"Stop bossing me around, Dean. Look. My whole life, you take the wheel, you call the shots, and I trust you because you are my brother. Now I'm asking you, for once, trust me."
You've never thought of yourself as bitter, but as these sharp-edged accusations fly from your mouth, you think, maybe you are.
You justify it to yourself. You have every reason to be. Your mother's death was your fault. Your father exploited that fact. He hated you.
Your brother loved you. The past tense stings. He doesn't any more. He can't. How can he?
You're a monster.