A/N: First story, hope you like, read and review. Wincest. Dean/Sam. Dean is 19, Sam is 15 so is that weecest too?
Dean Winchester knew that there was a special place in Hell reserved just for him. A place where he would be punished for his sickness.
He knew the way he felt was wrong and he knew that having a hard on for his baby brother would definitely grant him purgatory. But that didn't make it stop. Dean still wanted Sam. Needed him, even.
Dean wasn't sure when he stopped viewing Sam platonically. From the first time when Dean met the squealing, little red faced being that was his brother, Dean knew he loved Sam. Knew that Sam was his. As Dean got older, John made it more and more clear that Sam was Dean's responsibility, that Sam was Dean's.
Dean promised that he would watch out for Sam and he did. He watched him grow from the tiny baby he was to the gangly teenager he is now. Watched growth spurt after growth spurt, secretly hoping that his brother would not grow to be taller than him. Dean had been the same height for the last year or so, whereas Sam just kept stretching, his head now reaching Dean's shoulder. He watched as Sam's boyish face became slightly more defined, watched as his shoulders broadened and slight muscle grow along his arms and chest.
Sam was growing up, and soon he wouldn't need Dean. It was already starting, Sam complained about being treated like a baby, complained about hunting, Sam just complained full stop. Dean could deal with all that, Sam was fifteen now and was testing the boundaries and that was fine, everything was fine as long as Sam didn't leave. Dean needed Sam like the air he breathed.
But Sam didn't need Dean so much anymore and one day he wouldn't need him at all. Dean would always need Sam, his Sammy. Dean winced when he thought of the name "Sammy". The name that a four year old Dean had bestowed upon his baby brother, the name that Sam deemed as childish and had discarded. Sam refused to answer to Sammy as soon as he started high school, he was Sam now. Sam the teenager.
Dean mourned the loss of Sammy. Dean was never attracted to Sammy, he wasn't that sick. It was when Sammy became Sam, when Dean started noticing certain things about his brother. Like the way his small pink tongue would dash out to wet his lips when he was nervous or how his jeans slipped from his slim hips to show soft, pale skin.
Dean watched Sam now, like he always had. Sam was stretched out on floor, all long limbs. His long fingers drumming absently on the scratchy carpet as he read. Dean's eyes travelled along Sam, catching every detail, saving and committing to memory. Green eyes focused on the skin along his brother's back where his shirt had risen up, following the small arch of his back and the sweet swell of the jean clad arse.
Then Sam turned and granted him with a soft dimpled smile and Dean thought that maybe, just maybe Hell wouldn't be so bad.