It made you sick. You hated seeing anyone hurt, let alone your little brother; Sammy. You held the now red stained cotton wad in between your fingers, setting that one down before grabbing a new one. You dabbed the new one against his cheek, pressing against the red welt that had begun to form. You were left alone with Sam. Your older brother Dean and your father, John, have left for the hunt just recently. Now, usually, John (even after striking his own child) would still force them to go on a hunt. Telling them to “Suck it up.” You have no idea, but you managed to convince your father to let you and Sammy stay home. And your older brother– Dean, like the good little soldier he was, went along with Dad. You couldn’t help but feel a small amount of resentment for Dean. He was almost a teacher's pet in a way. And that small resentment stayed, even if you knew he protected and cared for both you and Sammy. You snapped out of your thoughts as another whimper and tear escaped Sammy. You gently pulled him into your arms, cradling the young boy like something precious. “Dry your eyes, I won’t tell your father, he won’t ever discover–” You took out the little comic books that Dean occasionally had enough money to buy for both of you. “--the things you kept under the covers..” Another soft cry from Sam as you held him closer. “And please don’t cry.. There is nothing wrong..” Sam looked up, moving his face from your chest.. “You promise..?”