A/N: OMG! 27 reviews last chapter? :O :O Thank you all freakin' so much!This story was great! The amount of reviews and tags it got. Seriously, you guys have no idea how grateful I am for the support. :) But sadly, this story is now ending, but don't be upset, becaaause! I have a new story coming right up! I'll leave the plot as a preview and see if you guys would like it. Thank you all so much for everything. YOU ROCK! :D

It's an AU story in which Sam and Dean are unrelated. Dean lives with his dad, John, and he used to have a younger brother Adam, who died at a young age. Sam is an orphan, and lives with his abusive older brother (OC). So when their paths cross, that empty hole in Dean's heart fills, and Sam finds that he has been more of a big brother than his own ever was.

One more thing guys. If you might be looking for some of my old stories like 'Trust In Me' [Bwaaaah, no doubt sucks butt so I'm sure no one's looking for it] I've deleted most of them. I wasn't happy with them and I'm pretty sure none of them were your favorites either. :)

Final Chapter [16]

Sam has been nothing but an empty walking shell these days. It never went unnoticed by Dean and Bobby. He barely slept, only about two or three hours at the most, which anyone could tell at the black, darkening shadows under his eyes, the rest of the night and days, he just laid down on the couch staring sightless at the ceiling with eyes so vacant and hollow, it sent a sharp sting through their hearts when they saw him that way, and it was a little unnerving too. He never ate anything. He refused anything Bobby offered for him to eat or drink, not even after a string of threats and forcing and deals, he was becoming more and more abstemious each day, resulting in his emaciation. He never answered him anything. Moreover, he barely talked at all. He was falling into this - deep dark hole of depression, and Bobby wasn't sure he could ever pull him out.

Dean hasn't been doing really well either, in fact. He has been drinking a lot these days, into oblivion every night. He has been avoiding his brother out of shame and guilt too. Bobby had tried mentioning hunting again, but he had uncharacteristically turned it down. It wasn't like him to do that, considering throwing himself into killing monsters were one of his ways of dealing with grief.

A whole agonizing week and a half of all that, when Bobby finally had enough of it all. He trudged upstairs and into Dean's room, where he saw him sitting on his bed with his head against the board and drinking, stubble clearly noticed on his weary face.

Bobby closed his eyes and tried to ignore the dull ache in his heart at seeing his boys this way, and snapped his eyes open, puffing out a breath before walking inside.

"Alright, that's it!" Bobby yelled in frustration, snatching the bottle away from Dean's mouth before he could take another swig and ignoring the glare thrown his way. "Ya only killin' yaself by doin' this! This ain't helping you or ya brother!"

He watched as Dean turned away, his face softening from the glare into something akin to sadness at the mention of his brother as he swallowed, before turning such sad child-like eyes to him, if only it wasn't filled with so much pain and guilt and despair and stress.

"What am I suppose' t'do, Bobby?" He whispered softly. "I - I told him that he should've been in dad's place instead of him. I told him that he destroyed my whole family. I told him that - that I h-hated him. I said that everything was his fault dammit! Mom's death, dad's and hell, he probably interpreted it into me blaming him for his girlfriend's death too! I said that he should've never been born! I - I hit him, once with my fist and then with my freakin' car! Tell me what the hell am I supposed to do after all this!" He yelled.

"What am I supposed to do, Bobby? I - I want to help my brother." He whispered.

Bobby stared at him quietly, listening to all his rants patiently. When he was done, he sighed, settling down in front of him and resting a hand on his shoulder. "Ya don' have ta' do anythin'. Just talk to him, tell him how ya really feel. And jus' - " He sighed softly and gave him a small encouraging smile. "Jus' be there for him...that's all ya haf' t'do." He said lightly. Looking at the young man's face, he knew the kid was thinking this through, so he decided to leave and give him some alone time to think on how he's gonna do that. He stood up and with one last look at him, he walked out of the door.

Dean's eyebrows furrowed in deep thinking. It could've been hours, but he lost track of time in his thoughts. It wasn't supposed to be hard, of course. But he really had to mentally prepare himself, because he knew he couldn't trust himself after all the pain that he has caused with his venemous words and blows, he needed to make sure that he won't say the wrong things somehow, so he thought things through very, very carefully.

XxX

Sam was only ten years old while Dean had been fourteen. Their dad had decided to leave them in a motel while he went to hunt down a poltergeist a few towns away. Sam watched his brother and dad quietly from his place on the bed.

"Check the salt-lines, keep a gun or a knife under your pillow or on your bedside table in case you get in trouble, alright?" Waitng for a nod before he continued. "And most importantly, I want you to watch out for Sammy, 'kay Dean?" John said.

Dean nodded obediently and smiled when his dad ruffled his head affectionately. "Bye dad."

"Bye kiddo." He said smiling, and looked at Sam. "Bye squirt." He waved at him, turning away after he got a wave back in response from his youngest, and walked out of the door with a 'take care of yourself, both of you.'

Dean smiled, turning away to walk over to his bed and sat down with his back leaning against the headboard, flipping through channels.

Sam stared at him, slowly scooting over and jumping out of his bed. He walked over to his brother's bed and stopped in mid-way, sighing. "Dean?"

Dean looked away from the TV and looked at his little brother. "Yeah Sammy?"

The youngest continued his walking and sat beside Dean. "Don't you - like - " He trailed off, before sighing and continuing what he was going to say. "Don't you ever get tired - of taking care of me? I mean, do you ever - like - feel like hating me for all this?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Well, you are a pain-in-the-ass, ya know that."

Sam punched his arm lightly. "Dean! I'm being serious."

Dean sighed. "Fine. No, I don't."

"Why?" Sam asked, looking slightly hopeful though.

"Because - Sam, you're not some kind of obligation to me. I won't ever get tired of taking care of you, you know why?"

Sam stared at him quietly.

"Because you're my brother. And I don't take care of you because dad tells me to. I do it because I love to." Even though 'because I love you' was unsaid, Sam still heard it clearly.

"You mean it?" Sam asked.

"No, I'm being sarcastic." Dean rolled his eyes.

Sam smiled.

"Now this - chick-flick moment is kinda making me feel awkward. Get off my bed!" Dean playfully pushed him off.

Sam laughed.

Sam smiled lightly at the memory, before letting it fade slowly as a dull ache shot through his heart.

Dean never liked taking care of him. He was just a burden that he carried, just because dad drilled it into his head to take care of him when he was only four.

It was just a lie.

XxX

Dean still found it hard to talk to his brother, because he was still guilty and ashamed, and because he wasn't really good at having these heart-to-heart moments. In the end, he realized he didn't really know what to say, so he listened to Bobby's advice and decided that he'll just say whatever he feels, and it was far from all those angry and hate-filled words he said to his brother. He also decided to start off by being his big brother again, show him that he does love his little brother despite what he said before, and that he does care about him - Bobby's advice, again.

So when he saw Sam lying once again on that uncomfortable couch, curled on his side and staring sightless at the headrest of the sofa, probably trapped in some trip down memory lane. Dean sighed softly and walked inside, letting himself known as his boots thudded quietly on the carpet. And if Sam did hear that, he never reacted to it and just ignored it.

Dean put down the tray of food he was carrying in his hands on the table and crouched beside his back, and put a warm, comforting hand on his baby brother's thinning shoulder.

It seemed that Sam could recognize that touch anywhere when he finally turned towards him after a few seconds, with eyebrows furrowed in deep confusion, and when he saw Dean, his eyes widened in bewilderment as he lifted himself off the couch quickly and sat upright "De..." He swallowed at his dry mouth and whispered softly. "Dean?"

"Hey." Dean said softly and smiled lightly.

"Dean?" He repeated again, his eyes moving hesitantly towards the hand on his shoulder. He looked up, and stared at the expression on the older brother's face.

Dean cleared his throat. "Isn't this couch a little too small for your gigantic Sasquatch size?" He asked lightly and smirked.

Sam stared at him in awe, a mix of emotions flickering across his face. Bewilderment, adoration, hope.

Dean gave him a warm, comforting smile as he grabbed the tray from the table and held it out to him. "I know you haven't been eating properly, Sammy."

Sam stilled completely at the nickname, his breath stuck in his throat as tears formed in his eyes. Dean called him Sammy. He hadn't been called that by him for - so goddamn long, ever since he had pulled that trigger on his dad and killed him.

He quickly snapped out of it, and was about to roll away and tell him he wasn't hungry.

But before he could, Dean took hold of his shoulder again and gently turned him towards himself. "And don't tell me you're not hungry."

Sam stared at the hand on his shoulder, and swallowed, looking up at him with wide, dewy eyes that silently asked him that 'how can you even stand to be near me after everything I've done?'

Dean smiled softly. Because you're my brother you moron.

His smile faded slowly as he noticed for the first time just how skinny and emaciated his brother had become, almost like he could be knocked over with just a blow of a wind, his t-shirt once fitting hung loosely on him, he seemed to need a belt to fit his jeans around his hips unlike before, his cheeks had sunken in, he was pretty sure his shoulder blades, ribs and spine were poking out inside his shirt, dark shadows encircled his eyes. He bit his lip and stared at him pleadingly. "Sammy, please eat something."

Sam swallowed down the lump thickly at the concern he saw in his brother's eyes, something he hadn't seen for so long. He sighed in defeat and struggled to sit up on his elbows.

Dean lifted himself up on his knees and caught his brother's back with his arm, and felt slightly shocked when he felt his spine dig into his forearm. He wasn't wrong at all.

And used his other hand to hold his elbow, and tugged him up so that he can sit with his back against the arm of the couch.

Dean cleared his throat and asked hesitantly, staring down at his cast-covered wrist. "You - need help?"

Sam quickly shook his head, not wanting to bother him anymore.

Dean nodded slightly, deciding to give him a bit of independence. He took the tray and put it on his younger brother's lap.

Sam only stared at the food quietly, already feeling nauseated. He looked at his older brother, who watched him patiently and expectantly. He slowly lifted his uninjured hand and took hold of the spoon, using his casted hand to balance the tray, and brought the spoonful of soup to his mouth.

It was after three slow, hesitant and sickening spoons that he decided to ask the question bugging him. He bit his lip and swallowed, looking up at his brother falteringly, who seemed to be lost in thoughts himself.

"De.." He tried, but the words got stuck in his throat, but it was still enough to bring Dean's attention to him.

"What's wrong?"

Sam stayed quiet for a minute, before clearing his throat, closing his eyes and opening them again, and started again. "Why are you doing this?" It came out as a weary whisper.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, playing dumb, because he's not sure what else to do or how to respond to his question.

Sam swallowed convulsively again. "This."

A long, awkward silence stretched, before Dean finally gave in.

He parted his lips, wondering how to explain. "I —I just.." He stammered.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, before blowing it out, and swallowed. He stood up slowly on stiff legs, walking over to the foot of the couch and nudging his little brother's freakishly long legs lightly. He waited until Sam brought them loosely to his chest to give him some space, and sat on the foot of the couch. He sighed, moving his hands over to grab his brother's, ignoring the astonished look.

"Look. I'm — I'm not really good at all this — this girly sharing-and-caring thing, 'cause it's mostly your thing — you big girl." He chuckled softly.

"But I'm — I'msorry." He whispered, swallowing. "I am so — so sorry, for everything I've said — and done, for the way I've been acting. I shouldn't — "

"You don't have to feel guilty — You had a right to say all of that." He said quietly, staring in fascination at his fingers. He shrugged one shoulder lightly. "Besides — I'd — I'd rather know the truth." He whispered wearily.

"The truth?" Dean shook his head. "Sammy, that was far from the truth. I was just pissed. I mean, watching your brother shoot your dad, that — that kinda does screw with your emotions, you know."

Sam swallowed and ducked his head down in shame, hiding the unshed tears behind his bangs.

Dean sighed softly, mentally hitting himself upside the head for saying that. He let go of one of his brother's hands, and reached out to grab his chin, forcing him to look into his own eyes while he stared back at his watery hazel ones.

"But that doesn't mean that it's your fault." The older brother whispered softly.

"It — It is. I was the one who had the gun. I was the one who pulled that trigger."He whispered shakily, and then quietly added. "Not you."

And Dean realized, really realized, how tough it must've been to choose between his dad and his brother, knowing that no matter who you choose, you'll lose the other anyway, or even both. He took a minute to put himself in that position, and knew that there was no way he would've had it in him to pull that trigger and live with the guilt for the rest of his life. It had probably took everything in his brother to do that.

"So what if you did pull that trigger?" Dean asked firmly.

That took Sam by surprise.

"Did you want to kill him? — No. Sam, dad had spent twenty-two years looking for that thing so he can kill it, and avenge mom.

He's in peace now — probably in heaven, with mom. and besides — what are the odds, huh? Maybe if you didn't kill it when you did, it would've killed us all anyway."

"What about mom? She died because of me, because the demon was after me, and that's why she got killed when it should've been me." He pushed, biting his lower lip.

"She died protecting you — because she loved you. What could you have possibly done to prevent that, huh? You were six months old, for god's sake! If dad couldn't have done anything to save her, what could you have?"

Sam opened his mouth, but closed it and looked down again.

"That's right. You couldn't have done anything. Nobody could've."

The youngest Winchester looked on the verge of breaking down, his bottom lip trembling, his nose twitching as he tried to stop his face from crumpling.

"Look at me, Sammy." Dean urged softly.

But he only turned his head away, not wanting to let his brother see all the emotions in his eyes.

The older brother cradled his cheek with one hand. "I was wrong to say that, even when I was angry. I never meant any of it. You have to believe me — please. I know it's gonna take some time for our relationship to fully heal, and — and I'm willing to try. But we can't do that one-sided."

Sam stayed silent. And Dean knew he was still unconvinced.

Dean took a deep breath, knowing he's gonna have to play his cards right. If this doesn't convince him the truth, then he's not sure what he's gonna do next.

"You know, when — When you were hungry, I — I was the one who starved myself, so you wouldn't have to go to bed with an empty stomach. When you wanted to go somewhere, like to some party or on a date with some chick, or do something that dad didn't approve of, I was the one who covered up for you, so dad wouldn't be mad at you. When you made a mistake, did something wrong that would've made dad angry, I was the one who took all the blame on my own shoulders, so that you wouldn't have to hear dad's yells. And when you were in Stanford, I would come by at least once a week to check on you, see if you're okay." He sighed softly, and looked up at his brother, who stared down at his hands, but he knew he was listening. "You remember that time, I think you probably had some sorta fight with Jessica or something, and you were alone in a bar, drunk off your ass, and you passed out in some alley — I was the one who carried you to your apartment."

Sam furrowed his eyebrows at that. He had always wondered who carried him to the apartment, and moreover, how did the man even know he lived there.

"And when you were in the hospital..." He swallowed back the lump in his throat as he remembered that he was the one who put him there. "I was the one who sat beside you — all day — and all night, each and every day."

Sam's head snapped up at that, staring at him through wide, shocked eyes. "You — You did?"

Dean nodded slowly, eyes soft but weary.

"But when — when I woke up — you — you weren't there — how?"

"Because I went to see mom, needed to get some things off my chest, ya know."

Sam stared at him with huge, doey eyes, filling with tears. Dean was there all along, right beside him?

"I — I thought you left me alone." He swallowed, and looked down, adding quietly. "I thought you didn't care."

"You were wrong." Dean answered calmly, and it was shocking when on the inside, the guilt and sorrow was drowning him. "I could never hate you — even if I wanted to, I never could. You're my little brother, the same little brother I've taken care of my whole life. And I didn't do that because dad told me to, but because.." He trailed off. They never said these things to each other, because they were Winchesters, but moreover, they didn't have to, because they knew that without needing to be told. But this time, he needed to say it. Hell, his brother needed the reassurance, and for him, there wasn't anything he wouldn't do.

Because, if he wasn't scared to give up his life for the kid, he was totally not scared to do this.

"Because I love you. And no matter what you do, I won't stop."

Silence filled this whole room.

The youngest Winchester stared at him through teary eyes, and it was then he allowed them to escape. He can't believe it. It was just too good to be true."I — I don't — " He swallowed, staring at him with huge, teary eyes, just like when he was five, when he scraped his knees and wanted his big brother to make it better, or when he was nine and he had broken his arm on a hunt, when he was eleven and he had gotten the lead role in a play but their dad didn't let him, after Jessica's death. And the worst, after their dad's death, except then they were also pleading for forgiveness. He had that look every time he needed his big brother to make it better. "I don't know what to do anymore, De." He admitted shakily, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Just be my brother, and I'll be yours — that's all."

He watched as his younger brother's face crumpled, fully breaking down. He knew his brother wouldn't come on his own, so he raised his arms, inviting him in for the solace his baby brother had yearned for a month.

And in a heartbeat, he had his arms full of a crying little brother, face buried in his shoulder, and ignored his soaking jacket of his brother's tears, wordlessly holding him through his breath-hitching sobs and just letting him cry out all the pain he had endured in the past weeks, while he just buried his own face into his little brother's chocolate-brown mop.

They stayed like this, it could've been hours, but Dean didn't let go.

He found that he didn't really want to, and he knew his little brother felt the same.

And outside the library, Bobby watched with a smile decorating his face, showing the crowfeet beside his eyes.

"Thank God. You did it, Dean." He said softly to himself.

XxX

The golden sun was just rising up, a mixture of red and orange gradient coloring the sky, right above the trees, the warm breeze tickling his face. Dean watched, sitting on the hood of his car with a cool beer in his hand. He felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders and chest, and it had. Their relationship is on the road to recovery. Sure, it was just a start and it gonna take some time, maybe a lot, but hey, at least they were there, right?

He heard hesitant footsteps, and he turned his head to his brother, who stilled and swallowed.

Dean smiled at him softly to reassure him that they were good. "Hey Sammy." He reached out an arm. "Come 'ere."

Sam smiled, dimples and all, and strode towards him, sitting beside him.

Dean wrapped his arm around his shoulders, and took a swig of his beer with his other hand, staring at the beautiful view ahead of him with his brother.

They were there alright.

And something tells him that they're not really that far.

"We miss you dad." Dean whispered, then turned his head to his baby brother, smiling hugely, who gave him a matching smile back.

THE END

Aww! Now wasn't the ending just sweet? I hope the 'talk' you guys were waiting for was good too, and there was a hug. :D 4000 words? My new high score! :D

I loved writing this story, and I loved all the support that you guys gave me in this. I love you all so freakin' much! *Sniff*. I'm really upset, having to end this story. But hey, gotta move on sometime, right? Who knows, maybe you guys might see some much better stories from me. :)

Thanks to all of you.

*Sniffs*