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Dean was always torn whether he should help his younger brother when he and dad were fighting.
A large part of him wanted to run in there and scream at his father to stop, but a large part of him knew his father wouldn't listen. Would look at Dean in a disappointed fashion for even trying to help. Even worse, he might start screaming at Dean himself.
The fear of anything happening left him fearful and unmoving.
Today had seemed like it was one of the worst. They'd all returned from a hunt, it was already around 1AM, and everyone was exhausted.
Sam was shaken up from having watched his father kill, the blood splattering on the twelve year old's pants-leg. Sam had thrown up before their ride to the house begun, and he had clung to his brother the entire rest of the trip.
Dean was only 16, he really didn't know how to navigate things like this. Already letting Sam hold him felt like he was helping, but Dean really didn't know.
But now, at their house, Sam had crawled into his closet to cry. And John was ripping him a new one.
The boy had a toy that he was attached to, an old moose toy that was brown, with soft antlers. The stuffed animal was old, the stuffing inside it having begun to matt, and the brown color getting tainted with stains and age.
But Sam loved it. Hell, he adored that thing like no other. When their dad was gone, you'd bet that moose would be beside Sam. On the counter while Dean made him breakfast, or in his lap while he studied. Sammy and the moose never separated when John was out.
So that's why, when Sam let out a blood-curdling scream, something in Dean went cold. As if his heart fully stopped for a moment. The boy didn't realize he wasn't breathing as the house quieted down, even the AC shutting off. All anyone could hear was John's voice, yelling at his son to toughen up. His son, who wasn't even a teenager. His son, so scared of what he'd seen earlier, hiding in a closet wishing for it all to go away.
Dean felt a pang of guilt, a pit so large in his stomach that he felt it'd be his turn to vomit next.
Instead, once Dean heard his dad stomp past his door, the boy got up and crossed his room to listen for a few beats more. Once the boy heard the fridge open, he knew his father wouldn't bother them for the rest of the night.
Dean opened up his door and walked down to Sam's, slipping into the bedroom through the crack in the door. He shut it slowly, trying not to make a single sound.
“Dean?” Sam whispered, voice hoarse from sobbing.
Something inside of Dean died as he still heard his brother's hiccups, and how he couldn't breathe properly. The worst part was turning to face him. Sam's face was red, and Dean couldn't tell if John had slapped him or not. He could just see how broken up his brother was, still curled up in the far end of his closet. Dean walked over, shutting the closet door behind them, then sat right down beside Sam.
The younger boy dove into his arms, wrapping himself around Dean to breathe. To ground himself. And Dean let him.
After some time, Sam seemed to stop crying, sniffling and holding Dean close.
“Wanna tell me what happened, Sammy?” Dean asked in a low tone, the arm wrapped around his younger brother offering an affirming squeeze.
“Y-yeah. Dad said I'm getting too old for him,” Sam said through his hiccups, grabbing his stuffed animal that was tucked in between Sam and the wall.
The poor thing looked mangled, one of the moose's antlers having been ripped off. Stuffing was coming from its head, and Dean offered a wince as he took the poor thing with his free hand.
“Oh shit,” was all he could say, pursing his lips as he looked over the toy.
“He tried taking it from me. I should have just let go,” Sam explained, wiping his eyes roughly.
“Nah. This thing would have either been thrown outside or stuck in the garbage disposal. Don't ever let this go, got it?” Dean moved away from Sam, who made a soft noise of complaint but didn't argue.
“Where you goin?”
“Stay here,” Dean replied, handing his moose back to Sam. “I'll be right back.”
The boy got up and left the bedroom, but not for too long. He couldn't stomach Sam being so upset. This was pretty rare, in all honesty. But when his family would get like this, Dean just wanted to make it better.
He grabbed what he had gone out there to get and came back, locking the closet door behind him and settling back down. “Now, I don't know where his other antler is,” Dean started, “but this hole in his head needs patching up.”
“Dad ran off with it, you tell me,” Sam let out a pathetic chuckle, drawing his knees up to his chin to watch his older brother.
Dean had with him a needle and some thread. It was black, but he felt like it matched in a weird way. “Moose shed their antlers anyway, you know. Least I think they do,” Dean smiled up at his brother before focusing on threading the needle.
The two shared the space between them quietly as Dean did surgery on Sam's stuffed moose, patching up the hole so he wouldn't lose any stuffing. Once the stuffed animal was fixed as well as he could, Dean handed it back to his kid brother.
“Thanks, Dean,” Sam mumbled, carefully hugging the toy as if Dean was about to laugh at him. Nothing came of it. Instead, Dean scooted over to Sam and hugged him gently.
“Hey, why don't you come to my bedroom tonight?” Dean suggested, patting Sam on the back before standing up. “You can sleep against the wall.”
Sam nodded, getting up and sniffling before taking Dean's hand. “Sure. I'd like that.”
The two were silent as they made their way to Dean's room, both glad that the TV was now on so their footfall was covered by sound. Dean wished he could lock his bedroom door, as if he were keeping a monster away. But he couldn't muster up the courage to lock his own dad out of his bedroom. Instead, he shut his door and went to the bed, pulling back the covers and ushering Sam underneath them.
The two haphazardly got into the bed, this wasn't something that was done often. Dean used to sleep with Sam often, usually protecting his brother from their father. But it was becoming less and less, and that hurt.
“All settled in?” Dean asked, feeling Sam grab onto his side and curl up against him.
“Uh-huh. Upset I can't brush my teeth,” the other replied, sleep already slewing his words slightly.
“I'll make sure we brush ours tomorrow, yeah? And if Dad isn't home, I'll make us breakfast. Sound good?” The teen asked, holding Sam impossibly close.
“Mhm. Thank you, Dean.” Sam whispered out.
The two fell asleep like that, Dean drooling right above Sam who was curled up beside his brother. They might not have had much, but they had each other, and that was the most important thing. Dean swore that Sam would always have him. And if Dean were around, Sam would always be safe.