Dean couldn't stop staring at him. Sam couldn't meet his eyes, focusing instead on some point far away straight ahead of him.

He was dressed in a thin shirt and jeans that had holes in both the knees. He had socks but no shoes and he was trying to keep his feet off of the ground, keeping them on the bench they were sitting on, curling his arms around them. Dean had put his jacket around him to help with the chill.

Sam was playing with the edge of the jacket sleeve, tugging at the loose strands and rolling them between his fingers.

"The sister of God...brought me...here." Sam said slowly, clearing his throat once more. He rubbed at his neck, fingers digging into the area where the rope had all those years ago.

"Yeah." Dean said simply, refusing to even blink despite how his eyes were starting to water. "Fixed her relationship with her brother and she wanted to pay me back."

Sam nodded slowly, as if that made all the sense in the world. "But why me?" he asked. "Why not...mom?"

"She said that I gave her what she needed the most." Dean said, his fingers twitching slightly. "And she wanted to do the same for me."

"Needed the most?" Sam repeated under his breath, his voice was a bit light, barely there. "What you needed the most….was me?"

"Yes." Dean said with no hesitation, it was the complete and utter truth regardless of who else he had lost in his life. His mom, his dad, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, all those friends and family that he lost, none came even close to being put on the same pedestal as his brother. "Yes."

He saw Sam swallowing hard and curling more into himself. "It shouldn't've be me." he mumbled. "Not me, should've been mom."

"Sam," Dean said, the name feeling off putting. He hadn't really said his name that often in all these years, it was something sacred and pure, something he shouldn't blaspheme with and so he didn't want to dirty it and carried it close to his heart, or whatever that thing in his chest still was. He let it rest somewhere deep inside of where it was free from sin and pain in a way he let nothing else be. "Sam, what do you remember?"

Sam flinched and his fingers dug a bit deeper into his neck and that was all the information Dean needed to know the truth. Sam did remember that night, did remember what he had done.

On November 2nd, 1999 Dean had come back to their motel room to see his brothers hanging body, a thick piece of rope tied securely just like their dad had taught them was around his neck and a kicked over stool just inches away.

And by the look on his brothers face he remembered it as well. There was a look of misery on his face and Sam curled up tight onto himself, burying his face in his knees.

"Sam, no Sam." Dean protested, needing to see his brothers face, needing to know that he was in fact alive again by some miracle. He reached out and lightly tugged Sam's face out of his knees and back up. "Sammy."

There were tears in his eyes and with a shaking hand Dean tenderly cupped his brothers face and wiped them away with his thumb.

"It should've been mom." Sam whispered, his breathing hitching slightly at Deans touch. "God's sister should've brought her back to life, not me."

"No." Dean said, keeping his hand where it was to make sure Sam didn't turn away from him again. "Between getting you back and getting mom back, I'd rather have you Sammy. I don't care who she else she offered to bring back I want you. Not mom, not dad, you."

Sam's eyes widened at that last part. "Dads dead?" he sacked, his voice still fallen into a whisper. "He's dead?"

Dean nodded. "About ten years ago." he said. "He and I were hunting the thing that killed mom, it was a demon named Azazel, and dad got killed."

"Oh." Sam whispered, moving enough to wipe at his eyes with his arm. "What...what year is it?"

"2016."

"2016." Sam repeated in a whisper. "So it's been...seventeen years."

Dean nodded and for a moment his hold on Sam tightened slightly. "Why?" he asked, his voice breaking. "Why?"

He didn't need to clarify, Sam's face told him that he immediately knew what Dean was asking and he shook his head, trying to move away to curl up again.

Dean didn't let him, still holding onto his face and not letting go. "Sam. Tell me why." he asked in a pleading voice. "Please, tell me."

In an answer Sam just shook his head once more, small whimpers escaping him as his eyes closed tightly.

"Sam." Dean pleaded, trying to keep his voice steady enough to get the words out. This is what has been eating at him from the inside, what had been the one question he could never find the answer to. "Sam...was it dad?"

Sam shook his head, eyes so tightly shut that it had to hurt.

Then there was only one other thing and it was what Dean hadn't wanted to acknowledge.

Sam knew, that was the only explanation. He knew the truth and it had been so horrible that he needed to get away from Dean in the worst possible way.

Dean had refused to acknowledge it back then, refused to entertain it or even let it take a single root in his mind. He refused it all, not letting himself have one single moment of weakness because he knew that if he did, he was never going to stop and he was never going to do that to his brother.

His baby brother, the little kid that he had helped to raise, that one that looked up at him with wide and loving eyes, a smile on his face as he said his name, his first word. Sam had been his entire world for his whole life, even now.

Dean had been in love with his brother and as a result he had driven Sam to commit suicide.

He thought that he had been able to hide it, he didn't give himself a single thing about it. When his eyes followed Sam after coming out from the shower, bare chested and wet and glistening he always forced himself to stare at whatever he was trying to focus on. When Sam was cleaning and putting weapons together, doing his homework, doing anything that made Sam Sam he had to take care that he wasn't staring for too long.

He immediately stopped hugging, and that had been a sharp knife to his heart from Sams disappointed look, because he didn't trust his hands not to wander. The most he did was to punch Sam's shoulder in affection towards the end.

He tried to find girls that resembled his brother enough at the bars, those with chestnut colored hair, hazel eyes that held all the colors in the world, dimples that deepened with each laugh.

None of them worked, none of them made his heart flutter in his chest, none of them did to him with all their experience in bed that Sam wasn't able to do with just a smile aimed at him.

So he tried his best to swallow his lust and his love and resigned himself to never being satisfied again, content in the simple fact that he had Sam in his life by his side. Content that he could joke around with his brother and watch him light up, watch the thoughtful looks on his face that would make him pout, and be able to hear his breathing in their motel room at night and know that he was safe.

But all of it meant nothing when he came to find his brothers dead body, leaving him to try to maneuver through life without his brother at the very least being alive.

And it had been all his fault.

Sam was shaking, he could feel his brother shaking hard and that brought him back to the present. He swallowed hard, wanting to take his hand away from Sam's face but he couldn't bring himself to do. He had been strong in the past but all these years had chipped away at him and he wanted nothing more than to just wrap his arms around his brother and hold him close.

But that just might make it all worse again, and he might even lose Sam all over again and this time he wouldn't hesitate but to throw himself into hell again, this time he knew he deserved it tenfold. So he just kept his hand around Sam's face and that was it.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Sam was whispering. "I'm sorry, it's all my fault. It's all because of me."

Dean shook his head, bowing his head. "It's not you little brother, its me." he said, feeling himself shake as well. "Its me."

"You don't get it, you can't get it." Sam said his eyes closing tightly once more. "It's me, I'm sick Dean, there's something wrong with me and it's in me and it's...I'm fucked up."

Despite himself Dean couldn't help but give a small laugh, pained and strained as it was. "Sam you're the least fucked up person I've known my entire life."

Sam shook his head hard, coming up to look at him, tears overflowing in his eyes. "You don't get it." he said in a hushed voice. "I...I'm not right Dean I want...it's not..."

Dean moved to wipe at his tears once more, feeling each one strike deep into his soul. "It's not what Sammy?"

Sams breath hitched and he pressed into Deans touch. "It's not normal." he finally said, his voice breaking. "It's not normal...to want my...you. I want you, I've always wanted you." his head bowed. "And not like a brother."

Dean felt his heart stop for a moment and he wanted nothing more than to just tear open his chest and rip the useless thing out of it for all the good it does.

Sam took that momentary silence as damnation because he burst into a fresh wave of tears. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." he gasped out. "I'm sorry Dean, I tried to fix this, I tried! Please...please don't hate me, please."

He couldn't handle it, couldn't handle seeing the pain his brother was in. Couldn't handle just sitting there and doing nothing.

He didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to do anymore, he didn't know anything other than the fact that his little brother was here alive in his arms, professing something that even in his deepest and most indulgent dreams Dean never even let himself think about.

So he did the only thing he could think of, did the only thing that made the most sense at this time. The only thing that he ever wanted more than anything else in his entire life.

Dean leaned in and kissed his brother on the lips, his other hand coming up to properly cup his face and to just hold him as tenderly and as lovingly as he deserved to be held.

I do not own Supernatural.

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