed at him.

"You are the only one who could ever betray me." Sam confessed.

Dean tried to inhale oxygen that wasn't there.

He tried to will his heart to start beating again.

But he was too busy drowning.

It was a feeling he should have been used to by now.

Every time he thought there was no way he could ever care for his little brother any more than he already did, Sam said or did some shit that changed the whole damn game.

Some things never change.

A wave of love for his little brother crashed into Dean and left him fighting to break the surface.

He loved his kid so fucking much, he wasn't sure he wouldn't burst with the force of it.

"I'm not sure how much sense that makes, but it's the truth." Sam shrugged, mumbling down to his plate.

Dean was thankful for this brother's averted gaze, because he needed a moment to pull himself together. He swallowed, taking a gulp of milk in an effort to rid of the lump in his throat. He blinked rapidly, dragging the back of his hand briefly over his eyes, until the tears were no longer impending. He simply breathed until nothing threatened to snap his precarious composure.

Several minutes had passed before Dean could bring himself to speak.

"Stop playing with your food and eat it." He ordered gruffly, swatting Sam's fork with his own.

Sam smirked.

"Yes, Dean." He said with a nod, in that tone that reminded Dean of the young child his brother used to be.

"You can't just eat the veggies and shit, you need to get some meat on your bones."

"Yes, Dean." He parroted, his smile growing.

"And drink your milk. Cows worked hard to make that for you. Don't waste it."

"Yes, Dean." Sam grinned, taking a bite of his sausage and taking a healthy sip of diary.

"That's my boy." Dean praised, his joking tone doing nothing to disguise the level of fondness he had for his little brother.

And damn if those three simple words didn't make the kid light up like the fucking Fourth of July. Dean also didn't miss the undeniable love, adoration, and gratitude glowing through the huge hazel orbs. He had seen that look a million times before, and had never felt the least bit deserving of it.

Some things never change.

Dean stared down at his food as though the bacon was a puzzle needing to be solved.

Sam understood.

He knew his big brother.

He knew Dean wasn't always the most comfortable with emotion, especially when it was intense. But he always put up with his little brother and his powerful, often overwhelming, feelings. As much as he whined about chick-flick moments, the elder Winchester had never shied away from them when they were what Sam needed.

The younger man hoped that maybe the occasional heart-to-heart didn't only help him, but Dean as well.

Because maybe Dean didn't need to say too much – he had always preferred actions over words – but maybe there were still things he needed to hear.

Things he needed to be reminded of.

Like how much he was worth to his little brother.

And how he meant the world to the kid he had raised.

And how he was loved and appreciated, and understood by someone.

Maybe Dean needed to hear that he wasn't alone.

That as long as Sam breathed oxygen, Dean would never be alone.

Not ever.

"Sammy."

The younger man looked up at the call, eyebrows raised in question.

"What you said, about trust and betrayal and…all that stuff."

Sam nodded, encouraging Dean's fractured attempt at conversation.

"I want- you know- I just—

Dean huffed, his irritation with himself apparent.

"Just, me too. You know?"

Sam's hazel eyes gazed at Dean through his bangs, as he briefly studied him. Dean sat obediently through the examination, allowing his little brother to see the depth of emotion he knew was still – despite his best efforts – portrayed across his face. Sam deserved to see the effect his words had on his big brother.

He deserved a hell of a lot more than that.

But Dean was shit with words.

He couldn't do what Sam did, pour his heart out like that, not unless it was life or death, and even then he couldn't do what his little brother could.

Dean had never had that type of strength.

He wished that he did, for Sam; but if he was honest with himself, he knew it wasn't even necessary.

Because his kid always knew.

He had always known what Dean couldn't stay.

He had always understood.

He could read Dean's heart like it was a goddamn book.

And the older hunter had never stopped being grateful for that.

He had never stopped being grateful for Sam.

His dorky research nerd.

His geeky-sasquatch hunting partner.

His floppy-haired, puppy-dog-eyed little brother.

His giant-hearted, chick-flick-loving kid.

His family.

His fucking soul.

"I know, Dean." Sam responded softly.

Because he did.

Sam knew.

He knew Dean trusted him.

He knew he depended on him and counted on him.

He knew he appreciated him and cared about him.

Sam knew that Dean loved him.

His big brother displayed it in everything he did.

He had proved it more times than Sam could count.

Dean didn't need to say it, for Sam to hear it.

The youngest Winchester heard it every damn day.

And he prayed that Dean heard it back just as clearly.

Because it was just the two of them.

Again.

But that was okay, because they would make it through.

Because no matter what Lucifer's unborn child turned out to be.

No matter what happened with the Brits.

No matter what was going on with Cas.

No matter what Mary did.

No matter what unresolved issues there may be.

The Winchester brothers would be okay.

They would make it through.

Because they had each other.

And that was all either of them had ever really needed.

Some things never change.

Note: It is 5am...I don't know why I do this to myself. I am going to be a zombie tomorrow. I hope some of you enjoyed the reason for my sleep deprivation! ;)
I am going to get back to replying to comments and messages tomorrow after work, I promise. Please comment/review if you can spare a second to help me feel better about staying up far too late to write this not-short fic. Thanks for reading! - Sam