Title : Confessions of the Deviant Nature

Disclaimer: Don't own so don't sue.

Warning:
- INCEST
- CHARACTER DEATHS
- LANGUAGE

-z-

He tells me that it's time to go; that it's time to leave all this behind and continue on to the next hunt. And for the first time in my life, I think my old man is wrong and I just want to hit him repeatedly 'til his face is a bloody pulp. I want to ask him why he wants to leave my little brother - his youngest son - here all alone with no one to talk to or walk around with, completely and utterly forsaken.

He asks me why I haven't packed yet and I know that there are tears in my eyes and I hate myself for crying in front of my dad.

I tell him that I don't want to go. That it's not fair to Sammy to just bury him and then leave; it's not fitting for a Hunter such as himself.

He tells me that he's sad too, but Sammy's gone and there's nothing that can be done about it. Sam had a good life, lived a long time for their line of work, but there are other who need saving and we can't neglect that.

I hit him. For the first time in my life outside of training, I raised a hand to my father. He's stunned for a moment but I don't care. He wants me to leave Sammy here! Alone with no one but unfamiliar corpses for company.

He doesn't hit me back like I expected and hoped he would. He just looks at me with calm and understanding eyes.

Dean, there's no point in staying, he says and I hate him for being calm when under normal circumstances he would be throwing his own tantrum and waving his own fists around and dammit he's not doing that now and I don't know how to handle it.

I tell him that I can't leave Sammy here; there are tears falling slowly and I hate Sammy just a little for being my only weakness.

Dad says that I have to, says that I have to let him go, that he'd want me to be strong and continue living for his sake.

Too bad Dad doesn't know the truth, doesn't understand the fact that Sam was a selfish son of a bitch who's probably sitting on the bed laughing or standing in front Dad making funny faces. He's more than likely laughing at me, relishing in the fact that I was crying over him. And I suddenly realize that Dad knows so little about us, about anything concerning something that has nothing to do with the hunt; I doubt that he knows Sam's favorite color or my favorite food.

He says my name, but I can't meet his eyes. My gaze shifts to the bed, I feel something in this room, we're being watched and I'm in no mood to deal with anything supernatural at the moment.

But then I see his face, and everything's okay again.

Hi, Sam, I say, watching the unmade mattress and the handsome apparition with one hand behind his head and the other held outstretched to me, much like he did when we returned to the motel after the Wendigo. And after so many years of Sam being gone and Dad always away, it had felt good to be held again. I see his eyes, they're playful and devilish as always and he has that smirk on his boyish face and I can feel a new wave of tears.

I miss you, he says, and, God, I wish I could just punch the fucker for leaving me alone like he did.

He's not there, Dad's voice breaks through and Sammy's gone. The tears are falling faster and I can see Dad's form out of the corner of my eye as he moves to stand in front of me. Is there something that you want to tell me? he asks.

Bad move, I think. But my mind's broken. It broke with Sam's neck.

Yeah, that's a good one. I'll tell you everything, I say as I smile, it's my predator's smile and I can see that he's thoroughly freaked. I'll tell you every fucking thing, I snarl. And I do. I tell him about the time when Sam was sixteen, I had just turned twenty and we were drunk; I tell that was when Sam and I shared out first kiss. No not just a peck, no, it was an all out tongue battle. Wanna know who won?

Don't turn away now, Dad, it's getting' good. Wanna know how we celebrated Sam's seventeenth birthday? I gave him his first blow job, remember he hadn't had any girlfriends that he had gotten that far with and oh, Dad, you should've heard him moan.

Get back here, Dad, you were the one who allowed this to happen, remember? You were the one who was always gone! Here's the one you'll really love: I'm twenty-two, Sam has just turned eighteen, wanna know what we did that night? Dad's turned around with his hands over his ears, he's pleading with me to stop. I stand in front of him and lean over and remove his calloused hands. I whisper: I fucked him into the sheets, his back pressed against me and my hand over his cock as I jerk him off.

Don't be upset, Father, you forced us into this. You forced us into this! You forced us into doing this thing, into loving each other more than brothers should! You forced us over that line of sanity! I'm yelling and shouting now and I just can't stand it anymore.

I'm tired, just so fucking tired. I see Sammy, he's leaning against the wall, legs cross at the ankle and he looks so amazingly sexy with that look of pride on his face. I had finally stood up to dad, something he had done himself countless times and something only as turbulent as his death could push me to. I want to go to him and lean against him and feel his warmth and smell that woodsy scent that is all Sammy.

I walk over to him and he looks a little sad now, he jerks his head to indicate the door. I don't want to be alone anymore, he says with his eyes. And what can I do? I've never been able to refuse him before, so what in the world could stop me from doing that now?

Bye, Dad, I call over my shoulder, he just watches, doesn't say anything.

You're not gonna leave me alone, are you Dean? Sammy's voice is soft and I know that I want to look for something that allow me to join him in this small game of death. I don't want to be alone, Dean, he holds his elbows with his hands and watches his feet as we move. It was like he had never been gone.

No, Sam, I reply. Never. We walk over to the Impala and I reach into the glove compartment and pull out my ever faithful .45. He frowns at me for a second, as if caught off-guard. I smirk at him, and I know he's reassured, if only for a second. We walk towards the woods, those ever-present woods that always seem to be near every motel we ever find ourselves at. I smile at my Sammy and tell him to give me a moment. I slide down the trunk of a tree, right across from him.

I'll see you in a little while? he asks hesitantly. I nod and smile; I feel another tear winding its own track down the side of my face as I place the barrel on my temple, the pressure somehow reassuring.

See ya in a bit, I grin, close my eyes and pull the trigger.

-

John Winchester hears a gunshot and cringes. He wants to cry, to let it all out. But, he hasn't shed a single tear in years, he ran out of them a long time ago. He knows that Dean followed his brother into death. The young man's confession ring in his ears, resonating though his skull, squeezing his chest until he can hardly breathe.

A part of him wants to go out there and see if that's what really happened. But he can't bring himself to take a step toward the door, so instead he pulls out his cell phone and dials three numbers.

"911. What's your emergency?" it's a female operator.

"My name is John Winchester," he begins, speaking slowly into the receiver, "and I think my son just killed himself."

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