Sammy was always into stories. Though he catered to his brother to the best of his abilities Dean could only come up with so many on his own. And he could reuse them only so many times before his younger brother would plead for something new.

Dean started "borrowing" library books at the tender age of nine to appease and delight Sammy. To Dean's horror the young boy enjoyed fantasy stories the most; the more magical, the better. Dean's stomach squirmed slightly in discomfort; he'd faced his first witch barely a year ago and it had not been pleasant.

A few months after Sammy's 6th birthday Dean messed up, majorly. Sammy almost died because of Dean's boredom and petulance. But as much as that experience, and John's resulting shout- and smack-down, terrified him nothing was worse than Sammy's meek question two days later.

Dean was laying with Sam curled up against his chest at the newest motel. He was a little over halfway done with reading a worn copy of The Hobbitout loud. He had stopped to lick his lips as he turned the page and,

"Am I magic?"

Dean frowned at the top of Sammy's head. "What?"

His little brothers hands clenched in his worn t-shirt fitfully. "I had a dream an' it came true. Am I magic?"

For a moment Dean couldn't breath past a lump in his throat. "Don't be silly, Sammy, magic an' trolls an' hobbits aren't real."

"But my dream," Sammy softly whined, fingers playing more fitfully with Dean's shirt.

Dean folded the corner of the page down before putting the book to the side. He dropped his hands to rub his brother's back. "Wha'd you dream about?"

Sammy's hands fisted against Dean's chest. "Had a dream you went to play without me and something sneaked into my room. It was gonna eat me but then Dad scared it off with thunder and screamin'."

Dean's blood had gone icy.

"S'what happened the other day." Sammy mumbled against his brother's chest.

Dean spoke, voice broken. "When- when did you- have the nightmare? W-hy didn't you tell me?" He rubbed his brother's back harder, like he could erase Sam's dream and his own chill of fear.

"Few times. Las' time was the night before. But, it wasn' a nightmare, I wasn' scared! Dad saved me."

Dean found he couldn't control his body and that it was shaking a little bit. Sammy petted his chest and finally peered up at him, eyes wide. "Am I magic? Am I bad? 'M sorry Dean!"

Dean jumped, tightly wrapped his arms around his brother and began anxiously reassuring him, frantically promising both of them. "No! No, you're not bad Sammy! A-and you're not magic either! Magic isn't real Sammy." His brother was just a kid! There was no one that he could be magic - could be a witch. ... Could there? "It was just a weird dream. But I wish you'd told me about it."

Sam's pudgy arms reached up to wrap around Dean's neck to hug him. "'M sorry," he apologized again, softer against the base of Dean's neck.

"It's okay Sammy, it's okay." Dean tucked Sammy's head into the crook of his neck and let himself find comfort in the smell of his brother's hair. It was strange, they used the same shampoo and laundry soap and everything but he somehow always seemed to smell nicer - softer and a little flowery. Dean was pretty sure that was how innocence smelled. Maybe there was some kind of good magic around if Sammy still smelled good and pure and not like Dean. "Jus' ... tell me if you have a dream like that again - a not-scary nightmare - okay?" He ran a hand through Sammy's hair.

"'Kay," his brother's voice was warm and muffled against his skin.

"Just me? Dad doesn't need to worry about something I can help you with."

His brother agreed again.

They held each other a bit longer before Dean pulled away and started humming 'Hey Jude' to help put Sammy to sleep. Dean watched as his brother settled into sleep. With a bit of uncertainty he prayed for Sammy's safety. If nothing else good existed, Dean was sure that their Mom's ghost would protect them. Right?