Like a Brother

A Supernatural x FMA Oneshot

A/N: You really don't need to know what Fullmetal Alchemist is to read this oneshot. This short story takes place in Season 7 of Supernatural. Rated T for language. Enjoy and please review!

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"You don't understand what it's like, Dean!"

"I don't UNDERSTAND? You're talking to somebody who's been to Hell and back! Who's tortured souls and been tortured. But I don' t fucking understand?" It was two o'clock in the morning in Louisville, Kentucky and the Winchesters were arguing for the umpteenth time since they arrived at the motel the day before. Sam had been hallucinating more than usual, but instead of seeing the devil, he was seeing Jessica. And her image was that of her scorched body on the ceiling of his apartment, and her heart wrenching taunts were getting the best of him. And Dean had had enough of his seeing things.

His initial approach had been to console his little brother. Making light conversation, talk about the (very few) good childhood memories, and even past hunts. But by evening, they were both exhausted and at each other's throats.

"You know what? I don't care that you went to Hell! That was nothing compared to what I'm going through! You've never gone through anything like I have!" Sam yelled, pissing Dean off even more.

"Bullshit, Sam!"

"No, it's not! You didn't fight with Dad like I did! You didn't lose a girl that you loved by burning on the ceiling!"

"Oh, and I suppose mom doesn't count?"

"You were four, Dean! When I lost Jess, I was 22…I watched the whole thing, even before it happened! Or did you forget about that?" Dean's nostrils flared and his face turned beat red. Vision blurry with anger, he swiveled on his heels and punched a hole in the wall, following it up with a few more hits until his bloodied fist went numb. He looked back at his brother, whom had fallen silent by his sudden rage. Dean glanced down at his split knuckles, the crimson liquid dripping down to the faded orange carpet.

"Fine, Sam. You're right. Absolutely fuckin' right." He began slowly, their eyes meeting. "I don't understand. Probably never will." He moved towards the door, his keys in his undamaged hand. "And at this point I don't want to, nor do I care. And I hope nobody does." And then the door was slammed and he was in his beloved Impala, squealing the tires as he rushed out of the parking lot.

He drove a good ten miles before he came across a hole-in-the-wall bar named Joe's Pub. As he pulled in, he was still shaking with fury and his hand was throbbing and still freely bleeding on his steering wheel. He parked and walked inside, doing his best to calm himself down enough to look somewhat civil. When he approached the bar, the young woman with short, red hair leaning over the register stood up straight and gave him a tired smile. "What'll ya have?" She drawled. He grunted as he sat down on a squeaky stool.

"Whiskey. Strongest you've got."

"Comin' up honey." She set to work, grabbing a clean shot glass and a fresh, unopened bottle of bourbon. She filled the glass and slid it down the bar to his open hand and he caught it, tilting it back and finishing it before slamming it back down empty. She filled it again for him, her eyes on his battered hand. "What happened?"

"Got in a fight with a wall." He replied shortly. She frowned, but was distracted as the door opened again.

"Edward, it's nice to see ya darlin'." She said to the new customer. Dean tilted back his second shot, inwardly groaning as an old man with silver braided hair took the seat to his right. The girl refilled his shot as the old man gave a small smile.

"I'll have what he's having, Toni." He spoke hoarsely.

"You got it." She answered, bringing out another shot glass. She poured him some of the hard liquor and this time left the bottle sitting between them to share. "Y'all just holler if ya need anything else. I'll be in the back warshin' dishes." She said to them before disappearing behind the kitchen door.

It remained quiet for a few minutes, the two men taking turns swigging and refilling. Dean was starting to feel the pain in his hand go away, but his anger was still strong. Finally, the old man looked at him and broke the silence. Referring to the dried blood, he calmly asked him, "Shitty day?" Dean couldn't help but snort.

"What gave it away?" He answered, meeting the man's golden eyes.

"I don't know, maybe the fact that you're bleeding all over the bar?" Dean shrugged, snagging a clean towel from the other side of the bar and wrapping it around his hand. While he wrapped it, he wondered where the man was from, since he lacked the southern accent.

"What about you? Shitty day as well?"

"What better reason than come to a shack of a bar in the middle of nowhere?" He sipped at his drink and set it down, running his right hand through his hair. The Winchester's eyes widened, noticing his arm and hand were made completely of metal. The man laughed. "You should see your face." Dean blinked and turned his head away.

"You a veteran or something?"

"Yup. From a military in the east. Well…not the middle east, but somewhere you're probably unfamiliar." He faced him as he finished his sentence. "Name's Edward. Edward Elric." Dean nodded.

"Dean Winchester." Ed nodded in return, taking another sip.

"So tell me, Dean Winchester, what's the real reason you came to this bar?" Dean refilled his glass, raising a brow at the old man. He was taken aback by his forwardness, almost annoyed by it. But somehow it didn't bother him. He decided to just go along with it. What would it hurt?

"My younger brother and I were fighting."

"About what?" Ed's voice was suddenly more subtle, maybe even sad.

"He's been going through a hard time lately. You could say he's not feeling well. I've been trying to help him, because I went through something very similar, but he tells me I don't understand and that he doesn't care if I went through something similar because it doesn't matter." Dean admitted in defeat. Edward took in a breath…and chuckled. "What, you think this is funny?"

"Haha…well, no. But you shouldn't worry. He only says those things because he wants to look tough like you. He doesn't want you to see him like he's a wimp."

"Excuse me?" Dean pushed his glass away from him in hopes it would take with it some of his buzz. Ed scowled.

"Don't be such a dumbass. Your little brother doesn't want you to feel like he can't handle the situation because he doesn't want you to worry. It's not rocket science."

"Bullshit. Plus, I don't know if he even can. He fights hard, but it just seems like it's getting the best of him. I don't want him to deal with that alone."

"He's not. And if I'm not mistaken, he never does. And he's aware. He just doesn't want you to think that he can't beat it on his own like you did. He's merely trying to fill your shoes and follow your example." Dean faced Ed and took a good look at him as he spoke. He was wearing all black underneath a long, dark red hooded coat with a serpent and cross insignia on the back.

"How do you figure all this anyway, old man? You a therapist or somethin'?" Dean asked with a snide tone. Ed gave a half-hearted smile and polished off yet another shot.

"That's how my little brother was." Dean's face fell as the old man's heart broke before him and his eyes welled up with tears. "Al and I made up a team of alche—scientists and together we accomplished many things. But because I was the older one, he always tried to do as I did, if not better. Because of this we would fight a lot, especially when I would try to help him. He would always push me away, telling me he could do it on his own. It pissed me off at first, because I wanted to help him, but I realized that he had to do what he thought was best for him. So I decided to stand by him and watch, remaining by his side to continue my own goals and so that we could watch over each other." Ed's voice broke and he cleared his throat. "He always thanked me after we fought or completed a project. He said that even though we would act like fools, he was thankful that I never gave up on him, and it was why he never gave up on me."

Dean refilled both of their glasses and frowned. "Sounds like we have the same little brother." Ed gave a dry chuckle.

"Only you still have yours." Dean froze at the words and felt his heart drop as a tear fell down Ed's cheek. "He died a year ago today, Al did. A fight with cancer. He watched me go through the same thing and was confident that he would pull through just as well. Before he died, he told me that he was sorry he was giving up. He was gone before I could tell him that he was wrong." Another tear fell down his cheek and he wiped it away. "He wasn't the one giving up. He was set free, and I became the one to give up. Cancer killed us both by taking my brother away from me, leaving me with nothing."

"…I'm so sorry." Dean half-whispered, his voice shaking as Ed's eyes met his again.

"Dean, no matter what, always stand by your brother's side, even if he tells you that you can't help. Because even though he doesn't ask or say anything, you are giving him all the help he wants by showing your support. And always believe in each other, even when you feel like you hate one another, so that even then you still know you each care. You don't want to have any regrets. After all, you never know when life will end."

It was with those last words that Dean knew he needed to go back to Sam. Throwing some money on the bar to cover both his and the old man's tab, he stood and put a hand on Ed's shoulder. "Thanks, Ed." Dean quickly walked out of the bar and to his car. As he started up the Impala and backed it up in the parking lot, he took one last look inside. Ed remained on his stool, his figure shaking as he cried. To his right side was sitting another old man with the same gold eyes. He was smiling at Dean, almost as if he was saying thank you and then disappeared.

Dean reached the motel room in a matter of a few minutes. As he opened the door, he saw the light was off and Sam was fast asleep in his bed. Dean quietly shed his clothes until he was in his boxers and climbed into his own bed. As he tucked himself in, he rolled to face his brother, all the words Ed had said running through his mind. "I'm sorry, Sammy. But no matter what, I will always be here for you."

The next morning, Dean woke up to find that Sam was fully dressed and sitting on his bed with his hands in his lap. Dean sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up. "What are you doing, Sam?" He asked. Sam shrugged.

"Dean, what I said last night…I'm sorry."

"Dude, don't worry about it. You need to do what you need to do." Sam looked at him in surprise.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I know that we each have different experiences and deal with this shit in different ways. But just remember that I ain't goin' anywhere. Your ass has always been my responsibility." He looked at Sam and watched as he laughed.

"Thanks, Dean."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…bitch."

"Jerk." They both gave a smile and Dean got up out of the bed to get ready to leave. As he changed and packed up his things, he thought of Edward sitting at the bar, the ghostly image of his younger brother sitting next to him. He half-smiled to himself. He wished he had told him that Al was still by his side, but he had a feeling that Ed knew that despite the pain of losing him. After all, to stick by his side always was what a brother should do. And he knew and he and Sam would be the same way, no matter what happened. He looked at Sam and watched as he double checked the room and crossed his arms.

"Ready, Sammy?"

"Yup."

"Let's get out of here." And out the door they went, Dean silently vowing he would always have Sam's back no matter what. Sam glanced at his older brother, making the same vow. Just like a brother should.

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Le Fin. Please review and let me know what you think! Thanks!