So I literally just wrote this about an hour ago. I started out with those first six words and went from there. It got dark... really fast. I had a friend read over it, but I've changed it a little since then, so all mistakes are my own.

WARNINGS: depression, suicide, a couple f-bombs and a 'damn'; I was also toying with the idea of putting this under M (I'd call it a high T, but I'm not completely certain), so fair warning (also, if you think it should be M, please let me know!)

Set soon after Dean got back from purgatory.

I do not own Supernatural.

Proving Big Brother Right

Sam used to sit and ponder, out on Bobby's porch when he'd been dumped there by his "damn Daddy, boy, and don't you say it's your fault". He was able to watch Dean from there, watch him fix up whatever the car of the week was and wonder if Big Brother would ever figure out that, a long time ago, about the time when Sammy had become Sam, Little Brother had become the car of the week that needed a fixing, but he was also that sad little Mini Cooper that'd sit in the far corner of Singer's Salvage waiting for its turn despite knowing it'd never come.

He would typically be accompanied by a book, usually a thick one that he could scribble his thoughts in, making little notes in the margins that no one would ever see unless they went searching for them.

(went looking for Sam)

Bobby would leave the chocolate chip cookies out on a plate with a glass of milk, words always on the tip of his tongue that he never got around to actually saying.

(things like, "Idjit, you know your Daddy cares for you," and "Eat the cookies, boy, God knows you'll never survive on your own 'cause you'll starve to death")

Talk of college, of striking out on his own,

(of leaving, abandoning the family)

was forbidden, even at Bobby's, because if John didn't somehow hear of it, too, it'd be Dean asking, "What'd I do, Sammy? What'd I do wrong?", having gotten it into his thick skull that it was his fault and not Sam who was fucked up.

(and while Sam could handle being yelled at, he couldn't stand looking into Big Brother's eyes knowing that he thought he'd been the one to break/crush/splinter/shatter Little Brother and his too strange ideal of normal)

Sam used to sit and ponder, out on Bobby's porch, whether or not he'd have the courage to pull the trigger if it was placed in his hand

(on his head)

or to shout to the entire world to "just fucking shoot me, already!"

Sam would sit, and look out at his just-turned-twenty-one -look at me, I can drink legally now, Sammy! -older-brother when he wasn't looking at his book, wasn't looking at his sketches.

("They're not doodles, Dean!")

They weren't doodles when Lucifer drew on his face, either,

("It's art, Sammy," the former angel would laugh, "It's a masterpiece.")

and Sam would hate it, would swat at Lucifer's hand only to hear a sharp intake of breath from Dean because Big Brother didn't like seeing that Little Brother was broken/crazy/not right in the head/looking for lost marbles that they thought would never be replaced.

And Sam would think, on the darker days, on day nine and ten and eleven and twelve of no sleep, that Lucifer wasn't in his head, but in his mind, in his brain, and if he didn't have a brain then maybe he wouldn't have Lucifer.

(the only thing that kept him from looking further into the matter wasn't the fact that he would die with no brain, but rather that if it failed then he'd have no brain to look for more ways to escape the hallucinations)

Now Dean's gotten back from purgatory, but he's wrong, messed up and doesn't know it yet but Sam does, knows Dean's different than he was before just from the way he punches Sam in the gut.

(figuratively, of course, but "Benny's a better brother than you ever were," and why does he say it like he thinks Sam doesn't already know it?)

Sam can't fix this, though, doesn't know how because Dean refuses to listen, won't listen like Amelia did, won't comfort anymore like Riot did, and Sam's gotten tired of explaining to Dean that everything he did, he did for Big Brother.

("I didn't ask for you to let Lucifer out, Sam, and you never even looked for me when I was in purgatory!")

"Course I did, Dean," Sam wants to say, wants to yell it in Dean's face and get it engraved on his ribs like the angel sigils that Cas carved on.

Cas isn't here anymore, doesn't seem to be coming back according to Dean, and Sam can't help but be both grateful

(now Dean only has one better brother to hold over Sam)

and upset

('cause Benny doesn't really seem to be the comforting type, not that this new Dean needs someone to comfort him, and Sam can't exactly carve Dean open and do the sigils himself).

Dean'll be happy soon, Sam thinks, feels the trigger in his hand

(on his head)

and knows that he'll be proving Big Brother right, because Sam won't be looking for Dean anymore.

(bang)

So, not that I'm hoping you all enjoyed Sam's pain or anything, but I do hope that you liked the fic.

This was also my first time experimenting with all those parentheses, so please tell me if you thought they worked out okay.

Please review!