This is my first really dramatic story, so I hope it doesn't suck out loud. I absolutely adored the Asylum episode, so I just had to write a fic about it.All reviews, both good and bad are welcome. Please enjoy.-Heather XOX
Disclaimer: Do you think that I own the Supernatural franchise? No, didn't think so.
Dean gripped the steering wheel of his 67' Chevy Impala with ivory knuckles, trying his best to keep them from shaking. He was sweaty and shivering at the same time, so he tugged his jacket closer around him in what he hoped was a subconscious looking motion. Dean could not afford to let his brother know that he was afraid.
Dean Winchester was afraid, alert the media. Out of the two siblings, Dean was never scared of anything, never had been. Sam was supposed to be the sensitive one, not him. Dean was the rock. The fortress of strength. The one who was unshatterable, reinforced like bulletproof glass.
But, that very fateful evening, Dean had been shattered.
His mind kept on flashing back to what had just happened in the asylum, just as they were driving away from it. He tried to push the thoughts away, but he couldn't. Dean could feel Sam's anxious gaze on him, but he didn't turn around. He didn't dare. He knew what would happen if he did. At that point, driving away from that god-forsaken insanity asylum, Dean didn't know if he could ever look his little brother in the eye again.
Sam had shot him. Pierced his body with a bullet. Well, he hadn't really, but he had tried to. God knows he tried to. And even though he had not been shot by a lead bullet, he had been shot, and although he wasn't killed, a part of him had died back there at that asylum.
Dean gave an unvoluntary flinch as he recalled the look of pure unadultered hatred that his baby brother had harbored in his eyes as he pulled the trigger of the unloaded handgun. That expression alone had killed Dean. Having to knock his Sammy out with a fierce punchput him in a coffin and buried him.
"Dean?" Dean heard his brother ask quietly through the fog of the horrid recent memories, and still Dean couldn't bear to look at Sam.
"What?" He snapped. He spotted a motel sign and pulled into the parking lot, willing the tiny beads of sweat dripping down his pale forehead to stop.
"Are you okay?" Sam's voice was hesitant, as though he wasn't sure of what to say, or how to say it.
"No, I'm not okay. About ten minutes ago, I was just killed by the one thing I cared most about in the world." That was what he wanted to say. What came out though, was, "I'm fine."
"Do you hate me?" Sam's voice trembled, and Dean see the expression on his brother's face without even looking at it.
"What kind of question is that?" He asked stoically.
"You know it wasn't my fault, and you still hate me! Dean, you have to know that I couldn't stop myself! I didn't mean any of it! I didn't mean a word I said!" Sam was on the verge of tears, Dean could tell.
"Yeah, Sam, I know." Dean said curtly, pulling into a parking space and pulling the keys out of the ignition.
"Are we going to be okay?" Sam asked, his words still quavering.
Deans reply struck Sam across the face like a slap.
"I don't know."