A/N: First off I would like to say that my first fic, My Brother's Keeper will play a part in this, but you don't really have to read it first. Any mention I make of it will be explained.

Okay guys, here it is! I know a lot of you were disappointed by having Dean not know what he did in the last story, so I hope this makes you happy. He will find out, rest assured. This is a tag to Asylum, but from there it will go into a story. I know the fear thing has been done before, but I couldn't help myself. Hope you all like it.

Warnings: Language, maybe some violence later.

Disclaimer: Don't own the boys.

A Familiar Fear

Chapter 1: Anger

Sam Winchester sat, slouched in the passenger seat of the Impala. For once the pounding mulletrock was not distracting him from his thoughts. 'The one time I want it to.' Sam thought dejectedly. His brother, Dean had cranked the music up as soon as they got into the car, not giving Sam the chance to even think about opening his mouth. Sam was expecting the brush off. The Winchesters were not the kind of people who talked about their feelings, 'the Winchesters' meaning Dean and John. Sam thought talking was perfectly normal, and at times, even necessary.

Sam pushed those thoughts to the side and put the focus back on his own guilt. He had shot his brother. He had shot Dean, intending to kill him. It was true that he had been possessed by the ghost of Sanford Ellicot, the crazy doctor from the Roosevelt Asylum, but part of it was still him. He would never think about killing his brother, or even saying the words he had told Dean, but it had still happened. The words had been there, deep down inside of him, and they had come out. Sam could only silently thank whoever was listening that the gun hadn't been loaded.

The youngest Winchester could tell that Dean was angry. Who wouldn't be after their brother just tried to murder them with their own gun? Sam knew his earlier apology was not going to mend the gap between them. It would take much more than that. Sam could also tell that Dean was hurting. They had been driving for some time. The older hunter had wanted to put as much distance between them and Rockford, Illinois as he possibly could.

Sam couldn't blame him. He would like nothing more than to forget what he had almost done to his older brother, but he couldn't. Neither could Dean. It might be like pulling teeth, but Sam would get Dean to talk to him. A talking Dean was a good Dean, even if it were just him saying how much he hated Sam at the moment. At least it would be progress.

Sam saw Dean rub his chest again, and couldn't take it anymore. "Do you want me to drive?" Sam asked softly after turning the music down.

"No." Dean snapped. His hand quickly left his ribs to jerk the volume dial up, before going back to the wheel. He didn't look at Sam, but kept his eyes glued to the dark road ahead.

Sam stayed quiet until they entered a small town. His hand repeated the action of silencing the music. He could see Dean's jaw clench in annoyance, but ignored it. "Can we find a motel?"


They were lucky enough to find a small motel, attached to a Mexican restaurant. The lights that made up a man with a sombrero flickered over the vacancy sign. Sam idly wondered how hard it would be to find some tequila. That might lighten up his brother's sour mood. He could remember one time right before he left for Stanford, when Dean had gotten thoroughly trashed on Southern Comfort. This was John's attempt to comfort his oldest son after a particularly painful injury. Dean had never been so talkative in his life.

At the time Sam had been fearful for his brother's life, but looking back on it now, it was quite amusing. Sam shook the funny memory from his mind as Dean parked the car. When his older brother moved to get out Sam started, "I can check us in if you-"

The sound of the door creaking shut cut Sam off. "...want." He finished with a sigh. The stress of the whole situation was starting to add to the headache Dr. Ellicot had left behind. It was going to be a long couple of days.

Dean returned quickly. He easily hid the pain he must have been in, but Sam could see it. It was all in the way his brother held himself, slightly hunched over and taking smaller steps. Dean grabbed his duffle bag and let himself into the room farthest away from the restaurant. He didn't acknowledge Sam once. It was definitely going to be a long couple of days.

Sam got out of the car and got his bag before closing the trunk. He started towards the building, but stopped. A chill ran through his body, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He looked back into the shadows, feeling the prickly sensation grow. In a matter of moments the feeling was gone, and had Sam wondering if it had even been there in the first place. He put it in the back of his mind and continued on.

By the time Sam got into the room Dean was already in the bathroom. Sam sat down on one of the twin beds and looked around. The room was dingy, unlike many of the motels Sam had stayed in throughout his life. Smoke had turned the patterned walls yellow, and the hunter hardly had any interest in what the stains on the floor were. Sam shrugged it off, knowing they had stayed in worse places. He laid back and started counting the brown water stains on the ceiling, waiting for Dean to come out.


Dean winced while he stared at his bruised chest. The bruises Sammy had given him. They had given each other plenty of bruises growing up. After all, they were boys, and boys did love to ruough-house. However, these were different. These ones were given out of malice and anger. Dean knew Sam would never seriously hurt him, but it still stung. Even knowing this, Dean couldn't stop being angry. Seeing Sam and remembering what had been said and done just pissed Dean off!

The older hunter tried to tell himself that things like this happened. It wasn't Sam's fault. Dean would have believed it too if he hadn't known for a fact Sam believed in some of the things he said. The truth had been in there, somewhere.

Dean groaned softly, pulling his shirt back over his head. He needed a shower, but figured that it could wait until morning. The hot water was bound to sting the red welts that the rock salt had left behind. Right now he just wanted sleep. Dean didn't want to face his brother, but knew he couldn't hide in the bathroom forever. Sam would want to talk, and then have a 'moment'. It's what he always wanted after one of them got hurt, emotionally or physically. "Well that's just too damn bad, Sammy. It'll have to wait until I'm done wanting to kick your ass." Dean thought, rubbing his chest with a grumble.

'Be asleep, Sam. Please be asleep and leave me the hell alone.' Dean prayed silently as he opened the bathroom door and headed for the bed closest to the exit. It was their ritual whenever it was just the two of them. Sam always took the bed farthest away from the door. He used to joke, saying he did that because if anything came in it would eat Dean first. To which Dean would reply that Sam was too scrawny, so whatever came in would never get a good meal out of him anyway.

Dean changed for bed and was just about to let out a sigh of relief, when Sam spoke.

"Dean?" The older hunter tried to ignore his brother, but Sam insisted, "Dean."


"Can we talk?"



"I said no, damnit! What part of that do you not get?" Dean asked angrily. Why couldn't Sam just forget about it and let his older brother get over it in his own time?

Sam didn't back down, "We need to talk."

"About what." The words were not a question.

"About this! About what happened! We can't just suppress this and hope for the best! Why won't you just talk to me?"

"Because I don't want to." Dean answered with a sneer.

"That's real mature, Dean."

"This coming from the guy who shot me because he had some issues!"

Sam's face softened. He got up off of the bed and went closer to Dean. "I... I said I was sorry for that, and I meant it. I never wanted to hurt you."

"Yeah, well, you did! And you can't tell me that you weren't in there somewhere!"

"Okay! Some of those things were true, but I'd never shoot you over them."

Dean grumbled again before turning away.


"Go to hell, Sam!"

"Damnit, Dean! Why won't you listen to me!"

"Because you shot me!"

"Like you've never wanted to kick the crap out of me before!"

"I never acted on it!"

"Yeah, you di-" Sam closed his mouth quickly, sucking in a quick breath, as though it could bring the words back. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

"What?" Dean asked, confusion at Sam's sudden turn-around replacing the anger. What did Sam just say?


A/N: Tell me what you think! Reviews are a writer's best friend... next to betas, that is (love you Irish!).