#worried!sam

Sam and Dean shared a quick look before standing in tandem and marching toward you. They each grabbed one of your arms and began dragging you backward. Unable to keep up with their long strides in your heels, you lost your footing.

“Oh, come on!” you squirmed in their grip. “Let me go! I’m serious!”

Sam and Dean stopped short when they reached the entrance of your room, both of them stifling laughter.

“Thank you.” you scoffed, as they released your arms. You smoothed your hands over your dress, grateful that it wasn’t wrinkled during their antics. You stepped forward, but Sam and Dean didn’t budge.

“Go change, Y/N.” Dean’s tight smirk had been replaced with a stoic glare. You knew at that moment he was a lost cause, so you tried the puppy. You could always count on Sam to be level headed and talk Dean down when he got like this.

“Sammy, help me out here.” You flashed him the sweetest smile you could.

“I’m not gonna fight him on this one, Y/N/N.” Sam’s face was surprisingly stern. 

“SAMMY!”

“Y/N, I’m not kidding around.” Dean’s voice slipped into a register not unlike his father’s. “Change, or you’re staying in.”

Dean knew he was being unreasonable, but the idea of men ogling you all night scared the living crap out of him, and if yelling was the only way to keep you from the unwanted attention of grimy bar crawlers, then so be it.

"Come with me!” you compromised. Normally you didn’t barter with the boys when they were being this difficult, but it was your 21st birthday. You didn’t want to change, you looked and felt great, and you certainly weren’t going to celebrate in the drab, concrete confines of the bunker. “You can punch any man who gets within fifteen feet of me!”

“No.” Dean said definitively. “You’re changing, or you’re staying in.”

Sam saw all of the hope and anticipation drain from you, and he quickly tried to remedy the situation.

“We can have a party here!”

“There you go!’” Dean became patronizingly excitable, hoping to reverse the tense atmosphere he created. “Sammy’ll fix you a drink, I’ll cook a nice dinner. Hell, I’ll even let you shoot my new gun!”

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t really feel like celebrating anymore.” Your mouth creased in a solemn pout. 

“Y/N/N, it’s your birthday!” Sam encouraged.

“Doesn’t feel like it.” You hung your head and retreated into your room, softly closing the door behind you.

Two hours later, Sam entered the kitchen to find every inch of counter space in disarray.

“What’s going on in here?”

“I was too hard on her.” Dean mumbled, whisking aggressively. His focus remained on the bowl in front of him, but Sam could still make out his expression of regret. 

“I just don’t want anyone messing with her.” Dean shook his head, knowing the justification of his actions didn’t matter. He had hurt you, on your birthday no less, and he felt awful.

“So you’re mutilating all of our baking ingredients?”

Dean finally looked up to acknowledge his brother’s presence.

“I’m trying to make her a birthday cake,” he admitted with defeat.

“Softy.” Sam teased.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Dean surveyed the mess he’d made and sighed. 

“She’ll be okay, Dean.” Sam promised, also needing to hear the words for himself.

“I don’t know, man. I’ve never been that hard on her.”

Sam understood his brother’s remorse, having been an accomplice himself.

“Why don’t you go talk to her, and I’ll start cleaning up in here.”

“Thanks, Sammy.” Dean clapped Sam on the back as he left the kitchen, leaving a perfect, hand-shaped flour imprint on his flannel.

“I can’t believe you snuck out!” Claire exclaimed, taking a swig of her beer. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m very proud.” She flashed a mischievous smile. “It’s just so not you.”

“Dean went too far, this time.” you exasperated, bending forward to line up your shot. “He doesn’t get to treat me like a child anymore! I know they found me when I was young, but I’m a grown woman now!” you asserted, driving your cue into the ball for emphasis.

“At least you have someone looking out for you.” Claire demurred.

“I’m sorry, Claire.”

“No, no.” She set down her beer. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” She sunk a ball into the corner pocket and turned to face you.

“I know it’s not what you want to hear, but Dean was only trying to protect you. He loves you. They both do.”

“When did you become the voice of reason?” you demanded, trying to skirt the truth.

“You know I’m right.”

“I know,” you groaned, “I just wish their love didn’t come at the cost of my freedom and mental stability!”

“Dean’s right too, you know.” Claire pointed the neck of her nearly empty beer bottle at you. “That dress does make you look like a floozy.”

“Claire!” you bellowed, playfully shoving her. “You’re the one who lent it to me.”

Claire laughed and grabbed your hand, pulling you toward the bar.

“Come on!” she cheered. “You’ve got some catching up to do.”

“Dean, would you sit down?” Sam gestured to the chair next to him. “You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor.”

Dean had been pacing the length of the library ever since finding your empty room.

“No, Sam. I can’t sit. Y/N is missing!”

“She’s not missing.” Sam reiterated for what felt like the hundredth time. “She snuck out.”

“What if someone took her? What if something took her? Why won’t she answer her phone?” Dean wondered frantically through gritted teeth.

“Might have something to do with you calling her a floozy and then locking her in her bedroom on her birthday.” Sam sassed. 

Dean shot Sam a look that let his younger brother know to keep his mouth shut. Sam said nothing and returned to his book.

After a moment of strained silence, Dean stood. 

“I can’t take it anymore.” he said, reaching for his coat. “I’m going to look for her.”

Just as Dean grabbed his keys, the distinct sound of a car door echoed through the bunker, followed closely by your laughter.

“Thank God.” Sam breathed.

Dean took Sam’s relief as a slight to his own grating worry, but the younger Winchester had also been quietly concerned for your safety, which became immediately clear when he dropped his book to the ground and hurried to the garage.

“Dammit, Y/N!” Claire whispered loudly. “The whole point of sneaking in is to, ya know, sneak back in.”

“Shhhh.” you mocked, crouching low to the ground. Walking in that stance proved difficult, and you toppled over, erupting into another fit of laughter. 

“It’s very hard to believe you’re a trained hunter, right now.” Claire deadpanned. 

You managed to hoist yourself back on your feet only to find Claire frozen in place. You followed her gaze to the other end of the garage and saw Sam and Dean leaning against the tool bench. Claire’s eyes were wide with fear, but you were too far gone to care what the boys thought of your drunken state. 

“SAMMY!” you squealed, running to him. “I love you!" 

You flung your arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. You pulled back and were met with his bewildered expression. 

"Such a pretty pony!” you marveled, stroking his hair like a mane. 

“Is this your doing?” Sam asked Claire. 

She held up her hands in surrender.  

“DEANOSAUR!” you lightheartedly shoved Sam over, lunging at Dean. 

“Hey, kiddo.” Dean couldn’t help but reciprocate your hug, and he wrapped his arms around you. “Did you have fun?” 

You looked up at Dean, surprised by his lack of anger, and flashed him an apologetic smile. 

“I’m sorry I left without telling you.” 

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Y/N/N.” Dean assured. “I didn’t really leave you much of a choice. I’m sorry for being a stubborn ass.” 

“It’s okay,” you ruffled his hair, “I know it’s cause you love me.” 

“Now that is my doing.” Claire commented as she walked toward the group. 

“Did you drive here?” Dean questioned.   

“I only had one beer.” Claire defended, but Dean and Sam eyed her suspiciously. 

“I’m serious!” Claire pandered to the boys, closing her eyes and touching each index finger to her nose in turn. 

Sam and Dean nodded at each other in satisfaction, but you stood with a knit in your brow. 

“Claire,” you rasped, “That’s the dumbest dance I’ve ever seen." 

Sam could no longer hold back his laughter, and he let out a loud snicker. 

"Thanks, Claire.” Dean placed a hand on her shoulder. “You wanna come in? It’s getting late, you’re welcome to stay." 

"Nah, I’m okay to drive, and I’d rather sleep in my own bed." 

"Claire! Are you leaving me?!” You forced a clownish frown and crossed your arms. 

“You’ll see me soon!” she promised. “I had fun with you tonight!" 

"Thank you for taking me out after these losers,” you held up your hand to shield the finger you were pointing at the boys, “tried to IMPRISON ME.” 

Claire rolled her eyes and patted you on the head. 

“Not like they could have stopped me anyway. I got these!” You held up your fists and squatted into a fighting stance. 

“What are you gonna do with those Tyson?” Dean joked before noticing the knuckles on your right hand were red and raw. “Y/N, did you hit someone tonight?” 

“YES!” you beamed proudly. “I punched a guy at the bar!” 

“Why would you do that?” Sam interrogated, taking your hand to examine the damage. 

“He tried to grab my ass." 

"What?!” Dean went from amused to enraged in seconds. 

“Don’t worry.” You nonchalantly waved him off. “He couldn’t." 

"Why’s that?" 

"Well, after I punched him, I broke his hand." 

Dean and Sam looked to Claire for confirmation, and she emphatically nodded “Yes” before slipping into her car. Dean smiled proudly. 

"That’s my girl." 

"I broke it so good, Dean. I broke it so hard.” Sam and Dean had to bite the inside of their cheeks to refrain from laughing. 

“I’m amazing.” you whispered, turning to stare at your reflection in the Impala. 

As Claire drove away, Sam came to stand next to you, and your look of pride and admiration melted into one of uncertainty. You slowly turned to face Sam. 

“Sammy?" 

"Y/N/N, what’s wrong?” 

"Sam?” This time your voice was small and scared. Sam and Dean inched closer to you, concern pushing aside their amusement. 

“I’m right here, Y/N/N.” Sam took your hand in his. 

“Sammy,” you swallowed, then declared with all the sincerity in the word, “There are two of you." 

This time, Dean was the one who was unable to contain his laughter. 

"Okay slugger,” Sam gently grabbed your wrist and lifted your arm around his neck, “Let’s get you to bed.” 

The second you were in his arms, you relaxed and let out a dramatic yawn. By the time Sam reached your bedroom, you were already asleep. 

Sam laid you down before taking off your shoes and tucking you in. 

“Man she is entertaining when she’s drunk.” Sam remarked, joining Dean in your doorway. 

“You’re telling me." 

Both brothers watched your sleeping form and smiled quietly. 

"I’m glad she had some fun.” Dean confessed. 

“Me too.” Sam agreed. 

“I’m putting a padlock on her bedroom door, though." 

"Yeah, she’s never leaving this bunker again.”

She had only screamed once, and the night was back to its eerie silence, and Sam couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing. Again, he had to assume bad.

He shoved past a low-hanging branch, praying that he had followed his ears in the right direction. Then, he saw a silhouette against the background of a fire in a hole in the ground, unmistakably hers.

"Y/N?" he asked breathlessly. She looked over her shoulder with a start, and the light from the flames licked away the shadows of darkness.

"Yeah?" Hearing her say that one word in such an unbothered tone gave him all the affirmation he needed - she was okay. Relief coursed through his veins as he bent over to rest his hands on his knees.

"Jesus," he got out, though he was considerably winded. Y/N turned around completely at his breathlessness.

"Babe?" she asked as she rushed to his side. "You okay?" Sam let out a genuine chuckle of the irony of it all.

"I’m fine," he assured, "but I heard you scream from the other side of the cemetery. Scared the hell out of me," he admitted. She gave him a sheepish look before rubbing his arm comfortingly.

"I'm really sorry. I was just about to throw the match in, and he snuck up on me." Y/N held up her other hand, which was covered in ectoplasm. "He slimed me." Normally, Sam would've appreciated the Ghostbusters reference, but he had just seen the blood dripping down her arm and off her elbow.

"You're bleeding," he pointed out as he took her arm to examine the damage. Y/N nodded.

"Yeah, he nicked me, but I'm all right." The youngest Winchester shook his head as he pressed a large palm against her cheek.

"I'm not," Sam said. "I think I almost had a heart attack." The young woman's eyes twinkled mischievously, and she leaned in to whisper into his ear.

"Would it make you feel better if..." Sam's eyes went wide as she filled his thoughts with effective ways to help him unwind. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he readjusted himself.

"Tha-that, uh..." He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "That'd do it, yeah." Y/N grinned at him as she took his hand to pull him in the direction of where the car was parked.

"I thought it might," she responded coyly. "Now, c'mon. Let's go home."

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Sam Darlings:

He launched himself at the car and grabbed the flashlight in the passenger’s seat, then wrapped his jacket around himself and started down the slope. The wind had obviously picked up, and Sam’s teeth were chattering as he finally and painstakingly made it to the foot of the hill. If he was this cold already, only being outside for a few minutes, he couldn’t imagine how Dean was still functioning. Unless he wasn’t. Because looking at the Dean shaped indent in the snow and seeing the blood smeared in a flower shape around it, Sam knew that Dean had lost a lot of blood. He clearly hadn’t made sure to bandage his wounds properly, more than likely being too busy worrying about Sam than caring about his own well-being.

Sam lifted his head and got a face-full of snow and wind. He hated the winter. He knew that Dean found some kind of beauty behind it. He’d seen Dean driving through snow covered forests before, had seen the look of wonder in Dean’s eyes as he’d survey the glistening trees and falling snowflakes. Sam never understood it. Winter was cold and harsh and unrelenting, and now it was keeping him from his brother; something that Sam could never forgive.

He steeled himself against the biting wind and started off again. And stopped. With the snow swirling around him, Sam could barely make out what was on the ground. Crap. He bent forward and examined the ground, looking for a trace of red beneath the sheen of white. No luck. But he was running out of time now. It had been how long since he left? Sam realized that he had stopped counting a while back, once he had discovered the blood soaked snow at the bottom of the hill. 

He was panicking now. Dean couldn’t have much time left. So Sam decided that he was just going to hope and pray that he found his brother in time. With that thought in mind, Sam chose a random direction and took off through the trees, weaving between their trunks. Abandoning all pretenses for stealth, Sam took a deep breath and shouted his brother’s name. “Dean!”

Sam got no answer, but he wasn’t expecting one anyway. The snow started falling faster, and Sam started running faster, too. He didn’t know where he was going, he didn’t know what he was doing. He only knew one thing; that he had to get to his brother. He had to. So Sam opened his mouth again and shouted, louder this time.

And then he felt it. He didn’t know how, but he felt his brother. He veered right and there he was. Sam’s eyes raked over his brother’s haggard and bloodied body, from the bloody nose to his arm clenched around his waist, and then down to where the blood was dripping onto the snow. Wait. Sam’s eyes widened in horror as he realized that his brother wasn’t standing on snow, but ice. Ice that was splintering with ear splitting noise and then breaking. And Sam was running now, running and sprinting and trying to get to his brother, but both of them knew that he wouldn’t make it.

Dean gave him a small smile, and was swallowed by the water. All Sam could do was run faster and scream louder. “DEAN!” Scream the one word that was the most important to him. The one word that mattered most in his entire world. The one word that he had cried, laughed, yelled, and shouted. The one word that Sam cared about most. The one that was ripped out of Sam’s throat now as he slipped and skidded across the ice, trying to get close to Dean but also not wanting to risk falling into the water himself. Dean, who hadn’t resurfaced.

Finally getting to the jagged hole that his brother had disappeared into, Sam bent over and reached his hand into the freezing water. It came back empty. He grit his teeth against the cold and tried again with the same result. Sam cried out in frustration and sunk his arm in up to his neck, groping around in the black water. He was about to retreat and then dunk his whole body in, when he felt the brush of soft flesh beneath his hand. Sam let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, and almost let out a soft sob as Dean’s hand, in turn, closed around Sam’s.

Then he was pulling a gasping Dean out of the lake, who was coughing up water and choking on the brittle air. Sam’s heart sank as he felt the ice slowly breaking around them. He didn’t have time to check if his brother was alright, not when they were still in danger. So Sam made a split second decision and looped one arm under his brother’s head, the other under his knees, and he carried Dean, almost running, back to the shore.

Collapsing onto the snow, Sam immediately turned Dean over onto his back. He inhaled sharply as he got a glimpse of his brother’s bloodsoaked shirt. He lifted it and gagged at the poor condition of the bullet wounds that Dean obviously hadn’t bothered sewing up. It was then that Sam realized that Dean wasn’t coughing anymore. He was lying limply on the snowy ground, not moving.

“Dean!” Sam’s hands were on his neck now, shaking, but still trying to find a pulse. “No no no, Dean, please wake up, c’mon man.”

Still no answer. Sam patted Dean’s face, softly at first, then with more force. “Dean, don’t do this to me. Please please please…” Using both hands, Sam cupped Dean’s face and yelled louder, almost sobbing.

“S’m?” Sam’s tears started flowing then, and he smiled down at his brother, who was alive. For now.

“Yeah, Dean. I’m here. I’ve got you.” 

“‘M cold…” Sam’s eyes widened and he immediately cursed himself for not trying to get Dean warmer sooner. Shrugging off both of their jackets, he quickly maneuvered Dean’s stiff, cold arms into his own somewhat warm jacket. Dean moaned and winced in pain, and Sam kept up a string of apologies as he tried to decide what to do next.

“I’ve gotta get you back to the barn, Dean. I need to get you warm.” Dean didn’t answer and his eyes started fluttering shut. Sam’s heart jumped and he shook his brother. “No no no, Dean you have to stay with me, you understand? Keep your eyes open. For me, Dean. For me.” Dean grunted in pain, but listened to Sam. So Sam heaved his brother into his arms and set off at a staggering pace through the snowy woods. 

He didn’t know how long it took them to get back to the barn, but Sam knew that Dean had lost a lot of blood by then. For once he was glad that vampires still needed to sleep, and he dragged one of their makeshift beds into the center of the barn, then laying Dean on top of it. First things first, he had to get Dean warm. The barn was old, so Sam didn’t have a problem finding pieces of walls and beams strewn all over the floor, and bringing them close to the bed. Building a small campfire, Sam held his breath and hoped that the damp wood would burn when lit. To his relief, it did, and he heard Dean shiver and sigh at the newfound warmth, but there were twinges of pain underneath the sounds. Sounds that hurt Sam deeper than he would ever admit. 

Sam was at a loss now. The roads were snowed over, that much was obvious when Sam was driving a bloody Dean back to the barn. He couldn’t risk driving to a hospital and getting stuck on the way. And there was no way that an ambulance would get to the barn in time. Dean wouldn’t make it. Dean, whose eyes were shutting again. Sam lunged toward his brother and muffled a gasp at the blood that was still spreading around him. Oh god. He had to get the bullet wounds to stop bleeding.

Sam pulled away from Dean and turned towards the door, when he felt a hand on his sleeve. He swiveled around to look at his brother, who gazed at him through half closed lids. “Don’ go, S’mmy.” he whispered. 

Gently prying Dean’s hand from his wrist, Sam leaned in and whispered a promise to Dean that he’d come back. Dean nodded and leaned back into the bed. Sam set his jaw and ran out into the blinding white snow outside. He made it to the Impala and back in less than a minute, bringing with him the first aid kit. Laying it down at the foot of the bed, Sam started stripping his brother of his clothes. The groans and whimpers didn’t escape Sam’s notice, and he got increasingly worried as Dean didn’t react to the first pinch of the needle. 

Sam glanced at his brother’s face every few seconds, as to reassure himself that Dean was still with him. Twice now Dean had slipped into unconsciousness, only waking up when Sam had yelled his name a number of times. Sam was in constant fear of losing his brother, keeping up a mantra of soothing words and questions that he didn’t really expect Dean to answer.

When he was finally done, Sam glanced at his bloodstained hands and the now stained scarlet bedsheets. He hated this. He hated hunts that ended in his brother being hurt. He hated the gut-wrenching feeling he got when his brother was lying bruised and bloodied in front of him. 

Dean let out a shuddering breath and coughed. And that’s when Sam realized that Dean wouldn’t last the night. He’d lost too much blood. It covered his hands, his clothes, the floor. It was everywhere. And Sam didn’t know how to fix it. 

Hands fumbling for his jacket pocket, Sam drew out his phone and tried dialing 911. Again. It was his fourth time now, and there still wasn’t an answer. There wasn’t an answer when he tried in the woods, there wasn’t an answer when he tried near the car. There was no answer, no one to hear Sam’s soft pleas for his brother to be ok.

Between silent prayers, Sam heard the scuffling of a rat in the attic. His head shot up. Stumbling to his knees, Sam scrambled to find the stairs. Although it wasn’t that high, the attic might, just might, get him the least bit closer to a cell tower. It was a small chance. But Sam would take any chance he got.

The barn was three stories, and Sam was almost out of breath as he ran up the last few steps, ducking his head so that it wouldn’t hit the ceiling beams of the attic. 

Holding his breath, Sam dialed 911 and brought the phone to his ear. Please please please.

“This is 911, what’s your emergency?”

Sam almost sobbed with relief.

“It’s my brother. We were hunting in the woods and he got shot, twice, and he’s lost a lot of blood and I don’t know if he can- if he-”

“Sir, please tell us your location.”

Sam took a deep breath and tried to remember all the research that had gotten them into this mess. He ranted off an address to the person on the other end of the phone, hoping it was the right one.

“The ambulance should arrive within the next 30-40 minutes. Just try to keep him warm, alright sir? The snowfall is heavy-” 

Sam hung up. Thirty minutes. His head spun. Keep him warm. Keep Dean warm. He could do that. 

Rushing back down the stairs, Sam scoured the barn for more wood, adding it to the flaming pile. Dean’s tired eyes watched him, and Sam tried to stay calm and keep his tears at bay. For Dean. 

“S’mmy?” 

Sam was at Dean’s side in an instant. He brushed Dean’s hair back, and looked his brother over. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Dean simply opened his arms up and weakly gestured for Sam to get in the bed with him. Sam shook his head.

“I gotta keep you warm, Dean. I need more firewood. I need-” 

Oh. It didn’t occur to Sam how smart his brother was sometimes. Sam’s body heat would help warm Dean up significantly. More than any fire would. 

So, sniffing, Sam carefully edged onto the bed. Dean smelled like blood, and Sam hated it. He hated that he couldn’t help his brother more. He hated everything and everyone and wanted to scream. Scream and cry and shout. But none of that would help Dean. The only thing that could was thirty minutes away. And even then, Dean might not make it.

And as his brother’s arms closed around him, Sam broke. He buried his face in his brother’s chest, body wracked with sobs. He wrapped his arms around Dean too, who let out a sigh of either relief or pain, Sam couldn’t tell. He just clutched his brother and didn’t let go.

They stayed like that for a while. Sam’s sobs slowly turned into silent tears, his hands were fisted in his brother’s shirt. Suddenly, he felt his brother’s body go slack. Pulling back, Sam’s eyes widened as he saw Dean’s still, unmoving chest.

“Dean!” Sam took his brother’s shoulders and shook him, not bothering to do so lightly. When that didn’t work, Sam slapped his face. Still nothing. 

“No! No, Dean, no. Please.” Sam’s cries were interrupted by the sound of a siren, and he saw flashing lights through the windows of the barn. 

“Here!” He screamed. “We’re in here! Please help!” 

And then there were hands pulling him away from his brother for the second time that day, and Sam thrashed and tried to get back to Dean, but the hands held fast. 

Dean was put on a stretcher and rushed out and into an ambulance. Sam pressed himself in alongside Dean, snarling and growling at anyone who told him to leave. 

The ride to the hospital didn’t take nearly as much time as he’d thought, as the ambulance followed the tracks that it had already made. Dean was wheeled into a room that Sam fought tooth and nail to get into, and had to be restrained by at least six doctors before giving up. 

So, Sam had no choice but to sit and wait. Wait for the doctor to tell him the news, be it good or bad. Wait to find out if his brother was alive. Wait and wait and wait. It could have been minutes, hours, weeks, years. Sam didn’t know. Sam didn’t care.

Until finally, finally, the doctor came out. And he was talking and explaining but all Sam heard were the words, “Your brother is alive.” That’s all he needed. Then he was pushing past the affronted looking man in white and into the room that held Dean. Dean, who was breathing and safe and alive. Dean, whose eyes were open and looking right at Sam.

Sam, who was so afraid that he’d never get to see the bright green of his brother’s eyes again. Sam, who launched himself at Dean and wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in his brother’s neck.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again.” 

Dean chuckled. “Missed me?”

Sam pulled back and lightly punched Dean in the chest. “You scared me back there, jerk.”

Dean’s face sobered, and he winced slightly. “He was going to shoot you, Sam. What was I supposed to do?”

“Not jump in front of me, that’s what!” Dean shook his head and looked at Sam with that big brother look that had Sam’s tears start all over again. 

“I thought I lost you, Dean.” Sam whispered, wiping at his face. 

“Well, you didn’t. And I’m not planning on leaving you anytime soon, Sammy.” There was a pause, then Dean smiled and continued, “After all, a tall moose like you is a magnet for danger. I gotta stick around to make sure nothing happens to you.”

Sam let out a strangled laugh and placed his head on his brother’s chest, listening to Dean breathe. It was a sound that Sam usually took for granted. Usually, but not now. Not when he had come so close to losing the thing that he loved most.

Not long after, Dean started running his fingers through Sam’s hair, and Sam melted into his brother’s warmth. 

“I love you, Dean.” He felt Dean stiffen beneath him. “I didn’t think I’d get a chance to tell you that.”

After a moment, Dean relaxed. He put his arm around Sam and whispered, “I love you, too.”