"My Brother."

Summary: It's a tangled mixed up crazy thing…but how could it not be? A page from Chuck's writing on Sam and Dean.

Rating: T? I guess for a few swears.

A/N: Okay I wound up watching the end of Swan Song, and gahh…only a select few things make be break so much like that ending. Because it's so simply about love. This also has no real plot. Set in current season. This is narrated by Chuck, as he writes.

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"…Is this heaven?"

-Dean Winchester, on seeing Sam alive.

Supernatural "Exile on Main street."

"Here's what's important.."

-Chuck

Supernatural "Swan Song"

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Dean Winchester loved many things in his life.

His car, for one.

She was a classic. A 1967 Chevy Impala, sleek black, mint because he kept her so, with agile hands tinkering her, fixing her, and she drove as smooth as silk. She was currently buried under a tarp in Bobby Singer's garage in Memphis. The one he told Dean he kept his stuff he didn't others to "fool with" He hasn't seen or heard from her in months because the environment was too caustic for her. Which also made his blood caustic, because her spirit wasn't meant to be dead, it was meant to be revved up, driven. But it wasn't her fault. Her being Baby, what he called her despite snorts of derision and suggestions about auto sized condoms and high octane lube. She was a good girl, she was loved.

Dean also loved pie.

He had no idea when this particular infatuation actually was born. But he vaguely remembered his mother letting him taste his first bite of pie as a 2 year old child. French Silk he remembers with gobs of whip cream, the real stuff hand beaten and stiff as cardboard. After that he and pie were golden. Though it seemed that he could never get his gullet of pie because every damn thing seemed to want to keep him from it. He often wondered what the fuck was up with that? Who screws with a man's pie? It was sacrilegious. And Dean spent half of his adult life being sacrilegious, he would know. Pie was defiantly a Dean Winchester love.

Now Dean didn't just have a thing for inanimate objects, because that was creepy and antisocial. And he had been called and known as a lot of things, but he refused start being known as that "Creepy antisocial man." Because Dean loved live things too. People.

In a list of no particular order:

His Mother.

Dean only knew her for a brief moment. 4 years to be exact. She was so vibrant, so full of life. He remembered her smile most of all, the way it hung over him like the moon when she tucked him in. He'd seen her later in life, but not later in hers, because she was from the past. But she was still beautiful, and that smile – it was amazing as ever. Yeah, his mom. How could he not love her?

His Dad.

Dean never said he loved him, not out loud. John was too rigid, too masculine to hear those words. Especially after his mom was killed, he locked himself in that masculinity. He became armor, a tank, a protector. But not someone who was supposed to be loved – only obeyed. Dean only ever called him "Sir" or "Yes Sir." But if he dug deep enough into his pit of emotions he knew the love was there. His dad was fucked up, he had worked Dean over with anger and hostility – but he still tried. He tried the best he could. He never wanted to lose his wife and through that lose the connection he had with his son. That connection that made Dean jump so happily into his arms the night before it all went bad. His dad tried, and that was his kind of love.

Bobby.

Bobby Singer, who let him play baseball, took him to baseball games with real peanuts and popcorn and screaming fans. Who taught him how to fix a carburetor. Who made him go back home when Dad had called him "worthless" when was drunk, but didn't make any excuses for John being a "self righteous dick" to his son. Who taught him about things like fishing, and ice cream on summer days. Who hunted with Dean, was his ears, eyes. Who was gone. But who Dean could still feel if he tore at the place that hurt. Bobby was too gruff and Dean too grown to ever admit that they loved each other. But it was still there, yeah most defiantly.

Jo.

Brazen, smart mouthed smack talking Jo Harvell. Another he never told. He never wanted to cross that invisible line they set up between them, the one that went past shop talk and hunting. And not just because Ellen would have skinned him alive and made him into a duvet cover. But also because if allowed himself to care for her the way he wanted to, it would hurt that much more when she was gone. They were both hunters – he knew that it would never end ideally. Dean's last feel of Jo's breath was on his lips. The way that she looked at him – she knew it too. Love was there, and it stayed, even after the fireball took her and Ellen.

Ben.

Ben, the son he never really had. Would never have biologically. But who grew into a son through nature in a different way, with time. With smiles as he watched Dean work on cars and repairs around the house, in jokes only a kid could make, lame ones, but funny anyway. With the kind of forgiveness only a kid could issue out when Dean forgot to pick him up from school because the whole domestic thing was still new to him. Who looked at Dean with no memory, but who Dean had memories of.

Lisa.

Lisa Braden, well nothing really to say about her, that he hadn't felt or touched, or smelled. She was simply – kind and trusting. She let him in during a time when he was shot and worn down. She sheltered him, she took his booze away from him, she loved him, and he did love her.

Which brings us to the last part:

Sam.

Screw that list of "no particular order."

Sam was –

He was a squiggling pink freakish looking baby when Dean first saw him. He had cried too much and pooped too much. Dean wanted to take him back three days after being home. But when he first saw the baby actually smile, not the gas smile, a real one, his stubborn 4 year old heart melted a bit.

After mom was gone Sam was – he was Dean's responsibility. Dad wasn't up to it anymore. Dean wasn't Dad's replacement. He was big brother, but that meant he took on a of Dad's duties, caring for the kid, wiping away tears that John's absent hands would never reach, doing his best because he was only 4 years older.

Sam.

Sam was too old to cry now, unless he was drunk or had a crumbled Wall leaking Satan memories. Or when Dean had called him a monster, because that baby grown into a man who screwed up and ended the fucking world.

Sam was – the brother who jumped into Hell after wresting control back from the devil. Who Dean stayed by on the surface, the place where he last was. Pawing at the dirt with a newly healed face, but a shattered soul. Sam was the reason Dean even really loved Lisa at all. Because it was his dying wish, to have the "Apple Pie Normalcy" for Dean. He would have never stayed that long without hearing that echo of Sam's "Promise me" that night before Stull Cemetery.

They cemented that Deal, the one that took Sam from Dean, with beer and star gazing, and quietness that was boulder heavy, because they knew it was their last night.

Sam was who Dean lied to Lisa about when she called their relationship "tangled up" Because he didn't see it, what she saw. He only saw his brother, the name who he heard over and over in his head, after he was gone, the name that would spill out of him along with the tears on his face when he couldn't take it, when he didn't want to wait to have to see Sam only when he closed his damn eyes. When he wanted Sam more than he wanted air, because living without the other thing wouldn't be nearly as painful.

Sam was –

Who Dean never admitted he watched sleep for the entire night after his soul was returned to him, or that most recent nights after Castiel decided to repay a debt owed. Making sure that he was safe.

Sam was Dean's brother-

But it was deeper than that. He was what trumped ever other love Dean had for anything, cars, pie, all the people that wove in and out of his life like tapestry. Sam was what kept him whole, what made him whole.

I should probably write more about Sam, and what he feels towards Dean. But somehow I feel that I don't have too. Because one extends into the other, always has. Writing about Sam's thoughts towards Dean is merely replacing his name for Dean's in my previous paragraphs.

I should actually probably hope that that Sam and Dean understand why I had to write this. Maybe when their arthritic old men with bad aim and too stiff to hold a gun anymore they won't try and come after me for creating this little edition. They were never a fan of my what Dean called: "Peeping Tom writing." But I doubt that that would ever happen, they're too well trained into ganking what pisses them off. When the time comes, I guess I'll just have to wait for them.

But maybe they'll understand; maybe they'll smile when they see these paragraphs. Because they already knew this. They just never saw it written down. They didn't have to, because they felt it. With each stupid prank, each drop of blood, each burst of loud laugher when it came, each anguished cry that Dean felt for Sam, and Sam felt for Dean.

They are brothers after all.

More than that.

They're family.

That's still the point.

It's everything.

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End.

I had to write this, because I love Chuck, and the way he described Sam and Dean.

Thank You.

Mystic.