Summary: Sam shoots Dean in Asylum, Dean POV. Big pile o' angst, as usual.


Salt in the Wound

He hadn't thought that Sam would really do it, but it never hurt to be prepared, so he'd unloaded the gun (they're hunting ghosts, so a gun with lead or silver bullets wouldn't even work) and put it back where it belonged in the small of his back.

Then he'd gone to look for him in the basement. What those kids had said about Sam answering a call from Dean, even though he hadn't made one, well, that was suspicious. And Dean knows that supernatural beings are quite capable of manipulating electronics, including cell phones.

So he's not in the least bit surprised that Sam finds him and points his shotgun at him. Possessed by the spirit, probably. Or affected, or something. Not himself. Because Sam would never point a gun at him, loaded or not. Dad had always drilled it into them that you don't point a gun at someone unless you're willing to kill them. Same idea goes for guns loaded with salt rounds.

Dean doesn't want to get blasted in the chest with salt either, 'cause that stuff burns like a bitch, so he tries to stall, get Sam (or the spirit or whatever) to ya know, change his mind. It doesn't work, just pisses him off even more and the shit ends up blasting into his chest anyway. It stings like a mother.

It hurts, too, that the reason Sam shoots him in the first place isn't to kill him. No, it's to hurt him. And the things he says, they sting as much as the salt (almost, or maybe more, he's not quite sure on that front).

"Good little soldier." "Pathetic." "Desperate for approval."

It hits him right where it hurts, because it's all true, he knows it is, in the back of his mind, in the bottom of his heart, he's always known. Sam's always been the rebellious one, the one Dad always paid more attention to (not that Dean minded; Sam deserved his attention, his love). But it hurts that Sam's the one saying it.

But Sam's not himself. Dean has to fix that.

So he offers the gun, the gun that he'd unloaded in preparation. Sam doesn't know it doesn't have bullets, real bullets that can kill, in it.

And it kills him (not literally, dumbass), that his brother takes it. He actually takes it and fires it. Not only does he fire it, he cleans out the entire clip, looking perfectly frustrated that there are no bullets in the damn thing.

It provides enough of a distraction for Dean to get up and knock him out.

But damn, it hurts, it burns. Sam had taken the gun from him and shot it, knowing full well that he could have, would have, killed Dean. Sure, he hadn't been in his right mind, but still. It hurt. And once hadn't been enough for him. He'd hated him enough to shoot more than once, twice, the whole clip.

It hurts, but Dean's good at dealing with pain. He pushes it back into the corner of his mind where he keeps his most painful memories, and takes it all out on Ellicott.

Burn in Hell, ghostie.

But when he's alone in the crappy-motel-room-of-the-week's bathroom, tweezering out all the little bits of salt embedded in his chest (he doesn't let Sam within five feet of him, because the look in those damn puppy eyes just…frickin' guilty puppy eyes), he lets the memory drain back into the forefront of his mind, lets the pain, the insecurity flicker in his heart.

Maybe Sam is right to be angry at him, to hate him. Maybe one day he'll really be mad enough to take the gun and pull that trigger. Twice, three times. Because mad at Dad's always meant mad at the world, mad about hunting, mad at Dean. Disappointed in Dean. Maybe he secretly hates him for dragging him away from Jessica that night, back into hunting. Maybe, maybe…

Sam raps on the door. "You sure you don't want me to do it? I could. I mean, I've got steadier hands. It wouldn't…hurt as much. Dean? You okay?"

He folds the memory up and puts it back into the box in the corner of his mind where he keeps all the hurt in his life, and locks it.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I don't need a friggin' nurse, 'specially not one as ugly as you, bitch."