Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or Three Days Grace's lyrics
Summary: Sam's breathing was rapid and his hands and feet were starting to go numb, but all he could think about was that he could've killed his brother.
Spoilers: Asylum

Panic Assault

No one will ever change this animal I have become
Help me believe it's not the real me

-Three Days Grace, Animal I have Become

Dean held his gun out to Sam yelling, "Take it!"

Sam dropped the shotgun and transferred Dean's gun to his right hand. He then pointed the gun at Dean's chest.

"You hate me that much? You think you can kill your own brother." He nodded. "Then go ahead. Pull the trigger."

When he hesitated Dean shouted, "Do it!" but only got as far as shouting, "Do i..." before the shot rang out.

Not even registering the splattered blood on him, Sam pulled the trigger again and again and again...

When the gun was empty, Sam dropped the gun and himself beside Dean. Blood was everywhere: on Dean, Sam, the floor, and even the walls. Starring at Dean, he saw his eyes were open, but glazed while his lips were half-open in a fertile plea; the splattered blood on his pale face only made him look more ghastly.

Sam placed his hands on Dean's chest hoping to feel it rise, even though he knew he wouldn't. Dean was dead. He pulled his hands away from Dean's blood soaked shirt and starred at the blood he spilt.


Waking up with a start and breathing heavily, Sam looked at his hands. He let out a sigh when he saw no blood then turned to the bed beside him just to make sure Dean was there, which he was.

It wasn't real, it was a dream, Sam told himself, but it could have been real. He could have really shot and killed his brother. After everything Dean had ever done for him, he could have killed him. Not just kill, but enjoy shooting him to death.

Sam started to breathe more rapidly, but didn't take notice.

Dean was the one who always let him have the cereal box prize, teach him how to swim, ride a bike and drive and even taught him how to tie his shoes by pretending the loops were bunny ears.

Sam started to feel a pain in his chest, but paid no attention to it.

He was the one to let him crawl in his bed when he had a bad dream and read him a bedtime story. Dean meant everything to Sam and he could have killed him.

Sam's breathing was rapid and his hands and feet were starting to go numb, but all he could think about was that he could've killed his brother.


Dean was awaked by quick, deep breathing. His first thought was that someone was gettin' some, but then he remembered Sam was the only other person in the room. Curious, he opened his eyes to see his brother sitting up in bed and breathing rapidly.

He quickly jumped off his bed to get to Sam wondering what could have caused Sam to hyperventilate the first time in six years.

"Sam," he said sitting beside him, but he seemed in his own world. Dean ordered him to, "Breathe," in a soft, relaxed tone.

Sam started to feel weak and dizzy and started to slump forward.

Instantly, Dean grabbed Sam's shoulders when he saw him about to fall over. He got down on his knees in front of Sam with a strong grip on his arms. "Come on, Sammy," he said when his little brother's breathing only became more rapid, "In and out."

Dean could feel Sam shaking and could see him sweating. He was wrong. Sam wasn't hyperventilating; he was having a panic attack.

"Can't breathe," Sam wheezed out.

"Yeah, you can. If you can talk then you can breathe." Dean took Sam's left hand and placed in on his heaving chest so he could feel his rapid breathing, hopefully allowing him to control it. Then he took Sam's right hand and held it to his own normal beating heart. Still pressing his brother's hand over his heart, he urged, "In and out slowly, just like me. It's alright, Sammy, everything is alright," he reassured him. "In and out."

Finally, after several minutes, Sam's breathing returned to normal, but he was still trembling slightly. Dean grabbed the blanket from his own bed and wrapped it around Sam. He then sat so close to Sam that their sides were touching so he would know the instant Sam's breathing changed. "Do you want to tell me what that was about?"

"It was nothing," Sam said looking down at the white blanket around him.

"No, Sam." With much restraint, he kept his voice soft, "You don't get to say it was 'nothing' when you have a panic attack. What happened?"

Sam still refused to look at him. "Nothing, it was nothing."

Instead of getting annoyed at him for saying "nothing" again, and twice, he thought about what could have happened in the small stretch of time they came to the motel and slept. Suddenly, Dean knew exactly what had happened. "You had a dream."

Sam's silence only confirmed it.

"What happened?" Before Sam could open his mouth, he continued, "And if you say 'nothing' so help me, I'll hurt you."

"It was just a nightmare."

Dean noticed the change from "dream" to "nightmare". "Really, 'cause the last time I checked you don't have a panic attack every time you have a nightmare."

With his eyes still down, he admitted, "I shot you."


Sam cut him off. "No, I shot you again and again and--" His breathing began to increase.

"Sam, calm down!"

"'Calm down', 'calm down'?" He did the exact opposite. "How can you tell me to 'calm down' when I killed you!"

"It was just a dream, Sam," Dean said calmly really hoping Sam would follow his example and be calm.

Luckily, Sam took the hint and his breathing returned to a normal range. "But what if it was loaded?" Tear glazed eyes finally looked up at him as he admitted; "I could have killed you."

Dean starred at Sam seriously and tried to make him understand. "But you didn't."

"I could have! Don't you see?" Sam pleaded, "You could be dead right now because of me."

"Sam I'm fine." He took Sam's hand and placed it over his beating heart, again. "See I'm alive and I'm fine."


"No, Sam, no 'buts'. I'm alive and fine and it's going to stay that way." Dean when on to say, "And when I die, it won't be by your hand."

"How do you know that?" He asked the real question, "How do you know I won't kill you next time?"

"Because I know you, Sam, and you would never kill me."


"That wasn't you who pulled the trigger, it was a sicko doctor possessing you and screwing with your head. You, Sammy, would never kill me and as long as you stay clear of sicko evil doctors, then we're both fine."

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Dean didn't let him. "No 'buts,' you would never kill me and that's all there is to it." When Dean's eyes wondered to the clock and saw 4:25 in red numbers he said, "Now, get some rest."

Without further protest, Sam settled into bed again with the blanket still wrapped around him.

Dean climbed back into his own bed, but didn't go back to sleep until Sam was sound asleep and was certain no more nightmares would plague his brother.