Crash!

Sam was home and drunk apparently, Dean thought. "Sam?" Dean groaned, just waking up from his nap on the couch.

"Wha-" Sam slurred and looked over at his older brother, drunkenly confused. Dean rolled his eyes and got up tiredly from his spot on the couch to help his brother stay standing since he seemed to be struggling with that.

"Why do you do this Sammy?" Dean muttered, hooking one of Sam's heavy arms over his own shoulders.

" 'Y do 'u do 'his Sam-my?" Sam mocked poorly, snickering at the end.

Dean shook his head and began walking them towards their bedroom down the hall.

" 'ad?" Sam asked, his breath reeking of beer.

Dean shook his head, "evicting another person," he laughed darkly. Their father was a real estate broker and a damn good one.

"I hate him," Sam said suddenly and very clearly.

Dean sighed, "no you don't Sammy, you're drunk."

Sam shook his head. " C-cuz he 'ates me," he said with conviction.

Dean dropped Sam down on his bed. "Dad doesn't hate you Sammy," he said earnestly.

Sam nodded his head, "mhm, h-he said 'o." Dean furrowed his eyebrows.

"When?" Dean said disbelieving with his hands in the air.

"Yesterday, kitchen."

Dean raised his eyebrows waiting for more.

"He knows Dean," and Dean was once again floored with how clearly his younger brother was suddenly speaking.

"Sam-" Dean sighed,wide eyed before Sam cut him off.

"Yeah," was all Sam said before collapsing against his pillows and rolling over.

He knows? Dean thought and he squeezed his eyes as if to will that thought out of his brain. There was no way John knew, Sam had promised he would be careful. He promised so how the hell did John know.

"Get up Sam," Dean shook his brother's shoulder roughly, angrily. His cheek was throbbing in sync with his heart and ribs. Sam moaned and tried to bury his face deeper into his pillows. Dean stared down at his brother, furious because dad did know and wasted no time in taking out his frustrations on Dean because he knew that Dean had known. "Wake up!" Dean yelled suddenly and Sam flinched but opened his eyes and sat up slowly.

Dean was shaking with barely concealed rage. "He knows Sam!" Dean yelled, utterly frustrated at the unfairness of this all. Sam avoided eye contact but he was shaking too though not in rage or any kind of anger. Fear.

"How the hell does he know?!" Dean shouted. Sam shook his head rapidly, "I-I-I," Dean smacked him and he was quiet biting his lip and trying to ignore that metallic taste that was coming from it.

"I kept your secret Sam and of course you couldn't do your part. Don't. Get. Caught. That's all I asked!" Dean yelled, exasperated. Sam nodded silently. Dean had taken his news very well and this was how he was repaired. Sam wanted to say how sorry he was but he knew Dean didn't want to hear anything from him and certainly not an apology after the milk had already been split. Dean grabbed him by the front of his shirt, forcing Sam to look at him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Dean whispered angrily and Sam's eyes watered. His lips tremble and quivered. "N-nothing," he said because Dean had said nothing would change. Dean had said he was still him. Dean shook his head with a bitter scoff.

"Yeah fucking right," was all he said before releasing his grip on Sams shirt aggressively and stalking out of the room.

Sam looked at the empty doorway fearfully. Dean couldn't leave him, Dean couldn't hate him too. Quickly, he scrambled out of bed and headed for the door but last night's drinking had caught up to him and the sudden headache that assaulted him brought him to his knees. Sam cradled his head against the carpet floor and fought not to let out audible moans of pain. He needed to get to Dean.

Slowly, he found his footing and was off towards the front door though not as fast as he would have liked to be.

Moments later he made it through the short distance but Dean was already gone, the wide open door signaling so.

Sam wasn't left alone for long though because the familiar rumble could be heard parking in front of the house and then John Winchester was in the doorway.

Blood. Lots and lots, tons of blood. It was all throughout the house, on the walls, stained in the carpet, splattered on the ceiling. Blood. Whose blood was this? As he crept more through the house he noticed his father sitting in his room. Bottles littered the floor but blood soaked it.

"Dad?" he whispered.

His father didn't respond. Then he saw it. The knife in his hand and the blood dripping from it. His hand looked as if it would be permanently stained with crimson given how saturated in it it was.

"Dad…"

John's vacant eyes found his own confused ones. Dean's eyes widened as he took in the blood covering his fathers clothes and the specks on his face. Then it dawned on Dean.

"Where's Sam?" Dean asked but his father only seemed to look through him. Dean didn't like that look, it hinted at something, something dangerous and manic and Dean didn't like that look. Slowly, he backed out of the room and raced into Sam's room only to find it empty.

He doesn't remember how he even got there but suddenly he was. So was Sam. In the living room.

The carpet was flooded, making squishy noises underneath his boots. There was so much, he didn't know it was even humanly possible to produce that much. Surely, whoever this had come from was dead, they had to be. There was no way they weren't. It was impossible for them to still be alive.

Dean looked at Sam confused. Sam didn't look over at him. He was looking at the ceiling and Dean looked up to see why that had his attention. There was nothing up there but splatters of blood yet his attention was fixated on it, unblinkly.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered, his voice cracking a little. Sam didn't even acknowledge him. Dean stared hard at his face, not willing to look anywhere else and have to take in anymore of this horrid scene.

"Sammy, please," Dean begged. He needed Sam to look at him, show him he was okay, tell him he was okay. "Sammy look at me," he tried to demand but his voice trembled terribly. Slowly, he crept closer to his brother, the closer he got, the louder the carpet squished. Sam still didn't look away from the ceiling.

Dean kneeled next to his brother.. "Sam look at me," his voice wobbled. Sam didn't. Wouldn't. Couldn't.

"Sam say something, please!" he yelled.

Nothing.

"Don't shut me out," he pleaded in a whisper. "Sammy don't do this!'' he said, fisting the front of his shirt and this time Sam didn't flinch but the carpet squished from underneath him. Realizing that he wasn't helping, Dean let go of his shirt. The carpet squished loudly as Sam flopped back down onto it. "Sorry Sammy," he mumbled. Dean smoothed out the wrinkles he had created around the part of the shirt that covered Sam's chest, staining his hands crimson in the process.

His unmoving chest.

So much for being accepted.

A/N: To clear some things up Dean is in shock and as a result isn't taking in the fact that his brother is dead. I don't have anything against the lgbtq community. I was just thinking of Will Byers and then this idea came to mind but specifically for Supernatural. That's why it's so gorey. I don't think being gay means you should die I'm just a fiend for angst hence how this was born.