Jon had a difficult childhood. Being the bastard son of Ned Stark did not get you many good memories; true, the man didn't abuse him or anything as he could have, but he didn't have the warmth of a family growing up. He didn't have a mother that would spoil him, or sit by his side when he was sick – he didn't have the things his siblings had, but at the very least he had siblings. They never discriminated against him – the younger ones clung to him, because he had time to play with them, and Robb… well, Robb was a whole other story. Robb had been there for him from the start – when no one was there for him, that boy was. If there was some important dinner that Jon wouldn't be allowed to attend, Robb would sneak out in the middle of it and eat with Jon in the kitchen. He was much more than a brother to him; he was the only real family he had. The boys would play, they would fight – and then an hour later they would pretend the fight never happened. It was hard on Jon, not being part of the family, looking at everything as if through some window, observing but never participating. It gave him time to wonder about his own past – who his mother was, where she was, if she even knew he existed. The questions he never got answered grew in him day by day.

After time, something had happened to Jon – something absolutely strange. At first he didn't even realize – after all, the boy who was rarely even shown love, how was he supposed to know when he fell into it? Especially since the object of his affection was someone so completely wrong. When it was someone who wasn't even supposed to be it. The first time he realized it was when he was 14. Robb had found himself a girl that liked him – and he was about to sleep with her. They were talking about it, goofing off, but then when the girl was mentioned Jon would get stiff. His body would feel this strange stirring pain, as if something was stabbing him, and clutching his heart. He didn't know what it was at first – but it kept repeating every time he'd see Robb with a girl; this issue would have been perfect to ask your mother about, only he didn't have a mother to ask, so he kept it to himself. It was a year later that he realized what the searing pain in his chest actually meant.

He was in a room with a beautiful girl – she had fiery red hair, and a perfect body; not to mention she was naked, and she was a whore, so there was no relationship issue to be met here. He'd decided it was time to lose his virginity – after all Robb teased him constantly that he clung to it as if he was a little girl. He was standing there, the woman practically throwing herself at him, her breasts pressing against his chest, her petite frame fitting perfectly into the curves of his body – but he felt nothing. And when she kissed his neck, and he closed his eyes, the face that came into his mind was one he knew better than anyone – Robb's. And that was when he got any form of reaction, excitement. That was when he knew something was terribly wrong with him. He pushed the poor girl away, threw her the money, put on his clothes and ran off. He didn't know for how long he'd run, but by the time he stopped he was out of breath and heaving. It had happened, he'd finally lusted after someone, he'd finally felt something - finally fallen in love. And who did he fall in love with? His own brother.

One year before present time.

"Come on! Take another sip!" His brother urged him, as he shoved the bottle of wine towards him. Robb was laughing, and the sound sounded sweeter than the wine tasted to Jon – just the laughter was enough to get him intoxicated. It wasn't exactly like he'd come to terms with the fact that he had certain non-brotherly feelings for his brother – he just didn't deny it any longer. It was hard, and tormenting, to have to convince himself he felt nothing, he wanted nothing – only a brotherly relationship. During that time he'd found out that lying to yourself was the hardest lying you'd ever have to do – because even if your mind would actively convince you of one thing, all it took was one look from Robb, and the pounding of his heart that sounded all around him, would be enough to destroy all the convincing. He hadn't come to terms to it, but he stopped running from it. "Drink like a man, Snow!" Robb bellowed taking another chug from the bottle, as if to show Jon how a true man drinks – but by that time Jon's mind was so muffled by alcohol and Robb's scent that the only thing he really noticed was that drop of wine that escaped his lips and trailed down his chin, and chest – luckily his shirt was half-unbuttoned so it didn't really make much damage on the fabric; if Robb's mother had known they were drinking she would surely blame Jon, even though Robb was the one who initiated it, which is why not leaving a mark would be the safest way to avoid problems. "I think that's enough for you." Jon let out a dark chuckle, and took away the bottle from Robb – taking a chug, just to sate Robb's persistence – and put the bottle down. The liquid still on Robb's chin was grabbing his attention, annoying him teasing him, so with a sigh he reached his hand out and wiped at Robb's chin. "You drink like a savage not a Stark, there's wine everywhere." Without even realizing it, his hand had trailed the pattern of the drop, down the chin, and the chest – and the muscles that resided there. It was the muscles that made him realize what he was doing. He looked up, to see a Robb that had a very unreadable look in his eyes, only an inch away from him – so near that he could feel his breath on his skin, and smell the odor of wine it held.

He should have just backed off, laughed it off and kept the atmosphere light. But the wine, and the warmth of Robb's breath, and the scent of his body so close to him – it didn't make him act the way he should have. He wasn't even sure how it happened, but suddenly his lips were pressed against Robb's, biting down on his bottom lip, sucking it – which earned him a grunted moan from Robb. That was when all hell broke loose. Robb's hands twisted in his hair – and being the one with more experience – his tongue opened Jon's mouth and drew circles inside it, playing, teasing, arousing him. God, he knew that it was dangerous – they were both drunk and Robb was probably confused, and would regret this tomorrow, hell he might not even talk to him when he came to his senses, but he couldn't find the will within him to stop it from happening. They'd rolled on the floor so that Robb was on top, and Jon was below him – his hand unbuttoning the few buttons left on Robb's shirt; one of his hands dug into the small of his back, and the other ran across his chest, his thumb running over Robb's nipple – which earned him a shudder that rocked Robb's body. Robb pulled his hair and bit down on his lips so hard that it drew blood; he could taste the iron in his mouth. A blood that was similar to Robb's – not that it mattered anymore, for Jon it hadn't mattered for a long time now. After that, his memory went into a haze, but when he woke up, he was still dressed the same he was the night before, most of the buttons on his shirt were unbuttoned, and his hair was exceptionally tousled, but more than that nothing had changed, and Robb was gone.

The next time he saw his brother, Robb acted just as he always did – the relationship hadn't changed at all – as if that night had never happened. And maybe Jon would have thought that it had just been a very sweet dream, it certainly wouldn't be the first time Jon dreamt something like that. Yeah, Jon definitely would have thought it was a dream – if it weren't for the small wounds and swollen lip Robb's bite had left, that faded in a few days.

7 months before present time.

He'd made the decision, even before his uncle came into town – he was going to take the black, become the watcher on the walls. He felt like that would at least give his life purpose, because all he was then was just the bastard son, the runt of the litter; just like his wolf Ghost. The only thing that would be his reason for staying, the only thing he would stay in place for was Robb. He knew Robb would never ask him to do that and he was grateful, because he couldn't stay, exactly because of Robb. He'd been in love with him for years – but after that kiss, things just weren't the same for Jon. Sure, the boys acted the same, and Jon didn't let any of his feeling show acting only like a brother, commenting girls, doing all that was expected from him. But he would catch himself touching his lower lip with his fingers, brushing it gently as if it was delicate, as if the taste of Robb still lingered somewhere on them, as if the way his teeth bit into his flesh, possessively, the sharp and blissful pain that rushed through his body then was something he could still feel. He'd catch himself staring at Robb with such tormented longing in his eyes, that a panic would consume him over whether anyone had seen him stare like that. Yes, it was becoming harder with each day, to have to be around him, and suppress those disgusting feelings of his.

"Are you really going?" Robb had come to ask him the night of the feast, as he sat outside, forbidden to join in. When he looked at Robb there was that same unreadable expression in his eyes – something he'd never seen before, as if this new kind of emotion that was unknown to poor Jon. He'd expected this talk to happen, when he first resolved to doing it. "Yeah. I mean, what have I got left here? You'll be Lord Stark once father dies, and I'll always be the bastard." he muttered silently, and could see Robb opening his mouth, his eyes frowning – he knew exactly what he brother would say. He raised his hand, to stop him from speaking. "It's fine, I am a bastard. Even so, you'll always be my brother." He said putting his arm on Robb's shoulder, and squeezing gently. He wished he could do more than that, much more than that, but he couldn't and he never would –and once he took the black that would be official. Robb looked down at the arm grasping his shoulder, and back at Jon, opening his mouth as if he was going to say something, but then he closed it, deciding otherwise. "You won't be able to marry." Robb blurted out, probably something completely different than he'd wanted to say earlier, and bit down on his lip. Jon let out a strangled laugh, which probably sounded more desperate than he wanted it too, "I don't care about that." He said, honesty apparent in his voice – because it was true, he didn't care. The only person he'd ever want was someone he could never have or especially marry. Robb would be the one to marry – some beautiful girl from a powerful family, and they would have beautiful children. Jon? He wasn't destined for that life, not once Robb walked into it in all his glory. "Plus I'll be doing something important with my life." He added because he felt the need to, maybe he wanted to convince himself of the truth in those words, or maybe he just wanted Robb not to worry. His brother sighed, sounding pretty desperate – but Jon imagined it was because he'd miss his brother once he left, because that was only natural – they did grow up side by side. "If that's what you wish." Robb muttered and turned around, his robe circling around him like a cloak of night.

It was time to leave – despite Bram being in a catatonic state, where people said he might not wake up and others said it was quite likely that he would remain a cripple for the rest of his life. His uncle needed to go and Jon needed to go with him. Saying goodbye was the worst; he'd given Arya the sword he'd had made for her; and he'd said goodbye to the sleeping Bram, who looked so peaceful saying there still, – despite Lady Starks disapproving glare of hate, she will certainly be glad to see him leave. He'd said all his goodbye's except the one that he knew would be the hardest one to say – he hadn't said goodbye to Robb. In all truth, he didn't even know if he could do it, he was afraid that if faced with the fact that he would likely not see Robb in the nearby future, or hear his voice – he would back out. Just as he was leaving Bram's room his brother threw his hand around Jon's shoulders, and pressed him to his body. Jon's heart pounded loudly, and he pushed his brother away with a grin – not because he disliked the touch, but because he liked it a little too much "Get off me, Robb." He said, his voice laughing when he actually felt like crying, refusing to look up at his face. The two had silly chit-chat where they hadn't said anything relevant – talk about Robb's mother and how Bram would be all right - but there was this certain strain in their words, as if their mouths said words neither actually wanted to say. "Next time I see you, you'll be all in black." Robb said, his lips tainted with the weirdest smile – almost as if he was forcing himself to put it up there – and Jon replied with the replica of the same. "Well, black was always my color." There was a moment of silence between the brothers, and an exchanging of a look that Jon wished he could interpret. "Farewell, Snow." His brother had broken the silence first, the word Snow feeling odd – as if Robb knew he wouldn't be saying the name out loud any time soon. "And you, Stark." Jon had said, a small smile tingling on his face. This was is, he thought, they would part now, and that would be it.

Only it wasn't it – Robb embraced him in a hug that felt warm and safe – a hug that smelled of fur and skin, and everything that Robb smelled like. He closed his eyes, his fingers clutching to his brothers back. The hug probably lasted longer than it should have, or maybe it just seemed like a blissful eternity to Jon – but the Robb pushed him apart, his hands still holding Jon on each side, gripping him firmly. The way Robb looked at him would haunt him forever – something he wasn't sure if his delusional mind had imagined or had wrongly interpreted. Robb's eyes, ignited, flaring this odd passion that made Jon's body warm all over, this feeling that wasn't desire, but an overwhelming need, a necessity, as if Jon was oxygen and Robb didn't have enough of it. For a moment, at least a fragment of a moment, Jon actually thought Robb was going to press his lips against his, that they would slam into walls never prying their lips from each other's as they tore their clothes off, throwing the sheds to the floor. But just as that scene replayed in Jon's mind, his brother had probably realized, this moment of staring had lasted too long, and without another word he turned around and walked away. Leaving Jon staring after him, with sadness over all the things that were left unsaid - and still lingered in the thick air around him.

The wall wasn't that bad. Sure, most of the guys there were thugs, or rapists, and they didn't really have any manners – but Jon was strong, and the best one at fighting and swordsmanship of them all – plus having Ghost around helped his case as well. So after a small amount of time, he'd gathered a circle of loyal friends, and kept the thugs at bay, at least from causing any real trouble. All the things that kept happening, managed to keep his mind occupied – but not as much as he had hoped. There wasn't a day he didn't think of his brother – not a night he didn't dream of him. Not one shower, he didn't imagine having Robb's wet body pressed against his as the scalding water ran down their backs. And when the other men talked about the ladies they'd had in their life, and the sex they had experienced, when they asked him if Jon had someone like that – only Robb came to mind, because Robb was the one who was embedded in the very fiber of his being, because Robb was the only thing that existed for him – even though he would never be truly his. So when they asked, and he looked at them – a sad smile rose on his face, and he replied. "No one."

Present day.

The wind blew against his face as he rode on his horse through the night – Ghost keeping step beside them. He felt guilty for acting the way he did towards Sam, for brushing his friends off even though they wished him well, but they didn't understand, they couldn't understand. He could barely keep his calm, when he knew Robb had gone to war – he wanted to go, wanted to stand by him – but eventually he managed to calm down, and tell himself that one man wouldn't make too much of a difference when his brother had armies at his side. But when word of his father's passing had come his way, he knew his mind would never be calm or sane again, unless he got to his brother as fast as he could. Robb would now be Lord of the North, he would take their fathers place, and all the responsibility would fall on him – and he knew that Robb would never let anyone know that if he was doubting himself, or afraid, which is exactly why he needed to be by his side – not only to keep himself sane, but to keep Robb sane too. He knew that he would pay this act with his life, as a deserter, but he didn't care – or well, he cared about his new friends, and about the work he was doing at the wall, but that couldn't compare to how he cared about Robb. From the start, from the first time Robb had smiled to him with kindness and love, from the first time the boys played and ate together, the first time Jon crawled into Robb's bed when they were kids, because he'd had a nightmare – ever since that time, Jon's life had never been truly his. It was Robb's, and he would live for him, just as much as he would die for him, there was nothing in the world, more important to him than that.

It had taken him 4 days to get to their camp – he'd bought a hooded cloak in a nearby town, so that no one would recognize him, or capture him before he could reach Robb's side. When he reached camp, one of the guards stopped him, asked him to identify himself – but Jon knew the boy, they'd grown up together and studied together, so when he took off his hood for a moment, there was a certain recognition that flashed through his eyes, and worry. Everyone knew Jon had pledged to the wall, everyone knew what this act of coming here meant, but as the boy let him pass, he could swear he saw a glimmer of admiration flash through his eyes. The boy had told him where Robb's tent was – not that he would need directions, as Lord of the North his brother would be sleeping in the largest tent. With shaky steps he walked through the space to the tent, and despite there being so many people, he felt as if he was alone in the world – only him, and the place where Robb was supposed to be. When he reached the tent, he froze in front of it. What if his brother wasn't alone? He knew the men going to battle would have whore with them, for entertainment, for release because of the stress – for various reasons. And if anyone needed to be release from the stress, it was Robb. Between the death of their father, the first battles Robb had ever fought and becoming new Lord over all these armies – he wouldn't be surprised if his brother had 3 girls keeping him company that night. But what was he supposed to do now that he had come all this way? Turned around? Wait? For how long? No. He was going to do this. He wasn't going to chicken out. With a deep breath, he pushed the curtains open, and walked inside.

The room was brightly lit, but he didn't spend time admiring the décor – his attention was quickly sucked in by the sight of Robb's back, bending over some papers. His heart stopped – after seeing him so many times in his dreams, in his imagination, seeing him in person after so many months was hardly bearable. He had to fight the urge to go there, wrap his arms around his brother, kiss every part of skin he would find uncovered – so he took a moment for himself to calm those urges, swallowing hard. He was here to be support for his brother in this time of war and grief, not to indulge in his sick desires – not that he would ever have a chance to anyway. He took only one more step – Robb had still not noticed him, he was deep in thought with whatever it was he was doing – and so he bit on his lip and uttered only one word that resonated through the closed space of the tent. "Robb." He was home.