Disclaimer: I do not own the boys. But man... I wish I do. Sigh.

Author's Note: This is a far sight different than any of the other season 6 stories you've read. You want to know why? Cause I don't take Dean's side in this. I feel as though I've done that enough already (Not Sam and The Ugly Truth). If you want to read about how Sam is not Sam in this season, go read one of those.

Author's Note 2: I'm going to be a little brutual, but I think you guys can handle it. If you don't agree with this story, then fine. Don't review. Or review and tell me (POLITELY) why you don't like this story. Bashing WILL NOT BE ACCEPTED. I know that this is going against the grain, which is why I'm writing it. I like to be the rebel.

Author's Note 3: So I was originally writing a different fic that featured one more version of Sam not being really Sam... but then Sam got pissed at me and threatened to give me the puppy dog eyes unless I conceded to write something that tells his version of the events of season 6. Cause let's face it... everyone has been ragging on him about this whole no-soul thing. He was starting to get a little pissy. And let's face it, there is no happiness in the world when Sam is pissy. Especially for writers.

Author's Note 4: No, I have not seen Family Matters. Not yet. So, no, this has no spoilers for the actual episode, but it does have some for the preview.

Warnings/Spoilers: Some language, hence the T rating. A barfight. Some mild spoilers for season 5 and season 6 (I reccommend not watching if you haven't seen the season 5 finale or the previews for the latest Supernatural episode). Unfortunately, this really does not have a happy ending and no, I am not planning on doing a second chapter.

Summary: Sam is angry about Dean's attitude toward him since the older Winchester came out of retirement. Dean is feeling poorly about Sam's new attitude toward life in general. A barfight ensues.

You May Be My Brother, But You're Not My Brother

It was a losing battle. Between the darkness that was constantly growing inside of him and the lack of anything resembling help from Dean, Sam knew that this was going to be one fight he would never win. And to be totally honest, he wasn't sure if it was one he wanted to win.

To lose meant to finally be free of everything—Hell, hunting, the nightmares, the constant plague of damn monsters trying to eat him on a regular basis. In a way, losing this battle to the darkness inside of him would mean he actually won. He would have made a conscious effort to become that monster. He would have finally controlled his life, the one thing he had been trying to do since practically the day he was born.

To win meant to be stuck in this purgatory with Dean, who no matter what he said, would never trust Sam again. Not that Sam blamed him—lying multiple times to his face, nearly killing him, watching him become undead… that put a damper on any relationship. Winning, in a roundabout way, would mean he lost. That he couldn't control the life he lived. That he couldn't escape the world he lived in.

But there was the issue of Dean. Dean, the one person who had been there for the majority of Sam's life.

But then, Sam's darker side thought, where has your brother been for the past two years?

Dean, the one person who had saved Sam's life ever since Sam was six months old.

But did Sam really want to be saved?

Dean the one person who Sam could count on.

And who let Sam down the most when Sam blatantly asked for help.

Dean, the one person who Sam betrayed more often than he protected, but still allowed Sam to come crawling back.

But was the one person who drove Sam away the most. Including John.

Dean. The one person who would probably actually miss Sam.

Or would he be relieved that Sam was finally dead after all of this time?

Dean. Sam's brother.

But how long had it been since they had actually been brothers? Two years? Three?

Dean.

Dean.

Sam sipped at his third beer, these thoughts bouncing around in his skull as he glared stonily at the bar patrons. He had recently escaped from his brother and the damned angel Castiel, who had declared that Sam didn't have a soul.

I'll give you soulless, Sam thought as his knuckles turned white around his bottle.

The door to the bar opened, sending a gust of icy air through the bar. Sam didn't have to look up to know who it was.

"How did you find me?"

"Seriously, dude? Just because you don't have a soul anymore doesn't mean that I don't know you."

There was just something about that familiar drawl that made Sam both want to punch Dean in the face and hug him.

The soulless part of him came close to winning that battle.

"It's been a year, Dean. How well do you really know me? Hell, you didn't even know that I don't have a soul."

"You're drunk."

Sam hated Dean's ready sarcasm, his witty retorts, and his calm acceptance of everything. He hated that smug look, that leather jacket, the casual arrogant stance, and that damned spiky hair. He hated everything about his brother.

"You didn't answer the question."

"You're my brother. That's how I know you."

Sam snorted, taking another swig of his beer.

"So all that crap about me not really being your brother, that was just a lie? Huh. Cause that's believable."

"Believe whatever you want, man. I'm just trying to help."

Sam laughed bitterly. It was a cruel, high laugh that he knew didn't suit him, but at that moment, he didn't care.

"You're kidding, right? You want to help? That's a laugh."

He heard Dean sigh as the older hunter sat down next to Sam.

"You're a pissy drunk, you know that?"

"And you're a lousy brother."

"At least I don't let my brother be turned into a monster."

"At least I don't punch the shit out of my brother once he's admitted that he's terrified and needs help."

"I punched you for being a lying bastard."

"I never really lied to you, Dean."

"You let me believe you were dead. You let me believe you were in Hell, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

"Whatever. Family doesn't do that to each other. We don't do that to each other. When I got out of Hell, the first thing I did was go and find you."

"That's because you're the better brother," Sam said sarcastically as he finished off his third beer and signaled the bartender for a fourth one. He ignored Dean's glare.

"No. It's because it was the right thing to do, Sam."

"The right thing to do?" Sam echoed in disbelief. "The right thing to do. Right. And that's what I thought I was doing when I jumped into the Pitt. And then I thought I was doing the right thing when I wanted you to have a better life with Lisa. Sorry for trying to be a good brother."

"Being a good brother?" Dean snorted. "Yeah. Cause good brothers let their siblings be turned into vampires."

"And good brothers punch the other's lights out when they ask for help," Sam retorted.

They glared at each other, neither really noticing that they had been yelling at each other and that the whole bar had gone silent.

"You don't think you deserved to be decked?" Dean asked rhetorically.

"You don't think you deserved to have a decent life?" Sam returned. "You ruined that one all by yourself, Dean-o."

"You keep this up, I'm going to deck you again," Dean threatened.

"Do it," Sam taunted. "Show the little soulless brother how much better you are. Cause you have an angel sitting on your shoulder. Do it. Punch me, Dean."

Had he been a little less drunk and a little more aware of his surroundings, Sam might have noticed the dangerous glint in Dean's eyes and the very visible struggle Dean was having with himself.

But… he didn't. But he did notice Dean's fist coming out of nowhere and slamming into his face.

Sam flat out refused to admit it, but that hurt like a mother fucker. His head snapped with the blow. But instead of admitting defeat, he spat blood out onto the counter and grinned devilishly at Dean.

"You really shouldn't have done that," he said.

"Oh yeah? Because you're soulless and not scared of me? C'mon, Sammy," Dean said, looking dangerously gleeful. "We both know that I'm a better fighter than you'll ever be."

"And why's that?" Sam asked. "Because you're older? Because you were Johnny's favorite?"

"No," Dean said as they both slid off their barstools and started circling each other. "Because I'm a better hunter. I'm smarter. I'm faster. And I'm stronger."

He probably would have said more if Sam hadn't punched him square in the face. Dean retaliated instantly, the fight-or-flight instinct kicking in. Sam ducked the blow aimed his way and tackled Dean to the floor, punching his brother wildly in the face.

They tussled on the floor for a few moments, exchanging blows and insults, neither really gaining the upper hand over the other.

Dean grabbed Sam's arm and twisted it behind his back, popping the shoulder joint out of place as he yanked them both to their feet. Sam couldn't hold back the hiss of pain as he kneed Dean where it hurt. Dean backed away, letting go of Sam's injured arm.

"Is that all you've got?" Dean taunted. "I thought you were a better hunter than I'll ever be! Gotta say, this is pretty pathetic, Sammy."

Sam growled at his brother, looking for a weakness in Dean's defense as he attempted to breathe past the pain.

"You think you're so much better than I am?" Sam returned, wincing as he pulled himself up to his full height. "Because you're older and wiser and haven't strayed down the beaten path? Because you didn't sacrifice yourself to Lucifer? Because you were chosen for Heaven's side and I was chosen for Hell's? Is that why you think you're so much better than I am?"

Dean's face turned from sarcastic to an unreadable mask. Sam didn't care. He was past caring. He wasn't sure if he remembered the last time he gave a damn about anything.

"You're not better than I am," he continued. "You're weak and useless and too damn angsty to be a decent hunter anymore. You've cracked, Dean. And you don't want to admit it, either. That's why you attacked me when I asked you for your help. Not because you thought I was a monster or because you thought that I was lying to you or anything that really had to do with me. You were like a wild animal, scared and cornered and you reacted like you always do. Like now."

"You don't know shit, Sam," Dean said, his jaw tightening. "You've always been so obsessed with yourself that you can't see what's right in front of your face. You can't see how different you've become. How unlike you, you truly are."

Sam saw the punch coming and could have avoided it, but instead let Dean hit him. He grabbed Dean's wrist and twisted it, feeling a twinge of satisfaction as Dean's face whitened.

"I have noticed, Dean," Sam responded breathing heavily. "That's why I finally told you what was going on. Because I couldn't take it anymore and I wanted to change. I know I said I wasn't afraid of anything, but I was afraid of what I was becoming. And I wanted you to help me fix it. Because no matter what I've done, you have always been there for me. Not Samuel, not Bobby, not Dad… you. And you turned on me that night. You took everything I said and threw it back into my face. And then you got that damn angel to come and torture me and say that I had no soul. So excuse me if I think you're pathetic."

Dean was staring at Sam like he'd never seen him before. Sam released his brother's wrist and turned around. He grabbed his last beer, chugged it, and picked up his jacket. He ignored the pain in his shoulder and the throb in his face as he turned back to Dean.

"All I wanted, Dean," Sam said, "was my brother."