DISCLAIMER: Owns nothing

OMG!! guys I am soo sorry, my computer has been fucking so many things up lately that i had trouble logging into my freaking account! Imagine how angry I was getting. This ones a little different, but it's been the only inspiriation that I've had in over two weeks. Give me reviews guys, cause something is wrong with me. And I just want it noted that I wrote this before "Bad day at black rock" lmao

Dean watched from across the room as Sam leaned into the table. He was kneeling on the chair and whatever he was writing had his full concentration. His little brows furrowed and he had his bottom lip between his teeth. The pen he was holding was scribbling around frantically across the paper.

Curious now, Dean stood up and the chair creaked. Sam's head snapped up and his eyes flashed like a deer caught in headlights. He seemed to hunch over the paper even more.

"What are you doing?"

Dean shrugged as he moved towards the kitchen. "Just getting some food, Sammy." He walked around behind Sam and noticed how the kid made sure to cover up every inch of the paper. He opened the fridge and pulled out the orange juice container to take a chug, making sure to look over the top of the container at Sam, who was glaring at Dean from over his shoulder.

Dean grinned at him and Sam's eyes widened. "No Dean."

Dean casually started moving forward, when Sam grabbed the paper and ran out of the kitchen Dean tore after him. "Sam!"

Sam was screaming as he ran down the hallway towards their bedroom, Dean caught the door with his foot before it could slam shut. He braced his hands on the door. "Sam, come one now, don't make me…" He didn't finish the sentence before he felt Sam shove hard on the other side. The door clicked into place, but Dean managed to pop it back out before Sam could throw the lock.

He snickered at the "damn it" from the other side. He braced his feet and shoved the door open with his shoulder. Sam fell backwards and sprawled across the floor. The paper was no where in sight.

"Where is it, Sammy?"

"Yeah, like I'm gonna tell you."

"Sam…" Sam just shook his head. "Fine, I'll find it myself." He turned and shut the door, making sure to lock it so the little shit couldn't run out again. "It's in here somewhere."

Dean started throwing things around the room and Sam huffed. "Why do you wanna read it so bad anyways?"

"Why do you wanna hide it so bad?" He turned to Sam, who was standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed. His gaze fell behind Sam, to the little piece of white sticking out from under the dresser. "Well?"

"It's just a school report, Dean."

"That doesn't answer my question, Sam."

"It's about heroes, okay!" Sam threw up his hands in frustration, a gesture so Dean-like it was scary. "And I don't want you to read it cause you'll laugh."

Dean took a step forward. "Why would I laugh at you Sam?" He leaned in to whisper. "Is it batman?"

Sam's face went deadpan. "Yeah, it's batman. You caught me, Dean."

"Seriously Sam, come on, when have I ever laughed at you?"

Sam put his little hands on his little hips. "You want me to list all the times?"

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Sam…"

"Fine, its dad, okay."

"Sam you didn't write about…"

"No! I'm not stupid, Dean. I didn't write that dad hunts monsters and that he leaves us at home alone for days at a time."

Dean wasn't convinced, after all Sam was only nine, he shouldn't know better…but ever since he had found out about – well everything – he'd grown up in a short amount of time. He watched the paper under the dresser from the corner of his eyes and smiled at his little brother. "You hungry? What do you say we go out for supper?"

Sam narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "We're not supposed to leave the house after six."

"I've never been one for rules, Sammy. You know that." He started walking out of the room, praying that the temptation of good food would make Sam follow – he did.

"But these are dad's rules. And besides where'd you get the money from?"

At thirteen he was still shy of driving, so he grabbed his coat and swung the door open. "I hustled some rich snobs at school." He looked at Sam who was still standing hesitantly in the hall. "Come on, Sam, I know how you love that pizza place down the street."

Sam chewed on his bottom lip as he peered outside, and suddenly Dean realized why he was so hesitant. "I promise nothing bad will happen. I won't let anything happen to you; you know that, right, Sammy?"

And just like that the kid's face lit up and he ran towards the door, grabbing his coat on the way.

Dean stared at Sam's sleeping form from the doorway of their bedroom. His little body was curled slightly on his stomach with one hand under his pillow and the other wrapped overtop it. While he was awake the innocence was still there, but Sam's eyes were no longer happy – they carried the same weight that Dean had carried at four. But that wasn't the point, Dean had wanted to make sure that Sam didn't have that look in his eyes until he was much older. While Sam was sleeping though, he could see that innocence again – the look that was untouched by the evil that surrounded their everyday lives.

From his position of leaning on the doorframe, Dean could still see the white corner sticking out from under the dresser. Just like he had hoped Sam had been too chatty about the drama of elementary school to remember about the paper he had hid before going to bed. Without feeling any guilt he pushed off the door frame and quietly made his way over to snatch it off the floor, and then left the room.

He didn't look at it as he walked down the hallways and into the kitchen. He placed the paper upside down on the table and stared at it. Walking towards the fridge, he kept his eyes on the white paper as though it might disappear if he looked away. He snarled at himself and walked out of the kitchen and into the living room where he turned on the TV and threw himself onto the couch.

After ten minutes of watching static he peered over the back of the couch to look at the table and the white paper that was still lying there. He looked into the hallway to their door that was still open.

Without stopping he jumped off the couch and snatched the paper off the table to flip it over and read it.

My Hero by Sam Winchester

Most kids have a fictional hero that they look up to. Someone with supernatural powers that can fly or read minds or has super strength. Someone that wears a costume as they save people and has an alter ego. My hero doesn't wear a costume, he doesn't hide behind an alter ego and he doesn't have supernatural powers, but that's okay because I love him anyways.

He's the one that chases all the bad things away. When there was a monster under by bed, he was the one that crawled under there with a fork and told the monster to leave me alone. One time there was a ghost in my closet and my hero made it go away with salt – that's a pretty talented thing to do with kitchen salt.

My hero protects me from all the bad things that go bump in the night and when I'm really scared he's the one person that can make me feel better. He's not one for showing affection but I know that he loves me because he tries so hard to keep me safe.

If there is one person that I want to grow up to be like, it's my big brother Dean.

Dean stared at the paper in amazement, pride welling up in his chest. No wonder why the kid was so embarrassed about letting Dean read the paper. Nothing had clicked into place while he was reading it, but as he scanned back through the words things fell into place.

Sam had been seven when he had told Dean about the boogeyman that was living under his bed. In response, Dean had taken out one of his hunting knives dad had given him and crawled under to bed to kill it. Sam had said it was a fork to hide the fact that their family was screwed up. What kind of an eleven year old has a knife collection?

It had been three months ago when they had moved into the new house that Sam said there was a ghost in their closet. If Dean remembered correctly he hadn't just thrown kitchen salt into the closet. Nope, just to make it look more real for Sam he had loaded one of dad's shotguns with rocksalt – mistake number one – and shot into the closet – mistake number two. Sam had been ecstatic and dad had been pissed.

Dean walked numbly down the hallway to stand in the doorway of their bedroom and stare at Sam again. He had rolled onto his back with one hand flung over his head and the other across his stomach. The little guy never ceased to amaze him. Dean walked quietly into the room and slipped the paper back under the dresser. There were some secrets that a little brother needed to have from his older brother.

'Sigh' so it's sappy, what else is new? Maybe that's why I'm having trouble writing all my other angst ones right now.