Don't Touch My Brother

a/n I really do like "what if's". In this case, it was a more twisted one, but still.

Dean had never even considered something besides monsters trying to hurt them.

But as he watched the two men move closer, both with horrible grins and eyes that ran up and down him and Sammy like they were food, the reality that these were regular humans hunting them.

One of the men, the heavier one, hair a mass of greasy strands, wearing ragged jeans and a dirty brown jacket, reached for Sammy. Dean didn't think twice, ripping his knife from the sheath at the small of his back. At fourteen, he was tall, but he still wasn't sure he could take both of the men. But he was not going to let them hurt Sammy, no matter what it took.

As the two moved in, Dean jumped forward, knife in hand, and slashed and cut, all the while yelling for Sammy to run.

He knew his brother wouldn't want to, but he also knew Sam was smart enough to know they needed help. And at this point, the only way to get it was to find someone and bring them back.

When he saw Sam take off past the second man (skinny, all in black, eyes red-rimmed, and wreaking like vodka), and out of the alley they had been backed into, he breathed a sigh of relief. Then he focused back on his own trouble - two men intent on harming him in ways he didn't even want to consider.

Nearly fifteen minutes passed as he tried to hold them off. Then they had decided to work together, and before he knew what had happened, they had Dean pushed back against the wall.

The skeleton-looking one held his arms, while the other fumbled with Dean's belt. He struggled and yelled, until a disgusting piece of cloth was shoved into his mouth to choke off the noise. The big man momentarily gave up on trying to pull off Dean's pants, and ripped his shirt from neck to hem, his large hands running over the fourteen-year-old's chest. Dean felt disgusted goosebumps break out over his skin, and admitted that he was more scared then he had been when that vengeful spirit in Philly had decided to take out her torture and death on Dean months earlier.

Then the shout rang from the mouth of the alley, "Don't touch my brother, you sons of bitches!"

Dean stared in shock at his little brother, his studious, chubby ten-year-old brother. Holding a shotgun in one hand and a Glock in the other.

And standing behind him, death and revenge glowing in his eyes, looking large and as menacing as he ever had, was John Winchester.

In the end, the boys waited in the car until John came back, face dark and grim, blood on his shirt.

Sam had started thinking he was too old for Dean to baby him, but this time he wasn't willing to pretend he was all grown up. He had forced his big brother into one of their dad's sweatshirts, and climbed in the backseat, crawling into Dean's lap, wrapping his arms around him.

Dean was shaking. He hated that. He needed to be strong and make sure Sammy felt safe and knew everything was okay. That was all that mattered. So instead of crying or admitting how scared he'd been, he smiled and messed up the younger boy's hair. Then he'd teased him gently, "A shotgun, Sammy? That thing woulda knocked you off your feet if you actually shot it."

For once, there was no quick, angry response, and Dean realized that his baby brother was crying.

"Sammy? Shit, Sammy, what's wrong? I'm okay, see." He held out his arms, inviting Sam to check. "I'm just fine. You did good."

"I was scared, and I ran away," Sam mumbled into Dean's chest.

Dean's arms went back around his brother and squeezed tight. "You did what you had to do. If you hadn't got Dad, we'd both of gotten really hurt, or we'd be dead. It was the right thing to do, Sammy. And because you did that, I'm just fine. Not a scratch on me. Okay?"

The young boy nodded, but his eyes were doing that guilty, puppy dog face that Dean hated. It showed up every time Sam thought he'd made a mistake.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Look, idiot, you saved the day. And you got to be the one with the cool line."

"Huh?" Sam looked up, tears forgotten in confusion.

" 'Don't touch my brother'? Dude, that's an awesome line. Something you'd hear on tv, er somethin'. All I got to do was some growling and spitting."

"Yeah." Dean was overjoyed to see the triumphant smile on his beloved baby brother's pudgy face. "I totally saved your ass, Dean."

"Shut up, Sammy," he muttered, ruffling Sam's hair again. "And watch your language."

"You swear."

"Yeah, but I'm fourteen. I'm practically an adult!"

But he didn't protest when Sam insisted that Dean stay in the back with him, as John drove through the night towards the next job.

As he looked in the rearview mirror and saw the picture his two sleeping boys made, he grinned, eyes sad. They were just kids. They shouldn't have to deal with this kind of shit.

But at least he knew they could take care of themselves.

And if they couldn't, they would do anything to take care of each other. So long as his boys had their brother, they'd be fine.

He had to believe that.