Title: He Was Mine
Author: Ayla Rouge
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Word Count: 503
Character/Pairings: Sam/Dean
Beta: biggelois
Summary: "But he was mine, let's not forget that. He was mine and I loved him" Dean visiting Sam at Stanford.
Author's Note: I blame the song Strange and Beautiful for this. Well that and my muse.
::
Do you see that kid there? The one sitting by the tree? He's beautiful, isn't he? More beautiful than any woman I've ever known. But then again, I am biased.
He was mine once, did you know that? I was his first kiss, his first time, and his first love. He gave everything to me and I took it for granted. I wasn't faithful to him; I kept on sleeping with others whenever I was out at a bar. I didn't stand by him when he asked me too, even when he didn't have to ask. I never listened; I shrugged him off more times than not. Too many times it seems.
But he was mine, let's not forget that. He was mine and I loved him. I loved him as much as I could. He was my world, you see, my whole life was formed around what he needed. I tried to give him everything, but it seems that what I could give wasn't enough.
He left me. He went off to school, to live a life he always wanted. He tried to bring me along with him, telling me his plans for us. That we could buy a house, live normally, love openly. The picture he drew was something else. It sounded like a dream I've always wanted. Me and him, together forever. Like some kind of fairy tale. But I wouldn't leave my dad, leave the family business. I didn't want to stop being a hero.
He left me behind instead and came here, to a place so bright and cheerful. Different from what've we ever known. To the normal he wanted for us. He left and entered a world I've only seen, never lived in. I didn't know the rules for this place, how to play the game these people played. I couldn't have fit here, even for him. I couldn't have lived here and tried to be something I wasn't, not like he could. He can forget himself, leave half of his life at the door and never come back for it. He can pretend he's like them, that he never knew anything different. I was never good at pretending though.
So I come here once every few months to see him. I never talk to him, never say hi. I don't let him see me and I never call ahead. I trail behind him, like a puppy, and watch. I make sure he's okay, that he's happy. I watch him smile and laugh with others. I watch while he turns to a girl and kisses her. I watch as he holds her close. Sometimes I pretend it's me in his arms. I pretend that that's me with him; it's me he leans down to kiss. I pretend that the dream he drew came true. And when I drive away, when I go back to work, sometimes I pretend he's with me. I pretend that I have my little brother back.
But I've never been good at pretending.