A Shot in Time

by firstcatfish

After the events in Asylum, Dean remembers a time when he had to shoot his father to protect himself and Sam. Hurt!Sam HurtLimp!Dean Guilty!John

Title: A Shot in Time

Summary: After the events in Asylum, Dean remembers a time when he had to shoot his father to protect himself and Sam. Hurt!Sam HurtLimp!Dean Guilty!John

A/N – Ah, a snow day, free time, and a plot bunny volunteering to fill my time. I asked myself what might have happened if John had been supernaturally influenced to hurt one of his boys. I honestly don't think he would ever have hurt them intentionally, at least not physically. Here is the result. Enjoy.

Many thanks to littlefish for the beta. Check out her new story Against the Clock.

Warnings: None

Disclaimer: I don't own anything and make no profit other than pure enjoyment in writing.

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The click of another bloody salt pellet being deposited on the nightstand accentuated the quiet in the motel room. The quiet extended not only to the room but to the two brothers, one stretched out on the bed, the other crammed into the middle aisle between the beds and bent over his prone sibling. Dean hissed as the tweezers bit into his flesh in an attempt to grasp the next shard.

"Sorry." Sam's apology was a breathless whisper and he winced along with his brother in sympathetic pain.

Dean, for his part, ignored the apology and gazed thoughtfully at the top of his brother's head, all he could see from his position. The curtain of hair formed a barrier between them that reflected the emotional one formed by the events of earlier that day.

He wasn't mad, not really. The words the spirit had caused to spew from Sam's mouth had hurt, but none of them had really surprised him. He knew how Sam felt, about their father, about their situation and even about him. He was able to pick the truth from the vitriol, and the waves of guilt pouring silently off of his contrite brother made him see a skinny eight year old after he had done something wrong, desperate to know if his brother still loved him. He smiled sadly, though Sam didn't see it.

"This reminds me of doing the same thing for Dad after I shot him." The words sounded loud in the motel room and Sam flinched, the tweezers digging into his flesh. Dean bit off a curse and took a deep breath, absorbing the momentary pain.

"You shot Dad?" Sam's voice was cautious and a bit curious, though Dean still couldn't see his face. "I don't remember that."

"You wouldn't. You lost a couple months of memory to that incident." Dean waited and, sure enough, Sam's head popped up in surprise.

"Canton, Ohio?"

"Yep. I think you were about 14 at the time and fully into the rebellious, whiny, bitchy stage that drove Dad completely nuts." Dean's voice was wry as he stared off into the distance, absorbed in the memory.

"What happened?" Sam's voice was breathy and his eyes were hopeful as he met his brother's keen gaze. Dean smiled slightly as he let his walls down incrementally, allowing Sam to see forgiveness and understanding.

"Dad had finally had it with you. You had been questioning his every word, pushing him to the extremes of his patience. So, when you finally had something real to say, he was past the point of listening."

"And you?" Sam dropped his gaze again, but the thread of bitterness still managed to escape in his tone. Dean's position in the many fights between Sam and his father was still a sore point between them, even more so after the events in the Asylum.

"I thought you had a point, but even if I had said something, Dad wouldn't have listened. He was so bound and determined to make you fall into line and obey orders that not much else was registering. If I had chimed in, he likely would have made us both wait in the car and gotten killed doing the hunt on his own." Dean felt a wave of sadness and regret hit him again as he remembered the events and what had come of them. His father and brother were so much alike, both so stubborn and neither able to see or admit they were wrong until it was too late.

With a sigh, he continued. "It was a simple haunting…or so we thought…"

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Canton, Ohio – 1997

"I just don't see why we can't wait and do a little more research on the place before we go in." Sam's voice cracked on the last word and he huffed in frustration. Dean felt a momentary desire to laugh, but the tension between his father and brother was so strong, he barely dared to breathe. Even a smile would be a spark tossed into a barrelful of gasoline.

Ahead of them, John Winchester stopped abruptly, his back stiff and angry. Dean halted, throwing an arm across his brother's chest in warning. Sam sent him a glare, then transferred it back to his father.

Their dad spun around and his face was full of barely controlled fury. His voice when he spoke sent a chill down Dean's spine. "That is enough, Samuel Winchester."

Sam blinked in surprise. Dad almost never used his full name like that.

"This is not a democracy. This is not a partnership. I have given you your orders and I expect to be obeyed…completely and without question. Do you understand me?"

Dean nearly groaned when he saw the fire of bitter rebellion flare up in his brother's eyes. "So we're supposed to just shut up and do as we're told like good little soldiers, even when you're about to do something…"

John moved so fast Dean didn't even have a chance to jump in surprise. He caught Sam by the front of his shirt and pinned him against the Impala, his dark face inches from his son's. "You really want to finish that thought?" Sam gulped, but didn't respond.

John shook Sam's shoulders slightly. "I will leave you in the car," he growled, and Dean knew he meant it. Sam glanced briefly at his brother and Dean saw the indecision in his eyes. Since Sam had joined the hunt, he had taken his role of protecting Dean's back seriously and worried himself into a frenzy every time their Dad deemed the hunt too dangerous to take him along. Being left behind now would be sheer torture.

"Do you have something to say?" John reiterated, giving Sam another shake.

"Dad," Dean dared to interject, putting his hand on his father's arm. John shrugged him off but otherwise ignored him, intent on the stare down with his youngest.

"No, sir." Sam's voice was small in the still night air. John held his position for a moment longer before, apparently seeing what he wanted in the boy's eyes, he released him and stepped back.

Turning away, he stalked to the trunk of the Impala and opened it, his movements jerky with suppressed anger. Pulling out a shotgun, he opened the stock and loaded some salt rounds. It was a fairly new technique they had developed to use with ghosts, but so far was proving more effective than a handful of salt or an iron crowbar.

Dean silently accepted the gun and a walkie talkie as they were passed to him. They currently only had 2 shotguns in their arsenal. Their dad claimed the second and passed a crowbar to Sammy. Sam opened his mouth, probably to complain that he never got to use the gun, but he snapped it closed at a simple look from their father. Even he knew that he had crossed a line tonight. Their father wasn't going to tolerate another word from him for a while.

"Okay, you both know the plan." John's words were curt and his eyes darted to his youngest, daring him to protest. Sam jerked, but said nothing.

"Yes, sir," Dean replied dutifully. "We split up and check the separate wings of the house before meeting up in the central foyer." The separation was one of the things Sam had protested the most and Dean thought he had a point. There had been 3 cases over the past 5 years of people going in perfectly sane and suddenly turning on their friends in a crazy rage. In each case, the one affected by the ghost had split off from the group before returning changed. Four people had been beaten badly and one had almost died. The ones doing the beating reported being unsure what had set them off aside from feeling a cold and uncontrollable rage toward the people with them. Dean felt confident they could deal with the ghost, but he felt uneasy splitting up.

"Keep in touch with the walkies and if you get a good look at the ghost or find any clues as to his identity, get out of there and report in." John cracked open his own gun and then snapped it closed. Grabbing the duffel with the rest of their supplies, he closed the trunk and looked intently at his two sons. "Don't play the hero and don't engage it if you don't have to. We go in, we find out who this guy is, and we get out."

Sam opened his mouth again, but Dean elbowed him hard in the side. Seriously, for all his smarts, sometimes the kid didn't have the brains God gave a rubber duck. Sam grunted and glared at him, but kept quiet.

"Sam, you stay with your brother at all times and do exactly as he says. I don't want to hear another word from you for the rest of this hunt unless I specifically ask for it. Dean, report in at 15 minute intervals."

"Yes, sir," Dean replied, giving his father the response he knew he was waiting for. John looked pointedly at Sam and after a moment, he heard Sam's sulky echo.

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"You said you agreed with me," Sam hissed as they separated from their father and headed in the direction of the East Wing. Dean suppressed a sigh. "Why didn't you say anything?" His tone was hurt and betrayed.

Dean shrugged at the tension in his shoulders and peered warily into the gloom around them, alert to the slightest change. "You gotta pick your battles with Dad, Sam. You know that. He understands that this is dangerous. He doesn't like it either, but he obviously believes this is the best and fastest way to get the information we need. Now pipe down and keep a look out for this thing. I want to get what we're after and get out of here."

Sam scowled, but obeyed, holding his crowbar at the ready as he gazed warily about.

They searched each room in the vast house, adrenaline spiking each time they went through a door and waning when they found nothing. By the time they finished their sweep, Dean was exhausted.

The crackle of the walkie talkie made him jump. "Dean, you and Sam need to get back here." Their father's voice sounded tense. Dean wondered if he had found something. He hoped so. Between Sam's misgivings and his own, he felt a desperate desire to finish the job and get out of there.

Depressing the button, he replied, "We're on the third floor heading back. We'll meet you at the center staircase. Over."

"Copy."

Dean nudged Sam and his brother nodded, not taking his eyes from the darkness around them. When it came down to it, Sam was shaping into an excellent hunter. He had good ideas and great instincts. If only he could learn to trust Dad's greater experience and focus on his own part in each hunt, then maybe their family could find peace. He sighed…that wasn't going to happen as long as Dad persisted in playing drill sergeant and Sam kept pushing. He gave a soft laugh. He'd have a better chance of convincing them both to get a sex change operation and join a convent.

Sam gave him a quizzical look at the sound, but Dean shook his head and pressed on. He could see the silhouette of their father waiting in the hallway near the long staircase that wound down steeply to the ground floor. He slowed as he got near, some inner voice sounding a warning. He couldn't see his father's face in the gloom and all was still and peaceful around them, but something was off. He frowned.

"Did you find something?" Impatient with his brother's silence and slow speed, Sam pressed past Dean and addressed their father.

The voice of alarm in Dean's head rose in volume as their father suddenly moved. He stalked toward Sam, the younger boy taking a hesitant step back.

"What part of silence do you not understand, boy?" John growled, sparks of anger in his eyes and his entire body stiff with tension. "You push and push and push and then act surprised and hurt when I push back. If I found something, you will know about it when I am good and ready to tell you and not a moment sooner."

Their father's voice was growing in volume, and Sam squeaked in surprise when John reached him and gave him a sharp shove. Dean stepped forward. He didn't know what he thought he was going to do…calm his father down, protect Sam? That was crazy. Their dad would never hurt Sammy, even when he drove him to distraction…would he?

"What do I have to do to get it through your thick skull? I don't even know why I bring you along. You are a whiny, useless brat incapable of following simple orders." John punctuated each description with a sharp jab of a finger to Sam's chest.

Sam recoiled and then drew himself up in anger. Dean decided it was time to step in before things escalated beyond repair.

"Just a minute, Dad. Now isn't the time or place to…" John whirled on Dean, grabbed him and sent him flying. Dean was hitting the wall before the surprise of his father's actions hit him. John charged after him and sent a boot into his midsection.

"You always defend him…always coddle him. You are ruining him and turning him into a weak, pathetic excuse for a hunter." He landed another kick into Dean's side and Dean curled in on himself, gasping in pain and shock. He heard a yell of fury and suddenly his father was no longer beside him. He heard inarticulate howls, grunts and thuds, but he couldn't breathe through the pain stabbing through his ribs, and lights were flashing in front of his eyes.

He desperately tried to move. Something was very, very wrong. Somehow, the ghost must have gotten to their father. It was the only explanation. He would never act like this under normal circumstances, no matter how angry he got. Groaning in pain, he uncurled and crawled toward his dropped shotgun. He wasn't sure what he would do with it once he got there, but he had to do something.

A cry of fear from his brother distracted him from his goal. "No, Dad, please. I'm sorry. Please don't do this. Daddy?" He heard Sam's desperate plea and rolled over to see his father gripping Sam tightly, poised to throw him down the stairs to almost certain death below.

Their father didn't respond, merely growled and tensed his muscles.

Gasping in horror, Dean lunged forward and grabbed the shotgun. He didn't even think as he whirled and fired, the salt filling the air and the boom cracking through the halls of the old house. He was too late. He watched in slow motion as Sam was flung into the air of the long staircase. His dad shrieked as the salt hit him and the whole house shuddered. Something misty burst from his father and dissipated. John collapsed as Sam fell with a cry that was abruptly cut off by a series of thuds.

Dean could feel himself screaming as he scrambled past his dad and onto the stairs, but he couldn't hear anything apart from a ringing in his ears. Slipping and sliding in his haste to descend, he almost sent himself plunging head first after his brother, but managed to barely catch himself on the railing. Desperately, he righted himself and charged down the steps.

"Sammy!" he cried, seeing his brother lying motionless facedown, half on and half off the stairs below. "Sam!"

Sliding the last few feet to his kid brother's side, he barely restrained himself from flipping him over. Instead, he reached out a cautious hand to feel for a pulse in the boy's neck. His own trembling kept him from registering anything for a moment, and he prayed desperately for some sign, any sign that he hadn't lost the most important person in the world to him. After a moment, a weak thudding against his fingertips had him sobbing in relief.

"Dad!" he cried out desperately to the one he had always turned to instinctively in times of trouble. "Dad, help!" The words were out before he registered that he was calling for the very person who was responsible for this. He had no idea if the ghost was really gone or what his dad might do next.

He heard a groan from the gloom above him, but then finally, the thud of his father's footsteps echoed on the stairs. Part of him screamed to get Sammy and get out, away from the threat. The rest of him cried out in horror and a refusal to believe that his dad could ever hurt either of them. He compromised by curling himself over his brother's prone form and watching his father stumble down the stairs. He hoped that the spirit's influence was gone, but he was not going to let Sam get hurt anymore. If his dad showed even the slightest hint of anger…

"No, oh no, oh no, no, no, no…" His father moaned the word over and over as he approached his sons. The look on his face was pure devastation. "What have I done? What have I done?"

Sobbing in relief, Dean straightened up, allowing his father to carefully approach Sammy's too still form. A pool of blood was forming under his brother's head, and although he was desperate to find the source, he realized that his father was much more experienced in field triage and needed to find out the extent of the damage before they could move him.

Very gently, John's large hands ghosted over his youngest son's body, checking for signs of broken bones and trauma, particularly in his neck and back. Dean groped in his pockets for his flashlight and flipped it on to help his father. He gasped as the light glinted off a shard of bone sticking out of Sam's left thigh. His right arm also appeared to be twisted at a severe angle.

"I don't dare move him," his father finally said. "We need to get some help." He looked up at his son, but Dean glared back defiantly, daring him to order him away. John sighed. He glanced up the stairs and before Dean could say a word, was darting back up into the gloom. Dean returned his attention to his brother and before he knew it, his father was back with their duffel of supplies.

Taking out the canister of salt, he poured a thick circle around them, big enough to allow them room to maneuver as they treated Sammy. "Not sure how long we have before the ghost comes back," he muttered, and Dean simply nodded, his attention entirely on his fallen brother. In the next moment, his father was back with him, the first aid kit in hand. He pulled out a bunch of gauze and began packing it around the bone sticking out of Sam's leg, the source of the worst bleeding. He handed a bandage to Dean, and Dean silently began winding it around the packed gauze, putting pressure on the wound and hopefully slowing the seeping lifeblood.

John was checking the wound in Sam's head as much as he could without moving him. He grunted in frustration at his inability to access the laceration. Finally, he sat back.

"I'm going to go find a phone and call for an ambulance. Stay with him and stay in the salt. Keep him still if he starts to wake up." Before Dean could respond, his father was gone, running out of the house and leaving the front door swinging.

The next 30 minutes were the longest in Dean's life. Sam didn't stir and Dean felt himself growing even more frantic with each minute that passed. By the time the ambulance arrived, he had worked himself into a frenzy of panic and worry. He barely remembered being shoved away from his brother. He just remembered his dad's warm arms coming around him as they both struggled to come to terms with what had happened.

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Present Day

"I don't remember any of that," Sam said quietly. He put the last piece of tape in place to hold down the gauze on Dean's chest.

"It took you two weeks to wake up. We weren't even sure that you would make it for the first couple of days." Dean hissed as he levered himself into a sitting position against the headboard. "Honestly, it's kind of a big blur to me as well. When we were sure you were on the mend and going to make it, Dad went back and took care of the ghost. Apparently he had gleaned enough from the ghost's mind while it was possessing him to figure out who he was."

"Who was it?" Sam asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Dean barked a laugh. "Ironically, we think it was the ghost of a man who was possessed by a demon and forced to kill his entire family. When he realized what he had done, he took his own life. By possessing the people who came into the house, he was reliving his own trauma and forcing them to turn on those closest to them."

Dean absently took the water and pills his brother handed him, his eyes lost in remembrance. "And then, two weeks after the whole fiasco, you woke up and didn't remember anything. Honestly, after thinking that you were dead and that Dad had killed you, that was the worst part of the whole experience for me…you looking into my eyes and asking who I was. I seriously flipped out."

"I think I remember that," Sam said slowly. "I remember being really confused. My memories came back fairly quickly, but I never did remember what happened. The last thing I remembered was taking a test at school." He gave a short laugh before sobering quickly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"And add fuel to your feud with Dad? No way, Sammy. You didn't see the man during the time we were waiting for you to wake up. He was broken worse than I have ever seen. Even though we both knew it was the ghost forcing him to do those things, he still took it hard, especially considering the harsh words the two of you exchanged before the hunt. He honestly thought you might die with that between you."

Dean shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that didn't pull on his chest. "When you woke up and didn't remember anything…it was almost a blessing. He wanted to tell you anyway, to apologize, but I convinced him that it would be better to let it go and deal with it only if you remembered."

Sam gathered up the first aid supplies in thoughtful silence. He repacked the kit and threw the dirty gauze and Dean's torn bloody shirt in the trash before returning to sit on his bed, hands between his knees and his head bowed. Dean wished he could see his brother's face.

"I wish you had told me. I remember wondering what I had done to make Dad hate me. Neither one of you would tell me anything other than hunt gone bad. He was gone most of that summer as I healed, and even when he was there, he wouldn't look me in the eye. He barely even spoke to me." Sam looked up then, sadness in his eyes. "I started looking into colleges not too long after that."

Dean felt a jolt of remembered pain, but he simply nodded.

"Honestly, I'm surprised you forgave Dad so easily," Sam continued. "I remember you going off on anyone who hurt me whether it was accidental or not. Used to drive me crazy. Actually, it still does." He laughed slightly, but the sound was choked. "Then again, you always did forgive Dad and I for anything, even when you got hurt as the result of our actions." The self hatred and bitter regret was back in his tone.

"There was nothing easy about it." Dean waited until Sam met his gaze and held it for a while. "But that's what you do when you love someone…you forgive them even when they do something to hurt you." Sam's eyes teared up and he looked away. After a moment, he nodded shortly as he fought to get himself under control.

Dean nodded as well, satisfied that his point had been made and that his brother would think about that. "Now, I don't know about you, but I'm tired and I want to get some rest." Gingerly, he worked himself under the covers and closed his eyes. "If you want to make yourself useful," he mumbled sleepily, "wake me up in about 8 hours with some donuts and coffee…cherry cream filled, Sammy. Almost as good as pie."

He heard a huff of laughter from the bed beside him and drifted off to sleep, content that everything would be okay…eventually.

The End