A/N: Hey people! Yes, this story contains boy/boy action and also incest. If that is not your cup of tea I highly suggest that you move along and not read this story, because it will most likely not be for you. Thanks!


No. Fucking. Way.

Sam Winchester had not just failed his course. He had to sit down, afraid to literally pass out if he stood up any longer. He stared down at the papers in his hand, his test, which the teacher had returned to him fifteen minutes ago. It had a big, fat F on it, written in bright red ink. He covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes glued to it. How was this possible?

Stanford was no easy college by any means, and the fact that Sam had even been accepted proved that he was a clever kid. He had always done well in school, had never had any problems with it at all. But the things he had to do, the trouble he had caused his family to get to attend this college had kept him up at night in the beginning, causing him to be exhausted in class and even fall asleep. He hadn't acted like himself in forever. He never paid attention anymore, he never had time for his girlfriend or his friends and he had no motivation left. All the warnings from teachers and his girlfriend eventually breaking up with him had caused him severe depression, as if he wasn't already fucking sad because his life was a reeking pile of shit. This test, which he had failed, was his one chance. His teachers had made it very clear, that if he didn't pass, he was out. And that's exactly what had just happened. Fifteen minutes ago, Sam's entire world fell apart and came crashing down over him… bit by bit.

The air was cool and he subconsciously wrapped one arm around himself as he continued staring at the paper. He was seated on a bench right outside the back entrance, where the building didn't protect him so the wind could freely blow over him. Not that it bothered him much; he had about everything else on his mind right there and then.

A pair of footsteps, which were coming closer, caught his attention, causing him to look up from his test.

"Jess." The name came out like a whisper. Jessica, his ex girlfriend, dressed in a pair of jeans and a Stanford hoodie, her blond hair hanging loose over her shoulders, came walking towards him.

"Hey, Sam." She said, joining him on the bench. "By the look on your face I assume it didn't go so well?"

Sam sighed and shook his head, handing it over to her. She scanned it quickly and nodded, biting her lip with a sigh. "What are you gonna do?" She asked, well aware of the situation with his family, handing the test back.

"I don't know." He shrugged. "Stanford was all I had left…"

"Hey, you can't give up, okay?" She gave a soft smile. "You can always reapply next year."

Sam snorted, shaking his head. "They'll never accept me again. They see me as a lost cause."

"You don't know that for sure."

"Why are you even here?" He asked softly, moving a strand of brown hair out of his eyes. "I thought you hated my guts." He joked half-heartedly and smiled sadly.

"I don't hate you, Sam." She admitted, a ghost of smile on her lips. "I hated what you did. That you could barely ever see me and when you did, you just took all your anger and frustration out on me, like I was a human punching bag."

"I'm sorry." He stared down at his hands. "I didn't mean to, I'm so sorry."

She placed a hand on his back. "Listen, we can't turn back time, can we? So let's just forget about it and move on. I already have." She shrugged. "I still care about you, you know?"

He smiled a little. "Thank you."

She just nodded and stood up. "I have to go, Chelsea is waiting for me."

"Of course." He smiled a little.

"You will figure this out, Sam. I know you will." She kissed his forehead before walking off.

He wanted to believe her, but he really didn't.

Sam remained in the same spot for hours, as if someone had glued him to the damn bench. The sun was setting low behind the hills far away and his stomach was rumbling uncomfortably, but he couldn't be bothered to go back inside to eat or even gather his belongings. He didn't want to be seen, he was too ashamed. He was supposed to be smart, it was all he'd ever been and it felt strange and unfamiliar to be known as anything else.

The low roar of a car was getting louder by the second, causing Sam to snap out of his thoughts. He looked up from his hands, seeing two very bright lights of a car coming closer and closer. He frowned, standing up, about to yell that this wasn't a driveway but the words got caught in his throat as he saw the car up close. It was unmistakingly a black 67 Chevrolet Impala, a car he had been driven around in many, many times before. The car stopped right in front of him, the door opened and out stepped…

"Dean?"

Dean Winchester, his older brother by four years, was standing right in front of him. His torn up jeans and brown leather jacket were in need of some serious dry cleaning but his short, blond hair was as it had always been and his piercing, green eyes were looking right at Sam. His full lips parted in a grin, showing off a set of white teeth.

"Hey, Sammy."

It had been almost two years since he'd last seen his big brother. The last time he'd spoken to him they'd been in a huge fight along with their dad, about how Sam wasn't allowed to leave and if he did he were not to come back. Ever.

"This isn't a parking spot." He said dryly. It was probably the last thing he should be saying but it was the only thing that made sense in his currently confused, spinning mind.

Dean snorted, walking up to him. "You know I make my own rules, Sammy."

"It's Sam." Sam narrowed his eyes in annoyance, folding his arms over his chest.

"Nope, you'll always be Sammy to me." He smirked confidently, his attitude cocky and as teasing as ever.

"Why are you here, Dean?" Sam asked, shaking his head in confusion.

"Well, you didn't answer your goddamn phone, so what was I supposed to do?"

Sam huffed. "Why should I? You weren't exactly nice to me last time we spoke-"

"Oh come on, Sam!" Dean groaned in frustration. "You weren't exactly a ray of sunshine yourself."

"I wanted this." He pointed at the school. "And you wouldn't allow me to be happy. You took dad's side, just like I always knew you would." Sam hated how hurt his voice came out: he didn't want to give Dean the satisfaction of knowing how much everything had affected him. "I never wanted the life we were living, I was miserable."

Dean ran a hand over his handsome face, sighing deeply. "Listen, Sammy." He said, voice softer. "Dad's… he's been killed. I thought you'd like to know."

Sam's arms dropped to his sides, his jaw going slack. "W-What?"

"It happened nearly three months ago." He shrugged.

"Three months ago?!" Sam yelled, taking a step closer in a threatening manner. "Why the hell didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Like I said:" Dean began in that accusing tone. "You didn't pick up your damn phone!"

"You could've come here sooner!" Sam yelled back. He was taller than his brother now, so as he took another step closer he could really look down on him.

"Are you seriously blaming your own idiocy on me? It wasn't my fault you left in the first place. Perhaps if you'd stayed and had our backs, he would still be alive!"

Sam was the one to throw the first punch, aiming for Dean's jaw and hitting it with such force that Dean, who didn't see it coming, nearly got knocked out from it. He quickly recovered and threw a punch back at Sam and then they were at it. Kicks and punches were thrown and soon enough noses were bleeding, making it hard to breathe. Eventually Sam managed to pin Dean to the ground, his height being a huge advantage though Dean put up a damn good fight.

"How dare you blame dad's death on me?" Sam yelled in Dean's face. "How fucking dare you?"

Dean tried to get Sam off of him but when he couldn't he just sighed and shook his head. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Sam snorted in anger, wiping his bloody nose with his sleeve before getting off his brother. "Just leave, Dean."

"What?" Dean got to his feet as well, stretching his jaw.

"I said leave. I don't want you here."

He was met with silence. Dean didn't say a word; just looked at Sam with a stone hard expression and a certain sadness to his eyes that Sam couldn't bear looking at, so he turned around, his back facing his older brother.

"No."

Dean sounded so sure, so determined. He was not leaving, no way; it was all there, in his tone. Sam turned around, his brows furrowed.

"What? Why the hell not?"

"If I leave, you have to come with me." He said simply.

Sam nearly laughed, staring at his brother in pure disbelief. "Excuse me? No, I don't have to go anywhere with you."

"You're right, you don't. But I'd like you to." Dean shrugged.

"Why?" Sam shook his head. "The last time we spoke you and dad made it very clear that you both hated me, hated me for my choices and for abandoning you. You practically just said that it's my fault dad's dead. Why would you want anything to do with me?"

"I didn't mean that." Dean murmured, staring down at the ground. "I'm just trying to find someone or something to blame, but there is nothing. And I just…" He was struggling to find the right words, he sighed deeply before finally looking up at his brother. "I shouldn't have agreed with dad. I shouldn't have let you go, okay? It's your life and you should get to do what you want…" He shrugged again. "And if this is what you want, then I'll… I'll go."

Dean turned around and began walking back to the car. Sam remained glued to the spot, gritting his teeth as he watched his brother get into the car. Just a second later, he murmured 'fuck it' and ran over to the left side and got into the passenger seat.

"I hate you." Sam said as he put the seatbelt on.

Dean just smirked, started the engine and drove off.

TBC