Come What May

Another one of my Supernatural fics. This one takes place in the first season, and is one of my few Supernatural fics that isn't a romance fic. Just brotherly angst.


Sam's voice rang through his ears, and he had to remind himself that it wasn't really Sam speaking; that Ellicott had done some creepy mojo on him.

"Why are we even here? Because you're following Dad's orders like a good little soldier? 'Cause you always do what he says without question?" the voice of his brother questioned. "Are you that desperate for his approval?"

Dean fought against the pain in his upper body. Lying on the hard floor wasn’t helping matters, either. "This isn't you talking, Sam."

"That's the difference between you and me," Sam stated. "I have a mind of my own. I'm not pathetic like you."

Dean was growing more and more annoyed at the situation. "So what are you gonna do, huh? You gonna kill me?" He figured it was his turn to get under Sam's skin; his turn to push his buttons.

His brother's rage-filled voice replied, "You know what? I am sick of doing what you tell me to do. We're no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago."

And suddenly the conversation was getting more and more familiar. Maybe it wasn't all Sam behind these words, but there was no denying that Sam had these thoughts most of the time. He was desperate to find Dad ... even more than Dean, because of what had happened to Jessica. And now, it seemed as though he was blaming Dean for them not being able to find the old man.

"Well then, here. Let me make it easier for you." He fished the gun out of his pocket, holding it out for Sam to take. His hand wanted to shake, but he remained as still as he could, glaring up into his brother's cold eyes. "Go on, take it. Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock-salt." He waited for his brother to take the gun, and for his part, the younger Winchester looked surprised at what Dean was telling him to do. "Take it!" Dean commanded.

Sam took the smaller gun from Dean's hand, dropping his own shotgun on the floor. After a moment, he pointed the gun at Dean, moving closer.

Dean sighed, his heart fluttering. "You hate me that much?" he asked, not sure if he even wanted an answer. He knew that he shouldn't take anything that Sam said right now for the truth, but a part of him knew that deep inside, Sam had some of these feelings, these thoughts. "You think you could kill your own brother? Then go ahead," he dared. "Pull the trigger."

There was a long pause, and for a moment he thought maybe he'd gotten through to him. Maybe he'd shocked the rage out of him.

"Do it!" Dean yelled, continuing with his plan, as it seemed to be working.

Then Sam pulled the trigger. He actually wanted to shoot him. Nothing happened. Sam pulled the trigger again and again, but the gun didn't fire. It wouldn't.

While he was distracted by the misfire, Dean grabbed the gun and back-handed his little brother across the face, knocking him to the ground. Rolling over and grunting at the pain in his chest, he slowly stood, looking at the younger man.

"Man, I'm not gonna give you a loaded pistol," he informed him, giving his brother one last looking before knocking him out. It was for his own good. Dean sighed again. "Sorry, Sammy." He continued through the asylum, needing to find Ellicott’s body.


………………………………................................................................................................

He hadn't wanted to talk to his brother about what had happened in the nut-house, but it was all he could think about while they drove back to their motel. He loved his brother ... there was nothing he wouldn't do for him. He would kill for him, he would die for him. But, the guy had issues. Dean knew that for a fact. Whether it was because of their messed up childhood, or because of what had happened to his girlfriend ... Sam had a lot of stuff that he needed to work out.

They got back to the motel late, and by the time Dean got out of the shower, Sam was already asleep on his bed. He glanced at his unconscious brother, wondering what was in store for them.

He hoped they would find their father soon ... if nothing else, for Sam's well-being. He still had nightmares almost every night, and now with the weird, ESP-thing he had going on, Dean didn't know what to do. He hoped their Dad would ... he usually had all the answers. They just had to find him.

After a slight pause, Dean pulled the blanket over Sammy's sleeping body, stepping back before his younger brother could wake up and witness Dean tucking him in.

Changing into a fresh set of clothes, he lay back on his own bed, crossing his hands behind his head and sighing deeply.

If that gun had been loaded ... Sam would have shot me.

He tried to push the thought out of his mind, reminding himself that they were brothers, and nothing could come between that.

Letting his eyes drift close, Dean decided to push away his worries and let the new day bring what it may. Even if that meant getting another round of rock-salt to his chest.