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When Dean was four, his father shoved a baby in his arms. His very own treasure to love and hold and feed and care for. And it seemed he spent the next 17 years watching Sammy’s ass, sometimes from bullies at school, sometimes from their dad, always from the loneliness.
When Dean was 16, he lost his cherry to a prom queen who wanted to piss off her boyfriend. Turns out, it pissed off Sam, too. Sam was only 12, but you didn’t spend your life on the road, eating in truck stops and mostly living out of motels that rented by the hour without picking up a thing or two.
“You’re going to leave me now!” he accused Dean. “You’re going to leave us and I’ll be alone.” Their dad didn’t really count. Although a part of him was secretly pleased over Sam’s fears, dean never bragged about a conquest again…
Until he was 21. They’d landed in New Orleans in dead summer. During their first 24 hours in the Crescent City the Winchester’s encountered a swamp thing, a voodoo queen and a Bourbon Street barmaid named Cherri. Guess which was Dean’s favorite?
Once the mess was cleaned up, John had headed back to the swamp…to get his fortune told, Sam had snickered. On their own, the boys partied to bump and grind music at Chez Bourbon, partied some more in Dean and Sam’s room with Cherri. And when the three of them lay sated on the scratchy carpet, Dean wedged himself next to his baby brother and fell asleep to the memory of Sam being sucked skillfully through Cherri’s red lips… until Dean wanted to shove her away and take her place.
Dean had been watching Sam. Growing up, growing away and knew Sam didn’t fear Dean leaving anymore. Because Sam was going to leave.
When Dean was 22, he lost Sam and a piece of himself. He and John cruised the country but Dean was always aware of the empty back seat. The loss of what had been his.