Authors note: Its short I know, But I wasn't going to do a chapter two anyway, so its better then what I had planned right?

I won't

"I won't say I'm sorry, because I'm not." He paused briefly to look at his younger brother. "I won't. And I won't say I was wrong, either, because I wasn't."

He was angry now, and his normally carefree blue eyes turned molten mercury. He spun on his heel and opened his mouth, but his younger brother cut him off. "I know you're angry. I get that. But it was my choice to make." He turned his gentle, moss green eyes to meet the quicksilver ones of his brother and winced away before defiantly locking his eyes on his brother's again. Dean without taking his eyes off Sam swung his fist at his younger brother's jaw. It connected with a force that jerked Sam's head to the side and pushed him two steps back.

Swearing Sam rubbed his jaw. "What the hell?"

"You stupid little fuck." Dean's eyes blazed. "You selfish bastard." He swung his leg out low, taking Sam unaware and forcing Sam's foot out of its comfortable position under him. When Sam tried to right himself Dean straddled his little brother. He placed his hand gently, but firmly, and filled with a silent threat on his airway. "Don't move a muscle. Don't say a fucking word, just… listen."

Sam moved his legs, almost imperceptibly, and immediately felt the hand on his neck constrict. He gasped for breath and looked into his brother's hardened face, slowly he moved his legs back to their original position. The hand on his neck relaxed as soon as his legs were out of a potentially threatening position.

"It was your choice to go to Stanford. To abandon your family, and your responsibility for a chance at normalcy. It was your choice to come back with me and find Dad, to find the monster that killed Mom and Jessica. But the second you made that choice your life stopped being your choice and it became my responsibility." Dean took his free hand and began to take off his shirt. When he needed to toss the shirt off his other arm he quickly switched hands. There was no more then a second in which there wasn't a hand on Sam's neck. For the first time in four years Sam took the time to examine his brother's chest. There were more scars than he remembered; there was once a time when he knew all his older brother's scars. Dean took his free hand and pointed to a tiny oval of marred, red flesh.

"This was the first scar I ever got, I was four years old and I pulled you from the fire, and ember fell on me.: He pointed to another set of scars. "These I got when I pushed you out of the path of a demon when I was ten." He pointed to another, then another until he had pointed to almost every scar on his chest, then he pointed to three perfect circles on his chest, right above his heart. "I got these from you, because I valued my responsibility to protect you more then my responsibility to protect myself. I gave you that fucking gun and let you shoot me with it. You thought that it was loaded, you thought it would kill me, and you pulled the fucking trigger anyway." Deans hand clenched involuntarily. "I almost wish it had been loaded."

For the first time since Dean had started his rant Sam opened his mouth. "Don't give me that Bullshit about it not being you Sammy. Because it was, somewhere inside of you that was what you really think, what you really want. Because if it wasn't you wouldn't have said it, you wouldn't have done it. You wouldn't do it with your inhibitions still intact, but the fact is that its what you feel, somewhere."

Dean took his hand off Sam's throat and slowly stood up. Once he was completely off of him and Sam had managed to stand up be snapped.

"Don't you get it? That's why I had to do it." His eyes met Dean's and held, there was a plea in them that he couldn't put into words. "I couldn't let it happen to you too." His eyes slowly filled. "I didn't want to lose you like I did them." They began to overflow, but Sam wasn't conscience of the salty liquid flowing down his face. Dean however was. He lifted a hand, probably to wipe the tears off, but he let it drop again. His face remained hard as the ice in his blue eyes started to melt. He reached out again to pull Sam into an awkward hug. When his much taller brother wrapped his arms around him and nuzzled his head into the crook of Dean's neck, Dean remembered that Sam had always been more emotional, more touchy-feeling then he had. He began to stiffly pat the head burrowed into his neck.

If it were anyone but his already damaged brother Dean would have probably said something sharp and witty and edging toward cruel. But he had never been able to truly hurt his brother, so he continued to silently pat his head. He didn't actually say anything. He was no good at comforting people and he avoided doing that which he couldn't do well most of the time. He felt Sam's tears stop, but his brother didn't lift his head.

When Sam finally lifted his head a blush matching his red-rimmed eyes stained his cheeks. "I'm sorry about that." His voice was soft and he spoke haltingly.

Dean sighed. He didn't want to do this, he hated times like this, hated feeling like an incompetent, bumbling fool. But he would hate himself more if he let Sam go on thinking that he was responsible for their Mother's death.

He took a deep breath and began. "Look, it's fine. But you need to understand. It's not your fault-" Sam opened his mouth to protest. "It's not! They want you. And they are drawn to you, but saying that that is your fault is like saying that it is the victim's fault that they were raped." He saw Sam open his mouth again and once again cut him off. "Look, when you were ten, Dad and I caught a demon sneaking into your room. It was weak, even then, you could have killed it." Dean paused to take in Sam's glare, he liked the fire that was back in his eyes. "It was probably the only demon that I've ever had beg me. It didn't beg for its life, though, I think it knew that I would never let it go, it begged to look at you." He paused again and swallowed hard. "We hit him, but he still begged." He didn't notice his switch from the it to the he when talking about the demon, but his brother didn't miss it. "So finally we asked him why. He said, 'Because he is as close to the sun as we can get.'" He paused to chuckle mirthlessly. "I had no idea what that meant but Dad did, and he made the demon drink holy water." Both of them winced. Making a Demon drink holy water was one of the cruelest ways to kill them, akin to forcing liquid mercury down a humans throat.

"I asked Dad what it meant. He told me not to worry about it. So I dropped it, like a good little soldier." Sam winced when Dean's voice turned harsh. "I noticed, though, that the nasties just kept coming for you. So I snuck into Dad's bad and got the journal."

He went to get it then and as he was walking back he flipped it open to one of the pages that Sam had never been allowed to see and waited for Sam to realize what it said. When he had processed it, two words escaped his mouth before he crumpled lifelessly to the floor. "Oh shit."

"I told you we were chosen." Sam said when he regained conscienceless.

"I know. Stupid college boy always has to be right."

"You do realize that, that whole sentence up there was an oxymoron?"

Dean grinned and punched his brother, gently, in the arm. "Shut up Miss Cleo." Dean laughed again at Sam's glare and dodged the playful swing that he attempted to throw.