Warnings: Bit of violence, nothing too graphic. Lots of brotherly love, I can't even deny.
Dean had only looked away for moment—not even. His eyes were always fixated on Sammy. Except for that one instant when he instead turned his attention to the busty blonde that had practically crawled into his lap. He couldn't see the harm in it. His baby brother had been sitting at their table, being a prude as always as he searched for another hunt. Why couldn't he have a little fun? Sure, Sam was only seventeen, but he could take care of himself for a few minutes, right? Not like he was being anything other than sullen, sulky and bitchy lately anyway.
He had talked her up and they had been ready to leave, and from the way she was squirming were likely to not even make it back to the hotel, when he'd looked up to alert his brother to his departure. But all that awaited him was an empty chair and an open laptop. He tried to tamp down his panic, he really did. Sam was probably just hitting the head and then Dean'd feel like a real idiot, especially after practically telling the chick to get lost as he headed for the men's room. But that sixth sense he'd forever had with his Sammy had never been wrong before and it was going crazy now. Something was wrong. No way Sam would leave his laptop just sitting there. He loved the damn thing too much.
A quick check of the empty men's room proved his suspicions correct and Dean felt a hole begin to form in his chest. A black hole, sucking away all of his breath and leaving nothing but painful emptiness. He couldn't keep the panic at bay anymore as he tore out of the bar and onto the sidewalk, looking wildly around the street.
That was when he heard it, the scuffling coming from the ally. Too subtle for normal ears to ever pick up and a noise he would've usually ignored. But when it was followed by the pained whimper of a voice he knew so well he didn't even think. His gun was already out as he rounded the corner.
There were six of them. Six overgrown men who looked like they hadn't bathed in a month. They all wore leather and had a wide variety of scars. Looked like real bad asses. One had a gun of his own, another a switchblade. They were circled around something on the ground. The whimper came again.
Sammy—His Sammy—was on the ground, his face being smashed into the dirty gravel. His eyes were unfocused and glassy. He was confused and he was in pain and that was all Dean needed to know. He barely even recognized his own voice as a growl of pure rage ripped out of him. These men, these filthy, disgusting, vile men had had his Sammy pinned to the ground. Had his Sammy's hands bound. Had a gun to his Sammy's temple and a blade to his Sammy's throat. Had his Sammy's pants yanked down around his knees.
Dean was an excellent shot under normal circumstances. But right now he was pissed. So far beyond pissed that he couldn't even breathe. But he could aim with dead on precision. It took only six shots and all men were on the ground. Some were lucky enough to receive only head shots, quick deaths. Some, like the man who had been about to mount his baby brother, had received their bullet through their neck and got to die with their lungs filling with their own blood.
"Sammy?" Dean worked through the red haze. Sammy was more important than his anger. So much more important. "Sammy? Hey, c'mon, kiddo."
"De?" Sam's voice was weak and raspy. His face was beaten. Whatever drug they'd given him hadn't been enough. His Sammy had fought and fought hard. A swell of pride overcame Dean for a moment before he remembered that they were in the middle of a nasty ally and his brother still had his hands bound and his pants down.
"Yeah, Sammy, I gotcha, hold on," he murmured as comfortingly as he could as he lifted his brother's large frame into a sitting position after working his jeans back up. Sam leaned forward, resting his head in the notch between Dean's shoulder and his head as Dean worked on the knots at his wrists. He could feel Sam's breath on his neck, bursts of oxygen that were being sucked in and forced out far too quickly. "Hey, hey. Sam, I need you to calm down, okay? C'mon, kid, steady your breathing. In and out. Just like me. You can do it. I'm right here, not going anywhere."
He could feel Sam try as he finally got the rope untangled from his arms. As soon as he was free, though, Sam was throwing himself at Dean, his breaths coming out as unsteady sobs into Dean's chest, his hands grappling at any part of Dean he could get ahold of.
"Tried, Dean, tried to get away. Couldn't move the way I wanted to, so heavy. So scared. They were gonna—and I couldn't—and you weren't there. So scared, Dean."
"I know, Sammy, I know. I gotcha now, though. Won't let anything get you, you know that. Always here. Always." Dean closed his eyes as his vision pulsed red again. How dare these men lay even a finger on his Sammy? His Sammy. His.
He could feel Sam shuddering against him despite the fact it was the dead of summer, the shock finally setting in. Dean only tightened his hold.
"C'mon, let's get you back to the room, okay? We'll order a pizza and get some sugar in you. We'll sit back and watch whatever crappy movie is on TV. How's that sound?" he asked as he lifted Sam up, shouldering most of the kids weight.
"Really? But… weren't you picking up a girl?" Sam asked as he swayed and then clung closer to his older brother. Dean couldn't stop the bewildered laugh that escaped him.
"Trust me, Sammy, don't worry about it. No way is some bimbo ever gonna be more important than you, kid. Not ever." And he meant it, too. He had raised the kid. Sammy belonged to him and no one else. Not even their father could stake as big a claim on the kid as Dean. His Sammy. Always his. He would give anything to his Sammy.
They were quiet as the slowly walked to the car. Of course, the cops should be there soon. Someone was bound to have heard the gun shots. So they probably should've been hauling ass out of the joint. But Dean couldn't make himself move any faster.
They didn't hear the sirens until they were pulling onto the next block and Dean made sure to keep a steady speed so as not to draw attention. He kept an eye on Sam the entire ride home and then had practically carried him inside. Kid was getting huge.
He could only make him stay awake long enough to down a coke from the soda machine and didn't have the heart to wake him when the pizza finally arrived. Instead he sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard, Sam curled up against his side with a sure grip on his shirt that didn't even slip in unconsciousness and crappy late night TV in front of him.
A breaking news report interrupted a re-run of Married With Children to announce that six bodies had been found in the ally next to Jimmy's Pub And Pool. That was the only warning he got and not five minutes later his cell was ringing.
"Dad?" Dean knew what was coming.
"Those six on you?" His father's gruff voice answered. No 'hello, son, haven't really talked to you in the last week. How are you and your brother doing? Sorry I couldn't bother to spare five minutes to tell you I was alive when I clearly have the time to just sit around and watch the news.' Nope. Just straight to business.
"Yes, sir," he answered steadily. There was no point in lying to the man.
"Why? We don't kill humans, Dean," John's voice was angry. He was just a step away from losing his temper. Dean knew the tells. More often saw it directed at Sammy, but he knew.
"They tried to get Sam, dad. Protecting Sam comes first." And it did. Always had. Sammy came first, before everything and anything. Sammy came first.
There was a long silence as his father thought this over. "You and your brother alright?"
"Good job, son. I'll be back tomorrow. Be ready to move. Watch out for your brother." And that was it. John never had been one for pleasantries.
Dean shook his head as he threw his phone onto the nightstand and flicked off the TV. He curled around his Sammy, as if trying to form a barrier around the boy.
"Dean?" Sam breathed, stirring slightly.
"Right here, Sammy," Dean pulled his brother closer, hugging him to his chest and placing one arm around his waist while carding his other hand through Sam's unruly hair softly. Sam snuggled in deeper and let out a contented sigh.
"Thanks, De. For saving me," Sam was fading quickly, his voice already slurring with sleep.
"Always. I'll always be there to protect you, baby boy," Dean promised. A promise he would keep if it killed him. He would do anything for his Sammy. His Sammy. The most important thing in his world. Dean would always protect his Sammy.