Disclaimer: I don't own them, I don't know who does but it isn't me. And I'm certainly not making any money off of this. Also note that this is SLASHY thoughts, a bit of Sam thinking about Sam/Dean and hints of Dean/John.
Sam loved his brother. When he was honest with himself he loved him more than Jess. More than anything. Even their father. Because while their father was who Dean looked to for praise and love and caring, for Sam it had always been Dean. Dean was his rock, Dean was the one who held him when he had nightmares, and let him snuggle into his bed in the middle of the night when he was afraid of his closet. Dean was the one that he came to for advice, that he always believed, that he knew without question would always be there to save him.
Dean was the one that sacrificed school to work and of course hustle pool along with a million other scams so that Sam could be on the basketball team, so that he could have new clothes and fit in, so that he could apply for college and afford the first semester. Dean was everything to him for nineteen years of his life.
When he had finally started experimenting with girls Dean had given him a box of condoms and a quick how-to. And when he started experimenting with boys Dean had wolf whistled and clapped him on the back and conspired with him so that Dad wouldn't find out. All Sam ever learned from his experiments was that girls were soft and all breathy moans and sweetness, men were hard and rough and hot. And Dean was the face he saw when he came no matter what gender of body his cock was inside.
He had known he was sick, that it was wrong. But Dean didn't know and he thought as long as he kept it secret that it wouldn't matter. He could have his brother and his fantasies and it would be okay. Then he came home early from a date and found that Dean and their father had finished the hunt. Were back. And that Dean had a little scar on the swell of his ass that their father liked to rub as he fucked inside of his son. That when their father came he only saw their mother. That Dean flinched like he'd been punched in the back when he heard it but still came all the same, his own hand fisting his cock desperately, shoulders shaking.
That was the night Sam filled out an application to Stanford sitting in the front seat of the Impala, careful to have a book between the application and the dash so that he wouldn't leave any marks on the car. Shame curdled his stomach, and his cock was hard as a rock, refusing to soften.
He ran and never looked back. Too afraid to see the disappointed hurt on Dean's face as he left him and all those years of sick fantasies behind.
A year later he met Jess, who was not his brother, but was close enough to perfect that he could put Dean behind him. He had loved her. Not more than he loved Dean but this was the sort of love he could be proud of, not the sort that made him feel like less of a human.
So years later after her death, after rejoining Dean on the road, after the return of those sick wrong fantasies when his brother looked at him, eyes suspiciously liquid and told him in all honesty that the only thing he wanted in the world was for them to be a family again, Sam had to fight not to laugh in his face. He also had to fight not to kiss him as he ground Dean under his heel, crushing that hope.
It occurred to him that of all of them Dean was probably the worst off. Dad had his hunts, his quest for revenge. Sam had the dream of normality, school, the grades, friends. He would go back to it, he would be happy again with another woman. And Dad would always be happy hunting, making it up to their mother that he hadn't been able to save her.
Dean had nothing. He hunted to please Dad, sure he wanted to avenge their mother too but it wasn't as personal. He had been too young for it to be. And he would never be able to live a normal life, he had given it all up to raise Sam, to follow Dad. A high school dropout, with a criminal record, legally dead. There was nothing normal he would ever go back to. Dean was stuck in limbo, lost between the two of them as he tried to weld them all together again to save his own peace of mind. Dean stretched himself too thin trying to please them both.
Sam hated their father for leaving Dean to become this, for leaving that deep vulnerability there and exploiting it rather than seeing it in his son and healing it. All he would have had to do was keep Dean in school, push him towards the right things. Instead their father had made sure to push Dean to exile himself. Had used him as a babysitter for Sam, a partner in hunts Dean was too young to be involved in, and finally a whore to keep away the loneliness.
And guiltily Sam hated Dean for being stupid enough to let them both do this to him. And he loved him. And wanted him. And was terrified he would be no better than their father if he stayed much longer. That he'd kiss Dean one day and he knew. He knew. That Dean would welcome it, would let Sam fuck him any way he liked in the hope that would make him stay. That Dean wouldn't even hold it against him if Sam still left afterwards.
Dean sniffed, trying to hide that he was all but ready to cry, always trying to be tough when he was the softest, "C'mon Sam, I just want us to be like before. Family. Don't you miss it?"
Sam smiled just a bit, "Dean. We weren't...it wasn't good for us. For me. I..it was sick."
He didn't get it, looked offended, "You saying you're too good to hunt demons? That its sick to do something about it? Someone has to-"
Dean was working himself to a froth of self-rightousness. Sam shook his head and broke in, "I saw you. With dad in Toledo when I was eighteen." And the color draining from Dean's face made it obvious he knew exactly what Sam had saw, "That's what I mean. That isn't family, it's sick. And the only way to get better is to get away. That's why I left."
His brother wouldn't meet his eyes, lips pressed in a tight line, staring at the floor hard. "Fuck."
Sam ached, Dean sounded so lost, hurt, angry. "Hey-"
Dean growled and glared at him, though he still didn't meet his eyes, "No you're right Sammy. Get the fuck out while you can." He laughed harshly and it sounded like his throat was scraped raw, "Just don't make me stay away this time. I can't fucking stand not seeing you. That's still..." He cleared his throat and continued voice certain, "That's not sick."
But it was when Sam still touched himself and had to bite back Dean's name at night. It was when it had taken a year of dating of being in love with Jess before all he saw was her. It was when he had all but forgotten the woman he had intended to marry, exactly one week with Dean and he was right back where he had started years ago. But he lied because Dean needed something, "No it's not. I want you around."
Dean nodded then shifted before turning and all but running out the door. The growl of the Impala's engine wasn't unexpected, it would take awhile before Dean really came to terms with any of this. Sam scrubbed his hands through his hair and felt a hundred years old as he collapsed on his bed.
When he slept he dreamed of his brother.