Disclaimer: I do not receive any profit for my fanfictions, nor do I own Supernatural or Sam and Dean Winchester. (Sorry, no funny stuff this time! I ran out of material in Thoughtless Memories!)

Title: Friends

Status: One-Shot; Complete

Setting: After Asylum

Summary: The brothers think back on what happened at the asylum…

Note: You won't get the title until the end of the story... sorry!

Warnings: self-hate; guilt

"Dean. Step back from the door." Dean turned around slowly, and his eyes went wide as he noticed the gun in his brother's hands.

"Sam, put the gun down." There was fear in Dean's eyes, even just slightly. And pain… But Sam didn't care. Nope. He just wanted his brother to pay.

"Is that an order?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrows. He had a maniacal grin on his face.

"No it's more of a friendly request," Dean said, becoming hesitant in his actions.

"Cause I'm getting pretty tired of taking your orders," Sam said, narrowing his eyes at his brother.

"I knew it; Ellicott did something to you, didn't he?"

"For once in your life, shut your mouth."

"What are you gonna do Sam? Gun's filled with rock-salt, it's not gonna kill me." Sam glared at his brother, then pulled the trigger. The blast sent Dean flying backwards. "Sam…" Sam actually started to return to normal, pulling away from Ellicott's grasp.. But then he pulled him back, and Sam was as angry as ever. "We gotta burn Ellicott's bones and all this'll be over, and you'll be back to normal."

"I am normal. I'm just telling the truth for the first time. I mean why are we even here? Cause you're following dad's orders like a good little soldier? Cause you always do what he says without question? Are you that desperate for his approval?"

"This isn't you talking Sam," Dean said, seeming to be pleading with his little brother.

"That's the difference between you and me, I have a mind of my own; I'm not pathetic like you." The next thing he knew, Dean had handed Sam a gun. Wait. What?

"You hate me that much? You think you can kill your own brother? Then go ahead, pull the trigger." Sam hesitated for a moment, looking at the gun. "Do it!" He then pointed the gun at his brother and pulled the trigger.

"Dean!" Sam woke up suddenly, his heart pounding, sweat glistening on his skin. He looked around, breathing hard, and was a little surprised when his brother ran out of the bathroom, looking worried. It was obviously morning, and Dean's hair was wet, so he had just taken a shower.

Sam stared at his brother for a minute, urging his breathing to go back to normal. Dean stared back, before walking over. "Yes?" Dean asked, being the smart ass that he was.

Sam shook his head, looking away from his brother. "Nothing. I'm fine." Dean shrugged and started towards the bathroom. But, no, Sam wouldn't let it end like that. He couldn't. "Dean."

Dean turned around and faced his brother, looking annoyed. "What, Sam?"

"I'm sorry," Sam said softly, tears coming to his eyes.

"I'm fine, don't worry about it," Dean said, turning towards the bathroom. Sam knew he was lying. He could always tell when Dean was, and this time wasn't any different. Dean wasn't fine. He was far from it.

"I don't hate you, Dean," Sam said, causing his brother to freeze mid-step.

Dean faced Sam slowly, shaking his head. "Why can't we just drop it?"

"Because you're not listening to me!" Sam yelled, getting out of his bed. He stormed over to his brother. "That's why."

"I did listen to you, Sam. Right before you shot me," Dean said, narrowing his eyes at his little brother. He shook his head, then turned towards the bathroom. Sam moved quickly, blocking his brother's path. Dean laughed in annoyance, shaking his head. "Fine. You want me to listen? Then start talking."

"Dean, I don't hate you," Sam repeated as his brother looked away from him. Dean walked over to his bed and sat down, still avoiding his brother's eyes. "I didn't mean --"

"Yeah, you did," Dean said, looking up at his brother. "You weren't possessed. He just brought out your anger. I always told you it wasn't good to bottle stuff up, Sammy."

Sam sighed slightly, shaking his head. How was he going to explain himself. "Dean, okay, I meant most of it. But I don't think you're pathetic and I don't hate you. Dean, you're my older brother. I lo --"

"No, you don't," Dean said, standing up. "And I'm okay with that. I understand. Damnit, Sam, just drop it already."

"Do you remember the shape shifter?" Sam asked, crossing his arms.

"Yes, I do," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "What about him?"

"Before you woke up he told me what you were thinking," Sam said softly. Dean immediately became interested. "He told me that you had issues with me. That you were jealous because I went to college while you staid home with Dad. About how Dad needed us and I abandoned you two…And I'm sorry that I did that. But, you know what, Dean?"

Dean straightened up a bit, crossing his arms. "What?"

"Him ranting to me about your thoughts and me ranting to you about my thoughts is the exact same thing," Sam said, trying desperately to defend himself.

Dean shook his head, smiling slightly in his annoyed way. "No, it's not. Fine, you were angry beyond reason because of the doc. You wouldn't have ever said those things. I get that. I wouldn't have told you what the shape shifter told you, either. But there was one big difference, Sam. I didn't try to shoot you."

Sam sighed slightly walking over to his bed and sitting down. He shook his head. "You know what? Fine. I give up. You just don't listen."

"I do. I just understand more than you're telling me," Dean said before heading back over to the bathroom.

Sam shook his head and grabbed the journal he had kept since he was a boy. Well, it wasn't the same journal the whole time, of course. He had quite a few of them. Sam sighed and started writing.

Dean walked out of the bathroom, sighing. He looked around the room, noticing Sam wasn't there. Well… good. He didn't want to look at the face of someone who hated him, anyway.

Dean walked over to his bed, putting his head in his hands. As he looked up for a moment, a journal on Sam's bed caught his eye. It was open, and it looked like Sam had just previously written in it. He hated to pry, but…

Dean grabbed the journal and started reading.

I don't know what to do to make Dean understand. Honestly, I don't blame him. I shot him. My own brother. Even if the second gun was unloaded, I aimed it right at his head and pulled the trigger. So how could he understand the concept of me not hating him when I would have killed him had the gun been loaded? I don't even fully understand it myself…

All I know is that I love my brother. He was always there for me, no matter what. To pick me up when I fell down, to help me with school even though he was bad at it himself… He was always there to help me, to be my big brother… To protect me and look out for me… But I abandoned him. I left him so I could go to college. He was always there for me, and I just left him… And last night I shot him.

Damn, if the places had been reversed, I would think there would be a lot of hate directed my way, too. So I don't blame Dean for thinking that. I would have been hurt beyond all reason. If Dean had shot me… I would have died, even if the gun was unloaded. For me to turn on him like that… I can barely imagine what he's thinking.

I just wish he'd understand. I know it's a lot to ask, but I really need him too. The whole time I was at Stanford he was what I thought about. I always wondered if he was still alive, or if some supernatural creature had managed to finally defeat him… I was so scared for him…

I could never count on anyone ever to just be there for me. Not even myself. But I could count on Dean. He was the only one. And I know that I can still count on him. That I can still trust him to have my back and watch out for me, making sure I don't get killed. I can still do that. I just wish he knew that he could count on me, too…

I realize that it's all my fault. Mom's death, Jessica's death…Dean's pain…Everything is my fault. Maybe Mom should've let the thing take me… Maybe people wouldn't have such horrible lives, or no life at all, if she had…Maybe Dean wouldn't feel burdened, and wouldn't feel all the pain he's feeling right now…Maybe it would be best if I just left.

Yeah. It would be.

Dean set the book down, registering this information for a moment. He read the last two lines over and over again, then his heart started to quicken. Wait. Sam left?

Dean quickly got off the bed and grabbed his shoes, slipping them on. He grabbed his jacket and ran out of the room. He met up with a woman who was also staying at the motel, and grabbed a picture of Sam from his back pocket. Yeah… he kept a picture of Sam.

"Excuse me, but have you seen this man?" Dean asked quickly.

The woman looked over the picture, then nodded. "Yes. We had a nice little chat. He told me he was going down the road to Denny's."

"Thanks," Dean said before running to his Impala. He started the engine and quickly peeled out of the parking lot, starting to drive down the road.

If something had happened to Sam… if something attacked him… No, Dean couldn't think that way. Nothing was going to happen to Sam. It's just, Dean always felt okay about things not happening to Sam because he was always right by his side. Even when they split up in haunted places or something he was always a yell away. Or a cell phone call away.

Wait! That was it!

Dean grabbed his cell phone and quickly dialed Sam's number. It started ringing, then Dean heard a nice little toon from the passenger's seat. He groaned and turned off his phone.

Dean pulled into Denny's parking lot and turned off the engine, quickly getting out of his car. He ran towards the font door and looked around, sighing in relief when he noticed Sam in a far booth. He was swirling a cup of coffee, looking down at the table.

Dean walked over to the booth and sat down across from him. Sam looked up, and, noticing Dean, looking a bit surprised.

"Sam, don't you ever think that you need to leave to make people happy, alright?" Dean was looking his brother in the eye, and tears were coming to his own, as much as he hated to admit it. "It hurt that you shot me, yes, but it'd hurt worse if you were suddenly gone."

"You read my journal?" Well, it was obvious, but there was no shame in asking. Sam leaned back in the booth, sighing.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I did."

Of course, Dean didn't even give Sam an apology for going through his things, but Sam didn't seem to mind at the moment. "I was hoping you would, actually." Oh, that's why.

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "Why?"

Sam shrugged. "Because you didn't hear me. You listened, but you didn't hear me."

Dean nodded slightly, nodding. "Yeah… Sorry."

"I don't hate you, Dean. I never could," Sam said, crossing his arms. He was protecting himself, incase Dean decided to not believe him again.

"I know," Dean said, nodding. "I know, Sam."

Sam sighed and uncrossed his arms. "And I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

Dean nodded again. "I know you are."

There was silence for a moment, then Sam spoke up again. "Do you hate me?"

Dean smiled slightly, shaking his head. "No. I don't hate you. I never could."

Sam smiled slightly, nodding. "So you really don't want me to leave?"

"Sam, you can't get rid of me that easily. You're stuck with me," Dean said, grinning. He stood up. "Let's go, little bro."

Sam smiled and stood up. He hesitated for a moment, then spoke. "Dean, are we friends?"

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, furrowing his brow.

"I know we're brothers, and we do what all brothers are supposed to do. But are we friends?" Sam asked, glancing away from each other for a moment.

"If two people who were related, and weren't friends, went on a 'road trip' together, they'd end up killing each other," Dean said, laughing slightly. His smile quickly dropped. "Uh…"

"I know what you mean," Sam said, laughing slightly.

Dean smiled. "We're friends, Sammy. Always."

Dean: What kind of dumbass question is that? 'Are we friends?' Please.

Sam: So, what, you believe that outside of Haley's stories?

Dean: Of course I do.

Haley: Aw, how touching. Anyway, review please! Ciao!