Title: Don't Call Him My Brother

Summary: This is a one-shot tagged on to episode 4x19 "Jump the Shark." It's hard finding out you have a half brother, especially after nineteen years, and if your name is Dean Winchester. Dean's issues when dealing with finding out about Adam were deeper than imagined.

Someone else may have done something similar to this, I don't know. But here's my take on it.

After this episode was anyone else like "Wha?!?!" While watching it I was freaking out! I'm like, "They can't have another brother! NOO!"

Warning (please read): Rated teen for the language, and suggested sexual themes. BEWARE of slight John-bashing if you are a big fan!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to Supernatural –weeps

Don't Call Him My Brother

Dean watched as the flames licked the night sky, their red glow warming his face.

"You know, I finally get why you and Dad butted heads so much. You two are practically the same person. I mean I worshipped the guy, you know. But you are more like him than I will ever be. And I see that now..."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You take it any way you want."

They watched as the body lain before them burned, thoughts tumbling and colliding inside their heads. The pain and hurt still too fresh. Adam Milligan, nineteen, youngest son of John Winchester. Dean still did not believe it; could not possibly begin to wrap his head around it.

The kid deserved a hunter's burial, at least. He was, after all, a Winchester by blood - damned from birth. And death by ghoul? Man, that had to have sucked. Definitely worse than vampires and werewolves, where your demise was relatively quick.

John had tried to keep him safe from the supernatural. He had tried to be sure Adam never had that kind of life. Yeah, you can see how well that worked.

"Come on, Sammy, let's go back to the motel." The younger man nodded, exhausted. It had been a long day, and he was beat. Two ghouls attempting to bleed you dry can do that to you.

The motel room was silent as a tomb. Dean lay awake on the stiff mattress, gazing intently at the ceiling as though it contained the answer to all of life's mysteries. Thoughts and images raced through his mind at a hundred miles an hour, keeping him on edge.

He glanced at Sam, sleeping soundly on the bed beside him. His brown hair fell loosely across his forehead, and instinctively Dean reached out a hand. Sam looked so innocent, it broke Dean's heart. He could still make out the boyish features in his brother's face.

The angry knife marks on Sam's arms had been bandaged, but it was an illusion. Dean knew what they covered. The guilt swelled inside of him. He hadn't been there… He had left the most important person in his life, and almost lost him as a result.

And Adam, poor kid. Every time Dean tried to close his eyes, the kid's blank, dead eyes haunted him, staring straight back. Accusing. It was his worst fear, being unable to save his younger brother. And, in a twisted way, that was what had happened. "You're going to fail Sam, too," a voice in the back of his head whispered. "You're going to loose him. Forever."

"No," he wanted to shout. "I'm not!" But he wasn't sure anymore.

What was Sam doing to himself? The secrets, the lies, that demon bitch Ruby. It was not going to end well.

Dean let his thoughts wander back to Adam. Adam Winchester, the words tasted sour and foreign on his tongue. No, that boy was not his brother. Maybe they were related genetically. Maybe they shared some of the same blood, but dammit family was a lot deeper than that.

Don't get the wrong idea, Dean didn't hate Adam – far from it. And he sure has hell hadn't wanted to see him die. Maybe he could have learned to care for him. He may have even learned to love him, the final reminder of their father. But a half brother, no, he couldn't handle it. How could he be expected to just accept something like that? Especially after nineteen years!

It was easier than you would have imagined for Dean to admit he envied Adam. Damn straight, he was jealous. The lucky son of a bitch. Why had Adam been the fortunate one? Maybe John had wanted to protect Adam, but why not Sam and Dean, too? Dean had been a ten year old with a rock salt loaded gun, instructed to "look after Sammy no matter what." And the Apocalypse! Dean hadn't been asked if he wanted this. At least, Sam had been offered an escape route – college. He had never even had that option!

The house in Windom had been filled with memories, photos lining shelves and walls. They were of a loving family. Of a father and his son, hanging out, bonding, smiling and happy. The place had been a home. Something Dean hadn't had in twenty six years.

"He took you to a baseball game?" Dean had asked again, studying the framed photo graph.

"Yeah, when I turned fourteen."

"He took you to a freakin' baseball game?" he repeated.

"Yeah. Why? What'd Dad do with you on your birthday?" A sarcastic scoff had been Dean's reply.

Most of his birthdays had been spent in motel rooms, unremarkable, and alone. On his ninth birth John had left on a hunting trip, leaving Dean to baby-sit young Sam, who had contracted the flu and spent the night over a toilet. On his fourteenth birthday John had arrived "home" hammered, and he had been the one to get him into bed, to clean up his mess, and to dispose of the beer bottles before Sam found out. And his "sweet sixteen" birthday? John had decided it was time for him to "learn the ropes," and had taken him on a hunting trip, that had left him bloody and broken. He had barely escaped with his life. Happy birthday to me, huh?

And after Sam became Mr. College Boy, Dean had spent his birthdays either hunting whatever miserable bastard crossed his path, or sitting in a bar drinking until everything else fell behind.

So yeah, no baseball games with dear old Dad for Dean.

Growing up John had never been around, and Dean had learned to pick up the slack. To be the father Sam never had. He became his guardian.

And that bad boy act he had pulled all through high school? He had dressed like his father, acted like him, listened to his father's music, driven his cars. Why? Because he was seeking John's approval. The approval he had never received. Never an "I love you," or a "good job," or even a "Thank-you for always looking after your brother, Dean." Never.

Dean had learned to fill the empty void in his heart, jumping from one girl to the next, losing his virginity at sixteen in the Impala's backseat to some bleach blond prom queen. Anything to block out the loneliness.

Dean sighed, heavily. He was digging deep within himself, and he knew that while all that contributed to his reluctance toward Adam, the biggest factor had been the searing pain of John's betrayal.

Her name had been Kate, and she was a pretty ER nurse who had patched John up after a hunting job gone bad. There had been a connection, she fell in love, and whaddya know? They were back at her house getting it on.

The thought made Dean's skin crawl.

Yeah, he had always known how his father was. But how could he? How could he do that to them? That night while young Dean had kept an all night vigil, ready to protect Sam with his dying breath, worrying that maybe this was the time his father would never make it home, John Winchester had been "banging" some woman.

Some woman who was not Mary Winchester!

Tears threatened Dean's eyes as he thought of his beautiful mother. She had been the centre of his entire universe. No one understood the agony. Nothing hurt more than loosing his mother; not the four months (which had been forty years) in hell, not the pain he felt when Sam lied to his face, and not the guilt and responsibility he carried on his shoulders. Nothing.

But his father had defiled that. Tainted what should have belonged only to her – his love.

Mary's death was the reason their lives were so screwed up. The reason his father had dragged them across the country was to avenge her. To get revenge like those filthy ghouls had. Instead John had been screwing around with who knows how many women. Maybe he had other children, scattered across the states. Maybe Dean had a sister, for goodness sakes.

Dean and Sam had been alone for so long. Had lost their childhoods before they began.

"I'm so sorry, Mom," Dean whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat. Taking calming breaths, he pushed everything back down inside of himself, clearing his mind. This was the reason he kept everything bottled up. If he didn't stop thinking like this he'd have a meltdown. He would explode. Who would clean up the chaos then?

Dean lovingly watched as Sam slept, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, a sad smile forming on his lips. "Am I my brother's keeper?" You couldn't fabricate a bond like theirs, couldn't feign that kind of brotherly love or devotion. Yes, he was his brother's keeper, and would be till the day death's cold fingers stole his breath.

Here was his little brother, the youngest son of their father, John Winchester, and their mother. Two for two. And Dean felt great satisfaction in knowing that when Sam awoke in the morning, it would be Mary Winchester's eyes that greeted him.

"Good night, little brother," he whispered into the dark room, allowing the sandman to overtake him.

Adam Milligan, nineteen, youngest son of John Winchester.

Samuel Winchester, twenty-six, the youngest son of Mary Winchester.

Dean Winchester, thirty, the definition of a good son, and an ever greater big brother.

End