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Sam grew up too fast, Dean even faster it seemed like. Sam was the baby of the family, and always will be to Dean. Even at 22 years old, Dean still checked Sam’s motel bed for bed bugs, he carried Sam’s bags inside, and he drove him around everywhere they went. This was true when they were kids, and right now.
After Jessica’s death, the day of, Sam was numb. His eyes were wet but his face was dry. His lip didn’t tremble and his hands weren’t shaking as he sat on the bumper of the Impala.
Dean sat beside him, watching him watch the firefighters spray water through his apartment window, his and Jessica’s apartment. Dean didn’t say anything; didn’t know what to say. He just sat as close as he could be to his little brother without touching him.
In the blue and red strobe light reflecting off of his face, Dean thought Sam looked younger. It brought Dean back to a time when Sam was young and his elementary school girlfriend moved schools. Sam now had that boyish sadness that he had then.
“What do you want to do Sammy?” Dean asked quietly, cautiously, adverting his eyes from Sam and back towards the chard building in front of them.
After a too-long silence, Sam sucked a sharp breath in, the breathed it out fast. “We find dad…” he stood up off the bumper, guiding Dean to do so too.
Dean nodded, walking to the driver’s side door. When he looked back as he opened his door, Sam was still standing by the bumper, staring at his apartment building.
“Sam, let’s get out of here” he said, trying to be gentle but firm.
When Sam didn’t move at all, he hardened his voice.
“Get in the car, Sammy”
Sam sucked in another breath, bringing a hand up to his face to wipe what Dean assumed was tears. Then he turned around and walked to the passenger seat.
The next morning, Dean thought Sam would sleep in until noon, exhausted from the day before, but he was standing over his bed with a pillow to his chest and whispering Dean’s name at five am.
Dean flinched awake, reaching for the gun under his pillow, until his eyes focused enough to notice it was just his brother.
“What the hell Sam?” He groaned, turning over in his bed towards the alarm clock on the nightstand “it’s five am”
Sam still stood at the edge of Dean’s bed, and when he sniffled Dean sat up straighter in his bed. That innate sense to protect him flared in his chest. He reached a hand out at Sam to comfort him, but didn’t touch him yet.
“What’s the matter Sammy?” He could guess, but he asked anyway.
“I’m sad…” he said, voice wobbly and cracking.
Dean scrunched his face in confusion and worry. Sam was being weird. He was a very emotionally intelligent person, so to describe his feelings as simply as just sad wasn’t like him. But Dean wasn’t necessarily surprised after what he just went through the day before.
It brought something out in him though, that brotherly instinct. Dean held both arms out in an hug, inviting Sam into him.
Sam suppressed a sob as he dropped his pillow on the ground and crashed into his brother’s arms. He leaned his entire body against him, and Dean groaned quietly at his weight pressing into him. His arms wrapped around Sam’s back, and his hands rubbed along his shoulder blades.
Dean sat in silence, holding his brother as he cried on his shoulder. He whispered him reassurances softly every few minutes just so Sam didn’t forget where he was.
“You’re okay”
Then Sam shuddered and said “Bubba…” breathy and wet against Dean’s shoulder.
Dean’s body went ridged and his chest ached. Sam hadn’t called Dean that since he was ten years old. It hurt his heart to hear it, for it to be connected to this moment, but Dean would be lying if he said it didn’t feel so natural.
“It’s okay…” Dean tugged Sam fully into his bed with him. Before that, he had been standing with a leg on the ground and the rest of his body bearing against his brother. “Bubba’s here”
It felt weird saying. It felt weird because they were grown now. They hadn’t even spoken to one another for four years.
Sam cried quietly against Dean for what felt like forever. Dean was awkward and stiff against him until Sam’s cries settled into shaky breaths. He was lying at Dean’s side, his arms around his waist as he still hid his face in Dean’s shoulder.
“I miss her…” he mumbled, his fingers flexing into Dean’s shirt.
“Jess?” Dean asked, but the name itself evoked a sob from Sam. “No, I’m sorry. Don’t cry…” Dean turned his face into Sam’s hair, and moved one of his hands to hold the side of his face and press him close.
“I’m so sad…” Sam sobbed.
Dean sighed into Sam’s hair, “I know Sammy, and I’m sorry”
Sam drew his legs closer to his body, almost a ball beside Dean in the bed.
And Dean just rubbed Sam’s back and combed through his hair until he fell back asleep, face tear stained and red against the pillow his head fell onto.
Dean slumped against his own pillows, staring at his little brother who looked too big for how he seemed. He was too tall to curl properly into the fetal position his mind craved, so he was stuck tight and bent into Dean’s side. It looked very uncomfortable but Sam had fallen asleep like that, so Dean wouldn’t try to move him. It was nostalgic and bittersweet. Sam had just went through a tragedy, but Dean needed this too, to be responsible for his brother again since their father disappeared. Without taking care of someone, he felt empty. It was hardwired into his very being that he was supposed to be a caretaker, and when he wasn’t when Sam moved off to college, he had been stuck craving it.
So Sam, his little, baby brother, lying against his side exhausted from crying, Dean felt whole again, like balance had been restored to the world.