Sam looked dejectedly at himself in the mirror, and roughly wiped away the tears that threatened to fall. He didn't know what Dean saw in him, who could like the dark brown freckles that were scattered on his face, making him look as if he always had particles of dirt clinging to his face? Sam held in a sigh and ran his hands down his hips hips, the tears slipping down his cheeks. He was too gangly, to gawky. Too much and still not enough.

(Not enough for Dean, never enough for anyone.)

Who's to say Dean wouldn't leave him for a girl with curves and soft breasts? Or a guy that was more muscled, confident in his own body unlike Sam who stumbled along and looked awkward in his skin.

(Dean called him Bambi sometimes because Sam was so clumsy. Sam never told Dean that he took it to heart.)

Sam stiffened when he heard the motel door open and listened to Dean's heavy footsteps as he neared the bathroom door and knocked on it. "Sammy?" Dean asked, his voice gruff and tired.

"Yeah?" Sam answered hurriedly wiping away the tears though it's in vain because they won't stop falling and he put a hand on the bathroom mirror, his tight grip on it being the only thing that kept him from collapsing on the pale green carpet and sobbing.

"Can I come in?"

Sam hesitated, he didn't want Dean to see him like this. He didn't want Dean to see how ugly he is, how broken because what if Dean hates him? Or worse, what if he agreed with Sam and confirms his fear of being a freak? Sam's breath hitches in his throat at this thought and he starts taking deep, shaky breaths to calm himself down, and tells himself that he can't panic right now.

"Sammy? You okay?" asks Dean again, his voice more alert and worried now.

The ball of nervousness twisted in his stomach, making Sam momentarily feel sick and his hands were trembling when he replied casually, "Yeah, the door's unlocked."

Dean came in and hugged Sam from behind, already knowing that Sam was in some kind of distress and met his younger brother's hazel eyes in the mirror, a concerned looked etched on his face. A scowl appeared on Sam's face and he curled his hands into fists, hating how his eyes were rimmed red from crying and his cheeks were splotchy. He looked away from Dean's gaze in the mirror and instead glared at the ground, wondering if Dean could feel his body trembling.

"What's wrong?" Dean mumbled, nuzzling Sam's neck as a show of comfort.

Sam just shrugged, not trusting himself to speak and suddenly feeling even worse. Dean's arms were meant to hold someone normal, someone who didn't have nightmares every night about demons and visions of people dying.

"C'mon, Sammy. Don't lie to me," Dean sighed, his rough, yet comfortingly familiar hands running up and down Sam's side soothingly.

(Sam wants to break in his brother's arms, crash and burn and cry because Dean could fix everything, even the most shattered of mirrors. So maybe he could fix Sam.)

"I-", Sam stopped and took a deep breath before blurting it all out, "Don't you want someone else? Maybe a girl? Or a different guy, one who's normal? Because I'm not-. I'm not perfect Dean. I'm a freak."

Dean tightened his grip on Sam's waist, his mouth in a hard line and tried to look at Sam in the mirror, though Sam kept looking at the ground stubbornly.

"What're you trying to Sam?" Dean's voice is cautious as he asks the question.

(In a way, Dean supposes he already knows. He knew from the moment he knocked on the bathroom door and Sammy answered with a shaky voice. Fear had run through Dean's body as he remembered how Sam used to throw up after he ate. The doctors called it bulimia and Dean had cried, vowing to make sure his brother conquered it. It'd taken 3 years, three long hard years in which John was no help and Sam was so frail and quiet, Dean feared he was going to die. Three years and Sammy didn't vomit after he ate, which was good, but he still hated the way he looked; Something that never failed to rip Dean apart.)

Sam sighed, oblivious to his brother's obvious worry and inner monologue and tries to choose his next words carefully.

"It's just that, why do you want me? I'm too skinny and I used to have bulimia, I have nightmares every damn night!" Sam starts off angrily, his voice becoming softer and more broken, "I'm not normal, De. I'm a freak and I'm worthless and one day you're going to realize it and leave me."

(His shoulders are shaking from holding in sobs.)

Dean immediately turns Sam around to face him and Dean's killer green eyes are shining with a plethora of emotions that Sam's afraid to decipher the meaning of.

"Sammy listen to me right now. Don't you ever think you're a freak okay? You're my brother dammit, my brother," Dean said softly, a pained expression crossing his face as his voice breaks.

"You're my brother and I love you. I love you so damn much that it scares me sometimes because if I lose you, I don't know what I'll do without you. You make me feel like I'm not just Dad's soldier. I don't want someone else, Sammy. I just want you. The whole package," Dean whispered as he kissed away Sam's tears.

Sam smiles against Dean's stubble and buries his head in his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of Dean's cologne, the leather of the Impala, and home.

"You don't understand Sam, I love the way you fit in my arms, like you were meant to be there and the little freckles scattered on your face like stars," Dean hummed against Sam's ear and lifts his chin up to plant a soft kiss on his Sammy's lips.

Sam melts into the kiss, reveling how safe he feels in Dean's familiar hands; drinking in the feeling of being wanted flaws and all.