A/N: Hey, guys! There will be heavy smut and hot sex later, you know, after the confused-love-brother-no-it-can't-happen thing that Dean and Sam have to go through. Love Angst and whatnot :) Anyway, the chapters will be relatively short for a while until things pick up plot wise. I don't know exactly how long it's going to be, yet, but I have a rough idea...and, if enough people like it or review and whatnot, it'll probably motivate me to update sooner. *smiles* Enjoy!

Chapter One: Balcony

The quiet night air had draped itself around a green-eyed man, who was leaning against the waist-high railing of the balcony of his shared apartment. Looking about the streets below him, he smiled a small smile, a rare one but it was a smile nonetheless. His darkened brown hair fell just above his ears and the small bit of bangs he held whipped lightly in the gentle breeze of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. The weather wasn't warming, nor was it cold exactly…but then again, if one lived in South Dakota, one got used to the weather; so it wasn't a surprise to find this man wearing a thin, white dress shirt, un-tucked, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and form-fitting jeans that hugged his hips and thighs rather well. His feet lay bare on the smooth cement of the balcony, something that the man always found relaxing in a way.

Resting his elbows on top the railing, he peers a little farther over the edge, perhaps looking for someone or perhaps wanting to get a better view of the pretty blonde that just rounded the corner. Whichever reason, he simply rested back on his heels and turned to go into the bedroom that was his roommate's—for one could only get to the balcony through the other's bedroom—and walked through the light brown walls and the hanging posters of classic jazz and musicals that he knew the other enjoyed. It didn't stop him from scoffing, though.

Soon, even before he reached the bedroom door that led to the hallway, he heard the front door open and keys being dropped on the kitchen counter a few seconds later. Sighing, he quietly walked out of the bedroom to see his brother, his pursed lips and his obviously aggravated expression. Once he reached the end of the hallway, he was able to see into the spacious living room and kitchen, which held gleaming white appliances, dark countertops, and an apparent pissed off little brother in all his six-foot-four glory. Upon seeing his brother's chest rise with an audible sigh of frustration, he simply quirked an eyebrow as a greeting. "Bad day, Sammy?"

Having been lost in his thoughts, he hadn't really noticed the other until he spoke in his deep, husky voice that Sam had come to love to hear every day. For years now, he had known that he was attracted to Dean, which at first completely and utterly scared him. Sure, he was gay, but being gay for your brother? That was a whole new level of coming out of the closet that Sam had to deal with by himself because, of course, Dean didn't feel the same way. Couldn't feel the same way. The guy was basically a horny dog on two legs; willing to fuck anything that had a nice pair of tits and a great ass to go with it. And, sadly enough, San just wasn't a girl.

Scoffing, Sam simply rolled his eyes. "Yea, Dean. Bad day." He shook his head from side to side, dismissing the thoughts he just held and trying to calm his sour mood. He turned to the counters on his left side, giving Dean a perfect view of his backside, a view that he knew Dean wouldn't appreciate.

Dean walked towards Sammy, his bare feet shuffling along on the tiled floor. "Wanna talk about it?" The question had sounded awkward to his ears, but he felt the harsh vibes Sam sent off in undulating waves and thought it best if he allowed the other to vent. When Sam turned back to glance at Dean, his eyebrows were raised in a questioning manner. Feeling slightly offended, Dean simply walked off.

Was there some law against Dean asking Sam if he wanted to talk about his shitty day? And did Dean not get the memo? He hadn't thought asking Sam that question would offend the other, and the questioning glance the elder received merely made it obvious that Sam thought he was up to something as if they were twenty years younger again and living with their father. He heard glass clink together, obviously there were two of them, and a bottle being set down rather harshly on the counter top, but Dean made his way back to Sam's room and headed towards the balcony yet again. Not even a minute later, he heard footsteps sound from the bedroom and make their way towards him. He glanced back over his shoulder to see Sam offering a glass of dark brown liquor for him to take. Smirking, he took the glass and pressed the rim to his lips before taking a heavy swig; Sam followed, knocking back about a third of the glass' contents. Chuckling quietly to himself, Dean turned to face Sam, leaning against the railing. "That bad, huh?"

Dean was met with a roll of Sam's eyes to which he simply smirked. "You have no idea." The younger brother moved towards the railing, letting his forearms rest against the cool metal. "I had a patient today who kept complaining that he saw his dead wife have sex with his brother, who is also dead, by the way. And then he started crying. Which just really pissed me off because he thought that I was a tissue." His voice increased in volume by only a minuscule amount as he continued. "But that was only this morning. Around noon I was called into the Director's office because she needed to talk to me about how I treat my patients. Apparently, I don't care enough and I'm harsh on them which is complete bullshit because if I didn't care about their sorry asses I wouldn't get out of bed." Dean chuckled. He knew that Sam was one the most direct people he had ever met and sometimes that could come off as harsh, but Sam was also one of the most caring people he had ever known. Though he wouldn't admit that out loud. He let Sam continue his rant. "And when I defended myself, that bitch threatened to fire my ass and—"

"Woah, Sammy, I don't think I've ever heard you call someone a bitch. Well, except for your college professor but he fit the part." He smiled one of his knowing smiles.

Sam turned his glare towards his older brother. "I thought we agreed we wouldn't talk about that."

"When did I ever say that? C'mon, Sammy, you know me. I can't turn down the chance to use something as juicy as that against you whenever I can. That shit's golden." He knew he probably should have shut his mouth, but by the time the punch landed on his arm he knew it was too late. "Ow! That hurt bitch!"

Sam merely chuckled. "Jerk…"

Thinking back on the past week, Sam couldn't help but become irrevocable shocked and confused at Dean's behavior of late. The man, for all intents and purposes, was a womanizer but lately, he hadn't been bringing home women, who Sam suspected of gaining a sexual transmitted disease by the time they were twenty five, at late hours of the night. Dean, also, and this one was oddly strange to Sam above all others, actually made gestures of endearment and brotherly love towards Sam, something that the elder would never do under any circumstances. Well, except for when their dad had died. Sam's mom had died when he was only six months old due to a house fire, and his dad died due to a gunshot wound to the head. Sam could never figure out why that man waltzed into that hospital with a gun in hand and started shooting people. But nevertheless, Dean had been there for Sam, emotionally anyway, because the younger was a wreck, completely detached from society for months afterwards.

True that Dean loved Sam and that Sam felt the same way, but Dean was never one for sentimentality or showing his emotions—he always had to be the big brother; 'Watch out for Sam.' 'Take care of your little brother, boy.'—and Sam understood that as a main reason why Dean was hesitant to have a 'chick-flick' moment, as the other deemed them to be named. So, this past week, when Dean had begun to subtly develop into a more loving brother—and that terminology for his actions was hard for Sam to even swallow—Sam immediately thought that someone had died. But, he had just seen Bobby, and if anyone had known that someone had died, he'd be the first to know because Bobby had his ears plugged into everything. Hell, the man could come up with fake aliases for the FBI, CIA, and other government jobs if he wanted to!

And of course, when Sam realized that Dean was changing—be that it may be dreadfully slow—his mind had come to a theory that maybe Dean did feel the same way as he. That Dean loved him in one of the most frowned upon ways that there is. But Sam, without a doubt, knew that Dean, being who he was, would never admit it, never think about it if it were true, and never instigate something. So, Sam was left with broken theories and reasons, helpless emotions that he couldn't force down, and the sense that he and Dean would never be more than what they already were.