he remembers the first time he held sam. mom had handed him this tiny creature bundled up in perfect white blankets. he took to it like he was born for it, born just to protect this perfect bundle. he cradled him to his chest, cupping the back of his head without being told to.
he knew instantly that a big brother was the most important thing for him to be.
"smell his hair," she told him softly, smiling. "doesn't he smell like lavender fields?"
this might be the last time he'll ever hold sam, as he bleeds out in an empty town on the cold dirt.
sam is going limp, dead weight in dean's arms. it's a heavier load to bear, now. 200 pounds, 6 feet and 4 inches, but dean doesn't waver. he cradles his little brother to his chest like he's small all over again, one hand cupping the back of his head while the other is pressing firmly to the open wound in his back. he tries to ignore the warm wet steady gushing of blood.
dean rocks him gently, like soothing a baby to sleep. dean's eyes and nose burn, his throat is closing up. he can hardly breathe. he's not sure if he wants to. he curls his fingers into sam's hair and tucks the boy under his chin. he nuzzles into the top of his head, pecking gently at his hairline, nose brushing through downy locks. dean takes a shaky breath in of motel shampoo, of baby's interior, of his baby brother. he smells like a brisk breeze on a summer day, like tracking through the woods, like waiting up for dad while torrential rain hammers onto the window.
he smells like lavender fields.
