A/N: Been wanting to write this one for a while.

Dean does everything for him, always has.

Dean would die for him.

Sam's known this forever, held it in the back of his mind effortlessly (too effortlessly), let it be just like knowing when he's five that Dean gives him the last popsicle.

Like when he's eight, and Dean takes the piece of bread that they cut the mold off of, because Sam is entirely revolted (and he says that, too, even though third-graders don't normally know the word "revolted").

When he's eleven, and Dean reads him The Two Towers, while he has the flu, even though Dean doesn't like to read aloud (not that he says so. But Sam knows).

When he's thirteen, and Dean convinces Elizabeth VanHouser to ask Sam to the eighth-grade dance, even though she's been utterly oblivious to his dreamy-eyed stares.

When he's fifteen, and he has such a fight with Dad that he almost runs away (again), Dean lets him drive the Impala. Over state lines, like they don't have to be cornered, bound in by any border. It doesn't last, of course, but Dean drives back (back to Dad) so that Sam doesn't have to.

When he's eighteen, furious and free (or at least he thinks so), and Dean takes him to the bus station. Does it even though it's him that's hurt the most (and Sam knows this, deep down, but he won't think it. If he thinks it, he'll have to stay). So he lets Dean do it, lets Dean let him go, because that's what Dean does. He does almost anything and everything for Sam.


Because there's one thing Dean won't do, and Sam doesn't learn it until he wakes up on a mattress at Bobby's, feeling life rush back into his lungs.

Dean would die for him.

But he won't let Sam do the same.