AN: My second ever Supernatural fic. Dunno what to say about it really, other than I wanted to practice writing Sam and Dean and it turned into this.

Also, I don't own the brothers. If I did, there would be more smiles and less shirts.

"Dean?"

The older Winchester groaned, popping his head out from under the motel sheets.

"What, Sammy? It's…" he looked at the clock on the nightstand, "three-thirty in the morning."

"Oh, um, never mind then. I'm sorry."

Dean sighed as he felt himself entering big brother mode. He hadn't meant to snap at Sam, but damn it he was tired and his giant of a baby brother had just interrupted a really good dream full of strippers feeding him pie….

He groaned again at the thought OF it, and sat up to better face Sam.

"Don't you play that card, dude. Out with it."

Dean's eyes began to adjust to the darkness and he could now make out the outline of Sam in the other bed. The younger man looked way too small curled up like that, even as his legs hung off the edge, and his eyes were glassy as he seemed to trace the outline of random shapes on the room's popcorn ceiling.

By now Dean's big brother senses where really tingling. Sam's voice hadn't sounded like he had a nightmare, which he was thankful for, but he still sounded slightly afraid and insecure.

"Sammy…?"

The other swallowed, "Dean, do…do you…"

"Do I what?"

Sam turned to face the older man, a tired hazel stare locking with a worried green one. Dean made a mental note to have his brother's large eyes registered as lethal weapons—that shit was not fair.

"Do you," Sam started again, "ever resent me?"

Dean's brows furrowed, "Why would I resent you, Sammy?"

"Because."

He snorted, "You aren't seven anymore. That excuse doesn't work now."

Now it was the other's turn to groan, but Dean could tell it was more out of frustration than annoyance.

"Because you pretty much had to give up everything because of me."

Dean briefly wondered if his little brother had finally lost his mind, "What're you talkin' about, bro?"

Sam sniffled, and Dean could briefly see the faint sparkle of tears on his face.

"Well, mom wouldn't have died if I wasn't born, you wouldn't be stuck protecting me for life, Dad would still be around…everything would be normal if it wasn't for me."

As Dean stood from his bed, he had to quickly repress the urge to smack his brother because how dare he think that. Instead, he walked over and sat down next to Sam and placed a rough hand on the man's head.

"Samuel Winchester, you look at me right now."

The younger blinked, sitting up a little straighter and slightly taken aback. That was Dean's "authoritative parental figure" voice, but even then he never called him by his full name. Sam knew he was in a lot of trouble now. Before he could start apologizing though, he was cut off.

"You didn't ask to be born, so shut up. Even if you had—which would be really friggen weird—it still wouldn't be your fault."

"That doesn't make any sense, Dean."

"Doesn't have to, because you know I'm right anyway."

"But what if I really wasn't born?! You could have made a good life for yourself."

"Says who? I would have missed out on the most pain in the ass little brother ever! How boring would that be?"

"You wouldn't know that, though."

"Yes I would."

"You aren't psychic, Dean."

"And how do you know? I could have just been awesomely keeping it from you."

Sam laughed, causing Dean to smile before he continued.

"Point is, you are not allowed to not exist. End of story."

Sam huffed, "You and your stupid Dean logic," he sobered again, "But you could have mom back and everything…."

Dean almost choked, "N-no. Not even then. Not without you."

"Liar."

"Not lying," Dean growled, "Mom wouldn't want you to think like this in the first place. I said end of story."

Sam pouted, causing Dean to chuckle.

"Anyone ever told you that you look like a puppy?"

"Is that why you're petting my head?"

The older hunter gasped, drawing his hand back. So much for "no chick flick moments", he thought bitterly. Oh he was so ruined now.

Sam laughed again, "I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about."

"Bet your ass you won't! Now go to sleep, little brother. We'll talk about this tomorrow."

Sam deadpanned, "Okay one, you always say that and we never do and two, it is tomorrow."

Dean swore.

"It is not tomorrow until I go to sleep and wake up when the sun is out."

"But you never answered my question."

Dean once again resisted the urge to smack his brother. Sam always had had a hard time letting things go.

Stubborn little brat.

"Yes I did," he snapped.

"No, you said that I'm not allowed to not exist. You said nothing about resenting me."

Even though he wasn't looking, Dean could hear the hurt expression his brother was probably sporting.

"I could never resent you Sam. We're all each other has now. Can't hate all you have."

Sam didn't seem too happy with the answer, but let it slide as he began trying to go back to sleep.

"Thanks, I guess" he yawned, "G'night, jerk."

"Night, bitch."

As soon as he knew Sam was asleep, Dean let his smile falter. He laid back down in his own bed and began to think about the conversation they had just had. He turned his head to look at the lump of covers across the room.

For all the times they fought, both now and growing up, Dean had always loved Sam more than anything. They gave each other a purpose and the confidence that someone had their back at all times. When Sam had gone to Stanford, Dean had gotten a glimpse of the world without his little brother. It wasn't better, like the kid thought it would be; in fact it was horrible.

He couldn't remember most of those years, but he knew they were a special kind of hell. He had just floated around in life, pretending that it meant something, but it didn't.

He sighed one last time, "My life wouldn't be normal without you, buddy, because I wouldn't have one."

AN: I regret nothing.