How 'bout never.

My brother.

I actually remember when the little guy was born; I wanted dad to take him back exchange him for a bike.

Mom laughed at that but dad sat me down and gave me a whole bunch of reasons why brothers were better than bikes.

I still think he was wrong.

And yet the first thing I did when dad went missing was to haul ass and go and find Sam in the hopes that he would help me find dad.

All I got from day 1 was grief- Why did he go missing? Why did you let him? Why are you looking for him? Why can't you leave me alone?

Then later it was; why did Jess die? Why is our family so screwed up? Why are we looking for someone who doesn't want to be found? And, finally, and more recently, why do you always take orders?

I swear to god that if he calls me a good little soldier once more, I'll kill him myself.

I don't know what I expected when I called on him. I mean, sure, he's family and maybe I did expect him to drop everything and help me look. But dammit, we are all we have—except in Sammy's case that's not true.

He turned his back on us and left; left to have a whole new life with Jessica and his "smart" pals.

Smart pals who don't believe in ghosts and monsters and things that go bump in the night. Friends who wouldn't understand even if they knew.

I see him sometimes looking at me like I'm stupid, or not as smart as him because I can't conjugate in Latin, or whatever the hell it is that smart people are supposed to be able to do.

So I didn't go to college, big deal. Can they teach you the five ways to exorcise a demon?

Okay, maybe in Texas.

You know, when Sammy first left I thought that maybe he was right and I used to go to the library and try to learn some stuff. I remember spending hours pouring over physics and history books, trying not to fall asleep over the facts and figures so that I would have something to talk to him about when he came home

He never came home.

I threw away all the books when he didn't even call that first summer and realised that Sammy was being selfish.

Coming from me that may be hard to believe, but he is.

If you know about something that is so damn dangerous to other people and you can do something about it, and yet you do nothing—that's selfish.

We know about the dangers in the world and we were trained by dad to do something to help others. By turning our back on that we are turning our back on them and that is selfish.

My baby brother was thinking about himself and I'm wondering if he was always this way and I never noticed.

We indulged him because he was the baby. Mom told me to take care of him and dad could see more of mom in him than in me. I saw the way that dad looked at Sam and it hurt sometimes because no matter what I did I was never good enough.

Once I read some of the bible—I know; crazy huh? Like it should burst into flames or something.

Anyway there was this story about the prodigal son who takes his dad's inheritance and blows it on women, wine and waste. Then he gets hungry and comes home with his tail between his legs and his dad kills their best bull for a five course meal. Sweet, huh?

But what most people forget is that the father had two sons and the first was a guy who helped in the fields from dawn till dusk and never stepped outta line. At the end of the story the son gets mad that his father has basically favoured the one that hadn't stuck around whilst the good guy was the one who got ignored. The dad tells him to suck it up.

Guess who I felt for?

Dad watched over Sam from afar; told everyone to keep an eye on him and ignored me when we were together, talking about Sam when we did get to talk.

Then one day he's gone and I hear nothing from him.

I track down the ungrateful little shit and force him to come along to help find dad who might be in trouble and what do I get?

Dad has made contact with a few of his old friends but not me.

Dad knows where we are and what we are dong and yet never bothers to call to say he's okay.

Sam, a guy who hates doing this job, gets a special 'gift' that forces me to go back home, where the ghost of my mom bypasses me to get to her beloved 'baby'.

Dammit, that one hurt. She— I—still can't talk about it.

But it bites, ya know? It's like he has dad, and mom eating out of the palm of his hand and then he went psycho on me in the asylum and that's the final straw.

I nearly got turned into a werewolf protecting Sam, I drove four hundred miles because he was worried about a friend, I went back to a place that I vowed never to step foot in again and…

He shot at me.

I slept in his crib at night to keep him safe and he shot at me.

I think that that hurt worse than when dad up and left. When mom passed me by and when I realised that Sam will actually have people who give a shit at his funeral.

My brother would have shot me.

I'd kill for him; I'd die for him and he shot me.

Forget the words of hate and blame; forget the fact that he spouted crap at me about how angry he was at me and focus on that.

He. Shot. At. Me.

I'm not ready to deal with this yet but it feels like nothing in my life will ever be the same again.

He looked at me as we came out into the bright sunlight and almost looked exasperated.

"You know it was just the demon talking."

Sure. The demon hates me that much.


I just look at him, wondering where that sweet baby brother went, wondering all the time if that selfishness was right there and I just missed it.

Or, in my always thinking of Sam did I encourage him to think of himself first?

I want to hit him, to hate him and hurt him.

But I can't say anything because I'm the good guy.

I'm not the prodigal son.

I'm the one that gets shafted; the dutiful son.

I wouldn't hurt Sam for the world, and I guess that's the difference between us.

I would kill for him and he would kill me.

But I can't say a word and so I won't.

I won't say a word. Not now, not ever. The time for shared secrets is gone and I no longer trust Sam.


Not Sammy; not anymore.

He taps the hood of my car, not knowing that things have changed between us forever.

"So when are we gonna talk about this, Dean?" he asked, his usual brooding face set in an uneasy smile.

"How about never," I replied as I opened the car door. "Is never good for you?"