Title: Finger on the Trigger
Author: HonestDeceit
Warnings: Spoilers for Asylum. Think that's it.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural nor am I making any profit from it.
As soon as Dean hears Sam has been lured to the basement, he's gone, not even bothering to ask the couple if they knew how to use a gun. Though by the way the girl took a shot at him when he came around the corner, he's guessing they can handle themselves.
"Sammy?"
There's a shuffling sound behind him and he turns, expecting to see his brother's lanky form. "Sam are-"
That's when it grabs him, digging its fingers into his skin. It presses its fingers into his temples and that's when the shocks come, waves of horrible jolts that almost cause him to cry out. Almost.
"It's okay. I'll make you all better."
Dean feels his knees give out but not the thump of knee against floor. The pain gets worse and Dean couldn't call out if he wanted to.
The doctor is still chanting the same lines over and over (I'm not going to hurt you. I'll make you all better), as Dean's world becomes rimmed in black.
000
He would have preferred the younger brother, that's the one he had been aiming for. The younger had more anger, anger that needed to be released so he could get better.
But this one would work too; he was pretty screwed up himself.
He released Dean a let him slip into a heap on the floor.
"You'll be better soon."
000
"Dean!"
Dean watches as Sam approaches, his shotgun held against his shoulder as he waits for Sam to close the distance.
"What's that?"
"Dr. Ellicott's log book." He holds it up for Sam to see, but tucks it back into his bag when Sam reaches for it.
"Find anything?"
"No. Not really. Just some notes."
"Are you sure? Maybe you missed something."
Dean snapped.
"I'm sure."
Sam freezes at Dean's sudden hostility. His eyes narrowing in thought and Dean can almost see the little gears working in thought. Sam is smart; he hadn't gotten in to Stanford for nothing.
"Something's wrong. The spirits wouldn't have sent us there for nothing."
"What are you talking about?"
"What's in the log book?"
"Nothing but notes, I told you that already."
"Let me see it."
Dean tosses the journal at Sam with more force than strictly necessary. Sam opens it and immediately begins scanning the pages. Dean can feel himself slipping, anger bubbling to the surface for no apparent reason.
Sam looks back up at him, the accusation written in his eyes. "He got you, didn't he?"
It isn't a question.
Even before Sam can finish taking a step back Dean has pulled the shotgun from his shoulder and aimed it at his brother's chest.
"So what if he did? He was only helping."
"No, Dean, he's not. Trust Me. You've seen this," he waves the journal in front of him," You've read what he's done. That's not helping; it's torture. Just... listen to me-"
Dean sneers. "Listen to you? Listen to me. For once."
"Dean, what are you-"
Dean shoves the shotgun at Sam's chest. "I said listen!"
Sam raises his hands in front of him, a sign of surrender. He opens his mouth to speak but Dean cuts him off.
"It's about time you listen. All you do is whine and complain and contradict everything I have to say. If you hate being here that much then why don't you just go back Stanford, huh? Go back to being 'normal' and doing homework and never have to think about hunting."
"I don't want to leave-"
Dean's hysterical laughter keeps Sam from completing his sentence, and Dean shakes the gun threateningly at Sam once more.
"You don't want to leave? Why not? You left once, what's keeping you from doing it again?"
"I left to go to college, Dean. I didn't just run away. It was Dad who said not to come back."
Dean pulls the trigger.
The gunshot echoes through the room, surprising both its occupants. Sam is thrown back, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs and Dean is left standing with the shotgun held awkwardly at his side, caught somewhere between anger and confusion.
But the anger overrides the confusion, no doubt with Ellicott's help, and Dean advances on Sam, exchanging the shotgun for the small pistol tucked in his belt. Sam is panting for air, one hand lying against his chest and the expression on his face one of agony.
"So... what? You were chasing your dreams, is that it? Dad needed you. Hell, I needed you. And you took the first opportunity you got to run away. You left us and we needed you. Do you think I didn't have dreams? But Dad needed me so I stayed. Because he's family, and family comes first."
The emotion in Sam's eyes as he looks up at Dean causes a red flag to rise in Dean's head. Something wasn't right here. The pistol wavers in Dean's hand, suddenly uncertain. Sam's eyes are pleading, the hurt so evident that it might as well have been written in marker on his forehead.
Ellicott only adds to his confusion, constantly goading him towards anger with words whispered in the back of his mind over and over like a broken record. He moves the gun so that it is aimed for Sam's head, his finger tightening over the trigger.
Another red flag.
Something doesn't fit, something is wrong. It isn't supposed to be Sam staring down the barrel of the gun. No, Sam belonged behind him, well protected with his own body while their adversary of the week faced its doom by his hands.
Dean's brows furrow in thought as he tries to connect the pieces. But the answer seemed unreachable, shrouded by thick fog, buried under his anger.
If Sam isn't supposed to be at the front of him with a gun aimed at his face then why is he? And why can't he control what he's saying? What he's doing?
Why can't he stop his finger from tightening against the trigger? All he can understand is the fury that drives him forward because… why? He's mad at Sam? That doesn't make sense. Sam is his brother; he would shoot himself before he shot Sam. So... why?
He feels his arm move without his command, his finger tighten without his consent.
The gunshot would have most likely echoed through the room again, just like last time. Only there was no loud bang, only a hollow click.
An image flashes in Dean's mind. Sam is lying on the ground with a perfectly circle-shaped hole in his head while a dark red puddle begins forming under him, spreading quickly and staining everything with red. Lifeless eyes are staring up at him.
Dean drops the gun as if it's on fire.
That had been it, the final red flag. Suddenly his brain works fine, knowledge that Ellicott had been hiding from him flooding back to him. The asylum, the patients, the doctor's log book that read more like a horror novel, Ellicott's experiments, Sam getting tricked into going to the basement.
Sam.
He had just shot his brother, came close to shooting his twice. If that pistol had been loaded... Dean shivers.
Eyes wide, he turns to his younger brother, half expecting to see a hole between his eyes. Sam surprises him by not being there and, looking around, he notices that his bag has disappeared as well. But just the fact that Sam isn't still lying there is enough of a confirmation that Sam isn't dead.
The anger slips away stealing his strength as it goes and leaving him too weak to even stand. So he sits down instead. Ellicott is gone from his mind, the last of his whisperings finally banished from his head. Dean gives a weary grin. Sam has found and burned the body.
Sure enough, Sam emerges from the shadows a few minutes later with the stench of burnt remains still hanging in the air around him. Sam pauses when he sees Dean.
"Dean, you okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah, of course."
Sam pulls Dean's arm around his shoulder and hoists him to his feet, ignoring Dean's protests as he tries to pull away. Sam is the first to break the silence.
"Do you remember what happened back there?"
Dean sees the image of Sam's corpse in his mind again, the lifeless eyes, the insane amount of blood, and shakes his head.
"No. Not really."
THE END