A/N: Well, here it is! I actually did my first ever story. Not terribly original, butstill, I'm pretty proud of it. We all have to start somewhere, right? Anyways, I'd appreciate feedback, some constructive criticism, I don't care. I don't appreciate flames, but you can even tell me it was awful, so long as you tell me why.
A/N 2: Also, I'd like to dedicate this to my little sister, who actually inspired this. She isn't on fan fiction, but deserves this all the same. Love you sis, and I'll always be there for you. :)
DISCLAIMER: I own NONE of this! I probably don't even own this idea ;) Please don't sue me. Supernatural and all it entails belongs to Kripke.
All He Can Do
Dean slammed his fist into the wall of yet another dirty motel room and squeezed his eyes shut. 'Well, that went well.' He thought bitterly to himself. 'What the hell do I do now?' After years of keeping Sam in the dark, his dad had finally decided Sam was ready to learn about what he did for a living. Dean had thought otherwise, but bit his tongue. After all, John Winchester knew what he was doing, right? His dad always knew what he was doing. Still….
'Sammy's only seven' He thought miserably, remembering how he had shoved aside instinct and agreed with his father. It was different for Dean. He didn't have a choice when it came to hunting. Sammy did. He could live somewhat normally; he should live normally, a least for a little while. 'I should have said something to Dad. I should have protected Sammy.' Dean concluded, growing angry with himself once again. Instead, he had allowed his dad to do what he thought was best.
Naturally, this didn't go so well. Dean cringed remembering the shattered look on his brother's face when he dad explained in his usual blunt, gruff manner how their mother died, and what he did for a living. When Sam had burst out that he didn't want to fight monsters for a living, his dad, already tense from having to relive horrible memories and face tainting his youngest in the process, erupted. Tantrums were thrown, words were exchanged, and two doors slammed in unison, leaving Dean in the middle and alone to pick up the pieces yet again.
"Sammy? . . . It's Dean. Will you, uh, let me in please?"
"Go 'way, Dean!" Dean's heart nearly broke at the sound of his little brother's watery, broken voice.
"Sam... Come on Sammy. Let me in"
When Sam didn't reply and sniffles were once again heard through the door, Dean finally had enough. Grabbing his lock picking tools from the kitchen table, he finessed his way into the room. It didn't even enter his mind that at eleven years, he shouldn't even know how to do this, let alone be more skilled at it than some professionals. This was what Dean had spent his whole life, after age four, learning to do. He knew that this was what being a Winchester meant. Sam though… Sam hadn't had a clue. At least, not until now. And saying he wasn't taking it well was an understatement.
Dean felt his heart shatter at what he saw when he finally crept into the room. Sam was lying on their bed in the tiny room, little shoulders shaking as he held in his sobs. Dean hovered in the doorway, unsure what to do. How could he make this better? How do you soften the harsh reality of life? This wasn't a nightmare he could soothe away; he couldn't promise that it wasn't real, or that it would be all better in the morning. It wouldn't. So he stood there, helpless and hating the feeling. This wasn't the first time he felt this way, and it sure wasn't gonna be the last. However, this was the first time he was helpless to help Sam; after all, he was the Big Brother. He always got rid of the monsters under the bed, he could turn tears into giggles, and he always had a plan. To Sammy, he could do anything. But this? Even Sam knew Dean couldn't make this better.
Still, he wasn't going to just leave his brother to cry his heart out in a lonely motel room by himself. So he did the only thing he could do, what he remembered his mom and even his dad doing when he cried, before the fire changed their life forever. He walked over to the bed, gently pulled Sam into his arms, and held on. He held on even when Sammy kicked and pushed against him, and was still holding on when Sam finally relented and melted into the embrace. He didn't say a word; he didn't have too. All he did was hold on tight and whisper words of comfort while Sammy cried. And that's when Dean realized something: he couldn't make this go away, but he could make sure he didn't go away. Maybe that was enough, he thought as Sam finally slept, peacefully, in his arms. They would talk about this later, he knew. For now though, Sam could sleep, knowing Dean was there. Dean would always be there, even when Sam thought he didn't need him anymore. After all, that was what older brothers did. Sometimes, it's all anyone can do.