Summary: Sam and Dean have a necessary talk after the events at the asylum. I know this has been done already, but it's just one of those things you have to write to satisfy yourself. Spoilers obviously for "Asylum." Smaller, subtle references to other episodes.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Trust
"Dean, we need to talk about this."
Dean kept his gaze forward, on the road. "Nothing to talk about, Sammy."
"Dean, come on."
"What? We see some crazy stuff out there. Stuff crazier than we can even explain. That stuff is evil, Sammy, pure evil. So the things that happen while we're hunting—they don't mean as much. When we're out there, surrounded by evil, stuff happens. Neither of us can do anything about that."
His explanation was logical, but Sam knew he brother well enough to know it was a façade. "But this was different. I shot you."
"Wasn't you."
"Yes, it was," Sam said. "Don't you get it? Those feelings—those were mine, they're real. I may have lacked some inhibition, they may have been stepped up a notch, but that doesn't change the fact that they were mine and that I knew what I was doing when I pulled the trigger."
Dean's face was set like stone, his eyes unblinking.
Sam was incredulous. "Dean, we can't keep pretending that nothing is happening. Stuff is happening. Mom died, Dad disappeared, Jessica died, we hunt evil—we keep avoiding it all. And maybe that works for you and Dad, but when I pull the trigger at my own brother, I think it's something we need to deal with."
Something inside Dean snapped. He slammed on the breaks, bringing the car to a screeching halt on the shoulder. His eyes blazing, he looked at his brother. "And what is it that you think we're going to say? Sorry? Oops? My bad? How is any of that going to make anything better?"
Sam flinched at the animosity in Dean's voice. He swallowed. "I just think we need to be honest with one another. If we're going to work together, be partners in this and find Dad, we need to be unified."
"Well, I'm unified, I'm just not so sure about you."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Come on, Dean. You think I don't know there's anger lurking right under your surface too."
"How would you have any idea."
"The shape-shifter. He knew you, Dean, inside and out. He told me things—about the way you resented me for going to college, for leaving you."
"That thing wasn't me." Dean bristled and looked out the window.
"No, but it knew everything about you. It knew the way you acted, the way you talked. He knew to call me 'little brother' and exactly how to beat me at a fight. So no, it wasn't you, but that doesn't mean it didn't speak some of the truth you've tried to hide from me since the day I left."
"What do you want me to say, Sammy? You want me to cry into your shoulder so we can both hug for awhile. It's not going to change anything."
"Just tell me the truth," Sam said.
Dean's eyes met Sam's. "The truth? You're the one who pulled the trigger."
Dean's words cut at Sam. "Yeah. I did. I would give anything to take that back. Anything. But I can't. But I can tell you what happened, what I felt, what I feel. I think you know that I hate this life. You have to see it. You had to see it then, and you have to see it now. I can feel the evil all around me and I feel it eating away at me. I never found the hunt satisfying. But that's all there is in this family. There's no room for anything else. So I have spent my entire life struggling to find a way to fit into this family that didn't involve sacrificing who I was. That was a battle I lost the day Dad kicked me out.
"Don't you think that broke my heart, Dean? No matter what you think, I loved you and Dad, and I respected you. All that time I spent rebelling, I was just looking for approval. I was desperate for some attention. Because with a big brother like you who did everything right, attention wasn't exactly easy to find," Sam said, looking at his hands. He swallowed hard. "I hated you for it. I hated you for always taking his side. I hated you for rejecting me just like he did."
Sam shook his head, looking back at his brother. "I hated it, Dean. It wasn't just because I was selfish. You had to see that. Didn't you? Didn't you see that I hated it? Don't you see it now? Don't you get that there are days when I would rather kill myself than hunt again? I've tasted insanity, and the only thing I've realized is that I'm closer to it than I'd like to admit. And if I don't talk about it, if I don't tell you about the way I'm dying inside, and the way I've resented you, then I'm afraid I may really lose it." Sam stopped, his voice cracking. "I never want to pull the trigger again, Dean, but I need your help."
Dean's eyes were firmly locked on some indefinable point out the car window. There was no traffic on the small highway, and the day was clear and hot. "You think it was easy for me?"
Sam didn't reply.
Dean looked at him. "Do you think it was easy? I have a father who has devoted his life to the hunt. I have a brother who wants nothing to do with it. They can't see eye to eye, and each one thinks I should be on their side. I can't make everyone happy, Sam, and I can't be everything everybody else wants. And in the end I knew that Dad needed me. Mom needed me. You don't remember that night, Sammy, but everything changed. When Mom died, a lot of Dad died with her. The only thing that held him together was avenging her death. The only peace either of them are going to find is if we can find that thing and kill it. At least, that's what I always told myself, but I've always known that it's just an illusion. But if that illusion makes him happy, then I owe it to him to help him.
"And you should have understood that. You should understand it now. You wouldn't even be out here with me if it wasn't for Jessica's death. You've never been able to look past your own nose to see the bigger picture, you're just—" Dean stopped himself, calming his breathing. "I've always just tried to find the right balance, Sam. Trying to keep everyone happy, everyone safe. I would give anything for you, Sam, and you know how many times I've laid my life on the line for you. I'm sorry that you never got the approval you needed, but keeping this family together and alive has always been my priority since Dad put you in my arms and told me to get you out of the house. Then you turn the gun on me? You pull the trigger on me?"
Sam trembled. "I'm sorry." He blinked rapidly and looked away. "Nothing I can say would ever make this right."
"Damn straight, little brother," Dean snapped.
Sam shook his head, trying to contain his sobs. He fumbled at the door. "I'm sorry," he mumbled again.
"Sam…"
The door opened, and Sam exited the car.
"Sam."
But Sam broke into a run, heading across the field.
Dean's anger simmered as he watched Sam move farther and farther from the car. He thought about the anger on Sam's face in the asylum. The same anger he remembered seeing after fights he had with their father, the same anger Sam repressed time and time again throughout his adolescence. Dean had always known Sam was angry. He just hadn't realized how broken he had been.
His anger melted into guilt. He swore, opening his own door and heading after his brother.
ooooooooooo
Sam ran. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't think about it. He just had to run.
He needed to run from his childhood, from his father's legacy, from the death of his mother and Jessica. He needed to run from hunting, from Dean, from his failure.
And he had failed.
He had failed everything. He couldn't make a normal life. He couldn't fit in with his family. He failed to save Jessica. He failed to make his father proud. He failed to understand his brother.
He could have killed his brother.
In that moment, he wanted to kill his brother.
He felt sick.
As his stomach heaved, he tripped, stumbling to his knees. He was on all fours, panting. The world spun and his stomach expelled its few contents.
He wanted to get rid of everything. He wanted to throw up his past, his anger, his guilt, his future.
As he was reduced to dry heaves, sobs racked his body.
ooooooooooo
Sam could outrun him usually, but he could tell his baby brother was not in full control of his senses. He was gaining on him. He saw his brother fall to his knees suddenly and he picked up the pace.
Sam was heaving by the time he reached him, sobbing so hard that he didn't hear Dean's approach.
"Sam? Sammy?"
He fell to his knees beside his brother. "Sammy? You okay?"
Sam didn't reply, his whole body shaking violently, his breaths uneven and hitched.
He wrapped his arm around his brother, rubbing his back. "It's okay, it's okay. Just breathe."
He held him until his breathing evened.
Pulling away from him and sitting back, Sam turned his red eyes at his brother. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. For today, for everything. The best thing I can do for you is to get as far away from you as possible."
"Sam, come on—"
"No, Dean. For all we know this has always been about me. Mom, Jessica—they died over my head. I'm the one with the shining. I'm the curse on this family. Maybe what we've always been hunting is me, which is why I hated it so much. Because I knew it was me. All the times you've saved me, and I killed you. There's a darkness in me I can't control. I can't do it anymore."
"It's not true, Sam."
"Isn't it, though? Think about it."
"No, Sam," Dean said, louder, more insistent. "It's not. Look at me."
Sam kept staring at the ground.
He grabbed Sam's chin, making him meet his gaze. "You are not responsible for what happened to this family. Okay? It is not your fault. I don't know why things happened to us the way they do, and I don't know what's happening to you, Sam, but it's not your fault. We may blame each other for these little things—"
"Little things, Dean? I tried to kill you."
"And I tried to keep you in a life you hated for years and years and years. Neither of us are innocent in this, Sam. We can't expect ourselves to live normally when we surround ourselves with every supernatural entity we can find. You would never kill me, Sam. I saw you hesitate. I saw the uncertainty in your eyes. But I pushed you and pushed you because I needed your weakness to help you."
Sam sniffled, wiping his nose. "I can't do this, Dean. I can't live like this."
"Yes, you can."
"I don't trust myself."
"I trust you."
Sam looked up, met his brother's eyes with uncertainty. "After what I did to you?"
"Completely. Without question. I can't change what's happened to us in the past. I'm sorry for not being there for you. I'm sorry for giving you no one to turn to. It's not like that, Sam, it doesn't have to be. Honesty isn't easy for me, but I'm sorry for not giving it to you when you needed it. I told you relationships are a two-way street, but you've been trying to talk to me since the minute I walked back into your life. It's time to start talking back. I'm sorry. I know you trust me with your life—do you trust me with everything else?"
Sam hesitated, pulling himself together. There was a sincerity in his brother's eyes, a truth had never seen before. Their history was laced with misunderstanding, hatred, and betrayal. But that didn't mean there future had to be the same. He smiled slightly. "I always have."