For those of you who were concerned, Blindsided is not on hold or forgotten, I will go back to writing/posting it early next week once finals are over...this was just a time-filler when I was waiting to meet with someone and I didn't have Blindsided with me, so fear not, we'll all figure out what happens to Sammy soon...as soon as my muses let me know what happens...

Chapter 2

I killed my brother today. Not in the sense that I put a gun to his head and blew his brains out, but in the fact that I refused to talk to him, refused to even look at him after what happened in that asylum. I had found all of the information Ellicott had written on his freaky experiments and I still led Sam back into that room, not making sure that the spirit hadn't gotten hold of him before I did so. I should have known better, and by forgetting to put Sam first…again…I killed him. I could have stopped him when I had the chance, when he threw down the shotgun, but I didn't. I could have stopped him before that, didn't have to give him the gun and let him tear himself apart, but I didn't. I watched to see what he would do, knowing full well that he wasn't completely in control, and I saw the twitches every time Ellicott twisted his words around. I saw the hatred in his eyes, and that cut me to the core, yes, but I also saw the pain and fear there, and I exploited him. I had to see how badly he could be affected, and I tore his heart out doing so.

Sam was always the sensitive one, I knew that, but I still let him suffer. Not just then, but afterwards too. He's always needed to talk about things to make them better; I've always just put them passed me. It's a difference that I don't think either of us understands, but it's one that we've both tried to accommodate over the years. I knew that he needed to talk about what happened, but I was too angry with myself, and I guess with him too, to talk right then. Hell, I'm still to angry about it now, but I'm not sure who I'm more annoyed with. Sam because he shot at me four times, and was too weak to overcome Ellicott before he could take over completely? Or myself because I'm the older brother and I'm still hanging him out to dry?

Everything Sam said today was the truth. I am pathetic, I do act like Daddy's good little soldier, I don't have a mind of my own. I've been so caught up in John's crusade for so long that I forget what it can do to you if you don't take a step back for a moment. Even Dad takes a break now and then, but I've been so wrapped up in finding him that I've forgotten to stop and remember that Sam and I are both only human, we both need to see something natural every once in a while. Especially Sam. He's had a taste of the ever-elusive normal lifestyle, and coming back to this must be a bitch to him. And I never gave him a chance to re-acclimate himself to it. What kind of big brother am I that I pushed him so hard until I killed him?

I don't know what had ever possessed me to carry the gun empty, I suppose that I knew somehow that it would go after me or Sam, and I couldn't take the chance that real bullets would fly from the gun if I couldn't control Ellicott, if I couldn't control myself. So I left the bullets in his office, and went to find Sam. I thought I could keep him safe that way, but instead I managed to kill him. I tugged on his very heartstrings, battling against the knowledge that he might very well remember all of this, and I goaded him on. I yelled at him to pull the trigger, knowing that he could never go against what I yelled. It was something Dad had instilled in us when we were just little kids, and I knew that Sam would react to it still. I needed him off-guard so I could knock him out, needed to let unconsciousness claim him so that I could protect him.

None of it mattered. It didn't matter that I had found and killed Ellicott, didn't matter that I had protected Sammy. The damned doctor got to me too, and though he couldn't finish his 'treatment', I could still feel his anger coursing through me. This was only a glimpse of what Sam must have been feeling, but it was enough to drive me mad. I knew this, and I still didn't care when he tried to apologize. I knew that he wouldn't really know what to say, how do you apologize for doing something beyond your control, but I didn't make it any easier for him.

Hell, the first thing I said to him was to ask him if he was going to try and kill me. I don't know why I said it, don't know what good it would have done, but for some God-forsaken reason, I felt the need to try and be humorous. It fell horribly flat. And I was mad. Damn it if Sam couldn't realize that I needed some time to calm down, but all I could think of was that my baby brother had shot me, and now he couldn't even share my joke. I saw him rubbing his jaw, saw that he couldn't even close his mouth because of what I had done to him, and still I was more annoyed that he couldn't find some humor in the situation and make me feel better. Damn, I didn't realize I was that selfish.

So when he quietly asked if I could re-set his jaw, I did so more forcefully than I needed to. I stood in back of him and pulled the bone back into place. I had done my job, and I knew it was back where it belonged, so why the Hell did I feel the need to keep yanking on it until it almost slid back out, until Sam was almost crying in pain? I can't tell you, but when he stood up, I could see that I had ripped open his chest with my bare hands and the hatred seeping out of my eyes and very being; ripped it open and pulled out his still-beating heart. I broke my brother and there is nothing I can do to fix him up again. I don't know how to do the mushy stuff, and damn it if that's what Sam has always needed. I've always known that he needs to spit out everything and hear that it's all right, I know that, but I don't know how to do that. It's the most infuriating thing in the world, but a simple conversation would always make him better and I don't know if I can figure out how to give that to him.

I could look back on all the times I've failed him over the years; being the older brother kind of makes you the sworn protector. But I've never really been good at that. I've almost gotten him killed by a Woman in White, a pissed off poltergeist in a plane, Bloody Mary, and…myself…although that was a shapeshifter. And those are just in the past few months. There was that Wendigo when we were kids, and the car, and the black dog thing; I could go on forever. And every time something's happened like that, the kid just keeps coming back for more. All he wanted in return was the occasional hug when we were smaller, and for me to know that it was okay, that nobody was perfect.

And how do I repay him? I cut out his heart by telling him that I'm not in the caring, sharing kind of mood. I blew him off for a few hours of sleep. And have I gotten that sleep anyway? No, of course not. I took a shower and bound my ribs. The scars that the rock salt is going to leave are the least of a plethora of punishments I deserve for what I've done to my Sammy. He's my little brother, was my little shadow. He looked up to me and expected me to know all the right answers. And all I could ever manage to do was use him as bait. Even when he thought he was coming up with the idea, it was in the back of my head first, and I had to let him do it. I had to use my baby brother to keep on killing the evil sons of bitches that my father made my life's work. What kind of a brother am I?

One that kills his baby brother. Over and over, a little bit more each day. But this time I didn't just take a chunk of his 'normal' life away, didn't pull on a little bit of his soul just that much more. No, I betrayed him for my own sake and mutilated him. I refused to look at him, or let him apologize, or even let him talk to me. And I wish I could have taken that car ride back the minute I walked out the door of the motel, leaving him to his own devices so that I could sit out in the Impala and beat my fists on the steering wheel. I needed to inflict more pain on myself to convince myself that everything would be all right. I've never been one for crying, Dad made sure of that, but as I sit here now, tears are pouring down my cheeks and I don't know what to do about it.

Sam should have gotten away from me when he had the chance. He tried to when he left for college, but I had to go and drag his ass back into the game. I had to feel like I wasn't truly alone, and so I went and practically begged him to leave behind his apple pie life and follow me. I knew before I'd even gotten there that he would try to say no, but he could never really say no to me, not and mean it. He always was able to get Dad to relent on something, so whenever I needed to get out of trouble with him, I'd ask Sam. And even if he'd agreed with Dad, when I asked him to, he couldn't agree with the man. I wondered often when Sam left if I had caused that too. Dad argued with Sam so much on my behalf that I think it was all they knew how to do after a while. And then Sam left to get away from it. Another thing to chalk up to my list of mistakes.

So I went to Stanford and got Sam to come help me find Dad, and he didn't say no. Then he tried to go back to his life, but whatever evil thing latched onto Sam when he was a baby wouldn't let him, and killed his girl to make sure that he couldn't get away. I watched as he tore himself apart those first few hunts, trying to get himself killed so that he could join Jess, but I was his older brother and couldn't let that happen. And slowly the guilt started to fade into the background of his mind, letting him settle back into this life. He should have gotten far away from me then, should have stayed in East Chuck, with that girl we saved from the Hookman. He could have died there too, but if anything, my brother's a stubborn son of a bitch, and nothing like that could get him. No, it was his brother, supposedly his best friend, that killed him. We used to be best friends, closer than average brothers were. We rarely fought, and because we were all we had most days, we got used to being around each other. I only remember wanting him to not be around on one day, and that would never happen again.

And now I've driven him as far away as I can. By not talking to him, not letting him know how I feel about all this, I managed to alienate him so badly that I can't think of how I could have made it up to him.

So now he's sitting inside the motel room and I'm out here. I've only been out here for a half hour or so, but it's enough time to make me realize that for my brother's sake, and so that we can head out in a few days watching each other's backs and able to laugh at some stupid thing, I need to get my ass back into that room and sit down and talk to him. I need to make him realize that it's all right to be angry with me, but that I'm not angry with him; not any more. I need to save my brother.

From himself, it seems to the older Winchester as he opens the door to the motel room. For there, sitting on the bed closest to the door, is Sam and his gun. Dean doesn't think, knows that if he does nothing else, he needs to save his brother one more time, and dives for his brother, praying that it isn't too late.
TBC…

Hides behind very large attack dog please don't kill me? And review if you can? Tries to grin innocently