Okay, here's just a one-shot I wrote about Sam's treatment of Dean and how Dean's always treated like an idiot. It really annoys me, so I wrote this. It sort of morphed into something even bigger, but I couldn't really control it. I don't know how I really feel about it right now, but I'll put it out there for you guys to read!!! Please review and let me know what you guys thought of it! Thanks for reading!!!

Disclaimer: I own a set of season 1&2 DVDs, a replica of Dean's amulet, three supernatural posters, a copy of NEVERMORE (tie-in novel) and 2 copies of the first edition of the SN magazine, but sadly, nothing else that is related to SN. All rights go to Eric Kripke and the CW

AN: I checked this over for major mistakes, but there may have been some that escaped my notice. All mistakes are my own fault. This is set during first season, after PT, but before Skin…at least, that's roughly where it is set…

"Dean, will you stop it?! You're not helping." Dean gave Sam an exasperated look but stopped tapping on the desk in front of him. He looked down at the book in his lap, allowing the words to blur together, to fade in and out of focus. With a sigh he stood and stretched his legs.

"I'm going to go get some coffee, you want anything?" Sam continued what he was doing on the computer and only gave a curt shake of his head before delving back into the research. Dean stared at Sam before turning around and marching out the motel door. He dug into his jacket pocket and removed his car keys.

Dean drove aimlessly around, not paying attention to where he was going. He and Sam had run into some problems in their current job. Obviously, it wasn't as easy as they both assumed it was going to be. It had gone from a simple salt-and-burn to a full out nightmare. Their previous background research had been a wrong lead, and now they were stuck in how to get rid of their current ghost of the week.

Dean pulled into a diner and ordered two sandwiches, in case Sam became hungry later. He got his usual black coffee and headed back to the motel to help out Sam. Once he arrived at the motel, he sensed that something wasn't right. He entered the room cautiously, not knowing what to expect…

"God, I'm so sick of this!" Sam slammed his laptop shut and tossed it to the nearby bed, disregarding Dean's questioning look.

"Another mood swing, Samantha?" Dean smirked and set the food on the desk.

"Shut the hell up, Dean. This is freakin impossible. I haven't been able to find anything new, and I don't know where to look next."

"Have you checked out county records?" Sam gave Dean a pointed look before responding.

"Yeah Dean, I have. And I've looked into hospital records, city records, psych records, and any other records out there. I'm telling you, there's nothing. It's a dead end."

"Just calm down there, Francis. Let me take a look." Dean started walking over to the bed, ready to pick up the laptop.

"No offense, but I don't think you'll find anything I haven't." Dean stopped in his tracks, pausing in mid-air. He turned to Sam, a glare already setting into his face.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Sam shifted in his seat, realizing his mistake.

"Nothing. Just frustrated."

"No Sam. You wouldn't have said that if it wasn't what you thought. What the hell did you mean by that?" Dean could already feel is temper rising, his anger growing.

Sam wiggled in his seat, but looked Dean in the face. "It's just that, I mean, you're really good at the hunting and everything, but the research is more my thing, I can just see those types of connections better. That's all."

Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Oh, I'm sorry, College Boy. Do you have to get some degree to master the art of research? Am I missing some credential I didn't get in college? Oh, yeah, that's right. I didn't go to college. I guess that means I'm a freakin idiot! Is that it, Sam? I'm not smart enough to touch your holy shrine, a.k.a. your laptop?!?!?!"

Sam jumped from his seat, his own temper rising. "Dammit, Dean, you know that's not what I meant!! We both just have the thing we're better at! You're better at the hunt; I'm better at the research! Why are you making such a big deal out of this?"

Dean took a step closer to Sam, His voice rising with each word. "No Sam, I'm not making a big deal out of this! I've never seen you as lower than me in the hunt! I thought we were equals, we covered each other. I get it. You're some computer freak. But I would never say that you're lesser than me when it comes to hunting. Because we're a team. But if you think I can't even handle looking at some records before my mind combusts from the strain, then why the hell am I even here?!"

Dean turned from Sam and went to grab his car keys, ready to stomp out of there. Before he could reach the door, Sam grabbed him by his shoulder and spun him around.

"Dean, what the hell is this all about? I didn't mean it the way it came out. Take a look at the records, I just meant that I don't think there's anything there."

"Dammit, Sam! This about so much more than just some freakin records! This is about what you think of me. Just because I wasn't rebelling against Dad every five minutes and didn't run off to some fancy school the second I could ditch my family doesn't mean that I'm useless!"

"I never said you were! But sorry if I wanted more than to just be the good little soldier for the rest of my life and follow Dad around like some robot! Dean, you're so brainwashed that you can't even see how screwed up your thinking is! Instead of getting a life of your own, you've just followed Dad's." Sam realized when he should have shut his mouth, when he should have stopped this. Dean's mouth clammed into a thin mouth, his anger swirling in his eyes. His voice dropped low, his lips barely opened.

"Oh yeah? I didn't see you complaining for the first 18 years of your life. I didn't see you complain when I fed you. I didn't see you complain when you came into my bed, afraid that the monsters were going to get you. I didn't see you complain when you needed help convincing Dad to let you hang out with your friends." Dean's voice had begun to raise dramatically, bitterness ringing with every word. " I sure as HELL didn't see you complain every time I tried breaking up fights between you and Dad!!! Sam, do you think that this is what I wanted for myself? To be some freak, to not have one place to call home? But Sam, I know what's out there, and I can't leave that. You may want your normal, but for me, normal is when I can see you and Dad safe and all of us together. I'm fighting for my normal; what have YOU done?"

"I went to Stanford, Dean. That was my normal. Sorry if you couldn't get that. You took my normal away from me. You never cared about what I wanted. It was always for Dad." Dean shut his eyes, not wanting his hurt to show through. When he opened them again, Sam was looking at him with bitterness.

"Screw you, Sam. Screw you." Dean whispered this before striding to the front door. His hand grasped the front door, pausing for a moment. "The Impala. Check under the knives. Then tell me I never cared." Before Sam could say anything else, Dean was flying out the door, slamming it behind him.

Sam stood there, not completely understanding when this day went from bad to worse to hell freezing over. Sam saw the car keys; saw that Dean had neglected to take them. Not knowing what else to do, Sam picked up the keys and headed out to the Impala. He opened the trunk and dug into the arsenal, not knowing what to expect. He moved the knife collection; saw that there was indeed a package hidden beneath it. He pulled out the package and headed back into the motel.

Sam settled himself onto one of the beds, not knowing if he really wanted to open up the package and see what was in it. After ten minutes of just staring at it, he realized how ridiculous he was being, and proceed to open the mystery package. He dug his hand into it and pulled out everything with one grasp. What was in his hand when he pulled it out shocked him to no end.

snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsn

It was everything. Every little thing Sam had made since he was four. The handprint made of clay that he did in kindergarten.

The drawing he drew of his favorite person in the world from first grade (Sam paused and wondered how that drawing of Dean was never made fun of).

The short story he wrote in second grade about the leprechaun that wouldn't give up the pot of gold.

The report he wrote in third grade about marine animals in the Arctic Ocean.

The first "A" he got on a test in fourth grade, when official "A's" were finally being given out instead of "O's" for Outstanding.

The "student of the year" award he got in fifth grade.

A picture of his 7th grade class on a field trip to the near by observatory.

The essay he wrote in 10th on the prevention of gang violence, which ended up winning in a statewide essay competition.

The picture of Sam, Dean, and John on Sam's graduation day from high school.

But none of this was more shocking than the thing that was on the very bottom of the pile, the thing that was worn-out the most from constant handling: It was Dean's acceptance letter to college. To UCLA.

Sam dropped everything onto the bed, everything but the acceptance letter. For the first few minutes, all Sam could do was read the first sentence over and over again, not quite believing it.

"Dear Mr. Winchester,

We are proud to inform you that you have been accepted to University of California, Los Angeles…"

Sam couldn't believe it. Dean. Dean had been accepted to college. To UCLA. Dean had applied to college. Not just any college, but UCLA. Dean had applied to UCLA and had been accepted.

Dean had been accepted to UCLA and hadn't gone. With this final realization, everything came crashing down on Sam.

"God, I'm such an insensitive jerk." It all made sense. Dean would never leave. He would never leave Sam to fend for himself. Dean had raised Sam, had taught him everything. When Sam needed help with school or girls, Dean was always there for him. Not anyone else. Dean. Of course he wouldn't leave.

But just the fact that Dean had even applied showed Sam that he was ultimately the thing holding Dean back.

Sam had always underestimated Dean; pushed him aside when he thought Dean couldn't handle something. He pushed him aside like he was incompetent. He did it with the research. He did it with Dean's homemade EMF detector. He did it when Dean saw a pattern Sam couldn't. God. I'm just as bad as Dad. I don't even acknowledge the fact that Dean can see things I can't. Sam screwed up and he knew it.

Without even thinking about it, Sam ran out to the Impala, off to search for the nearest bar.

snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsn

Dean was on his seventh beer, and he still couldn't feel the effects. Sure, he heard a little buzzing in his ear, but that was about it. He wanted to forget, wanted to drown out the noise around him. Dean slumped over, trying to feel his heart beat.

"You okay there, sugar?" Dean lifted his head to look at the female bartender. She was mildly attractive, but Dean couldn't feel his usual charm come to him.

"Sure. Nothing like seven beers to make you feel like you're on cloud nine." Dean said this with a hint of bitterness, not caring that he looked like a drunken idiot.

"Can I call someone to come get you? A friend?" Dean looked up, flashing her a lazy smirk.

"Friends? There's no such thing as friends. People are crazy, screwing each other over until there's nothing left but a shell of a person, and then even that is shattered by the hands of jealousy and self-preservation. A friend is a misconception. It's every man for himself out there, and you just have to make sure that you get them before they get you first." The bartender stared at him with a look of bewilderment.

"Well that wreaked of bitterness. I'll listen, if you want to talk about it."

"Naw, I've had enough of show-and-tell for today." The bartender looked at him for a second more before shrugging and turning away to help another customer.

A minute later, Dean felt a hand touch his shoulder and recognized a familiar voice when it said, "Dean."

Dean swung around his seat almost hitting Sam in the face. "Sammy boy! Whatcha doin here? Don't you have some theses to write, some findings to publish? I'm sure I won't understand them, but maybe you can get me the "dummy version" book when it comes out."

"Dean, come on. I'm sorry. Come back to the motel. We can talk about this."

"Talk? Screw talking. I'm through." Dean stood; Sam's sudden appearance sobering him up and reminding him of his previous anger that he had been trying to drown away. Dean stormed out of the bar, Sam following closing behind him.

"Dean, talk to me. I shouldn't have said what I said. I know that. I was pissed and frustrated and I took it out on you." Dean spun around, looking Sam square in the face.

"Yeah, it seems like that's all you can do. Say sorry and pass it off as another screw up. But I'm tired of it. I'm tired of being the one to receive all the punches, the one always being accused of choosing sides or being stupid. I may not be book-smart like you Sam, but I'm not dumb."

"Yeah, I know." Sam said this quietly. With this, Dean's anger deflated, and he felt the tiredness seep into him. He took the last few steps to the impala and leaned against the hood.

"Dean, why didn't you go? To UCLA?" Dean sighed and placed his heads over his face, suddenly over this entire argument.

"You know what Sam, I'm tired. Forget this. I forgive you; I get it. Let's just go back."

Sam looked like he was going to put up an argument, but then decided against it.

"Yeah, let's go." Dean got into the driver's side while Sam went over to the passenger's side. Once at the motel, the boys prepared for bed, neither of then saying a word. Sam was just about to question Dean again when Dean settled into bed and turned off the light, ending all possibility of conversation.

Sam didn't sleep at all that night.

snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsn

"You."

Sam looked up from his book, wondering what Dean was talking about. They had spent the day in awkward silence, Sam looking more into the background of the ghost and Dean cleaning the weaponry.

"What?"

"You. You're the reason I didn't go."

Sam felt the pang in his heart, the feeling of responsibility weighing on his chest.

"God, Dean. I…I mean…you're future-"

"And I don't regret it, so stop talking like a fish out of water.

"Sammy, you were fourteen. You didn't get along with Dad, and you were already rebelling against me. I was afraid of what would happen if I ever left you two like that. But the truth was, I didn't want to leave you guys. Yeah, I applied. But that's just because I wanted to see if I could really get in., if I was really worth it." At this Dean turned around to look Sam in the face. Sam could see the conflict in Dean's face, he could see Dean was trying and failing miserably at try to not make this a "chick-flick moment."

" Sam, I've taken care of you since you were a baby. Dad was there, but it was me that raised you. I was your father, but who looked out for me? There were times I felt like no one knew I was even there, unless it was to feed you or help Dad on a hunt. Applying to college was my way of trying to find my own normal. But once I was accepted, I knew I didn't want it, because I couldn't leave you and Dad. You were my life. I couldn't rip you out of it. I never regret not going, because you and Dad are what keep me going. What makes this life bearable. I've never asked for anything more. But sometimes it's like you think I'm incompetent of doing my job, and it gets to me." Dean sighed, obviously annoyed about how the conversation was going.

"Dean, I…I really don't know what to say. I've never seen you as below me. You're my big brother. And I just want you to know that I never mean to put you down like that…"

"Oh God, shoot me now. I get it Sam. You're sorry. Now let's go get some beers and play some pool before we grow some boobs and start crying our hearts out."

Sam could tell that Dean was cutting this short; ending the conversation that he never really wanted to have in the first place. Sam wanted to finish it, but he knew that he got more out of Dean right now than he ever thought he could have.

"Yeah, let's hit it." Dean nodded, clearly happy with the end of the conversation. He suddenly looked up, realizing something.

"Dude, we haven't even looked into the job today. What the hell's wrong with us?"

"I don't know, Deana, maybe it was all your waterworks throwing you off."

Dean smirked, "yeah right, Samantha. It was you PMSing that started this whole thing. Well, let's scratch the beer and pool and go finish up this pain-in-the-ass case."

Sam sighed, knowing it couldn't be avoided. "Sure."

They both headed out the door, but Dean paused at the last second.

"Shoot, I forgot something. I'll meet you out at the car." Sam nodded and went ahead. Dean turned back and closed the door. He walked over to the desk, looking at the pile of Sam's past that had been left there from earlier. Dean picked up Sam's clay handprint from Kindergarten. He traced over it, outlining Sam's miniature hands. Dean smiled softly to himself.

"Dude, he had girly hands. I always knew it."

Dean nodded in confirmation to his thought, and then headed out the door that Sam had passed through just a minute before.

THE END!
Wow, this is my first one-shot, so please tell me what you thought of it! PLEASE REVIEW!!!

To those following my other stories: Do not despair, I'm working on them. My computer crashed while I was in the middle of two different chapters for each story, and I have not been able to rewrite them, but they will be done!!!

IluvEdward101