Dean miscalculated, the pistol he gave Sam in 'Asylum' was loaded. Oneshot. Sorry, no spoilers, read it to find out if he lives or dies. Oh, and I'm not in the medical profession, I make it up as I go along. Please review!!


Dean strode into the basement of the Roosevelt Asylum. Kat, a scared girl who, along with her numb-nuts boyfriend Gavin, they had found inside the asylum, had told him Sam had gotten a call on his cell phone a few minutes earlier, supposedly from Dean, telling him to come to the basement. Dean knew immediately that the crazy doctor who had caused this whole thing was behind the call, and was probably doing something very bad to his baby brother right now.

"Sammy!" he called again. He had the sawn-off double barrel shotgun filled with rocksalt rounds ready in his right hand, and panned his flashlight around the dark hallway. The hallway was empty for as far as he could see. "Sam, you down here? Sam?"

He looked to his right, the wide hall was filled with all sort of horrid machinations that might linger in a psychopath's nightmares. Man, what did they do to the people here? he wondered, silently thankful that he was never a resident of the asylum. "Sam!"

He panned back to his left with the flashlight, and nearly jumped out of his skin when a silent, statue-still Sam filled the flashlight beam. "Man!" he shouted and waved the shotgun at Sam, "Answer me when I'm callin' you!" He dropped the gun back to his side and moved closer to his brother. "You alright?"

Sam shrugged a bit at Dean's anger, then answered, "Yeah, I'm fine," sounding harrassed.

"You know it wasn't me who called your cell, right?"

"Yeah, I know. I think something lured me down here." Sam's answer reminded Dean of the attitude his brother used to give him when they were kids, back when Dean would tell Sam to do somehthing, and Sam's response would be along the lines of 'you're not my boss!'

Dean moved on. "I think I know who. Dr. Ellicott." Sam shook his head confused, but Dean finished his thought. "That's what the other spirits have been trying to tell us. You haven't seen him, have you?"

"No." Sam's brow furrowed. "How do you know it was him?"

"Cuz' I found his log book. Apparently he was experimenting on his patients. Ab...awful stuff. Makes a labotomy seem like a couple of aspirin--"

"But it was the patients who rioted." Sam argued.

"Yeah, they were rioting against Dr. Ellicott." Dean stopped, thinking that would be a sufficient explanation, but when Sam shook his head confused, Dean continued. "'Dr. Feelgood' was workin' on some sort of, like, extreme rage therapy. He thought that if he could get his patients to vent their anger, then they'd be cured of it. Instead it only made them worse and worse, angrier and angrier. So, I'm thinkin' what if his spirit is doing the same thing? To the cop, to the kids in the 70s...making them so angry they become homicidal."

Sam huffed, the lightbulb practically visible above his head with revelation.

Dean pushed his way past his brother, "Come on. We gotta find his bones and torch 'em."

"How?" Sam turned on his heels, throwing up his arms in protest. "The police never found his body."

"Well," Dean turned slightly, and stopped to address Sam. "The logbook said he had some kind of hidden 'procedure room' down here somewhere where he'd work on his patients, so..." He shrugged, "If I was a patient, I'd drag his ass down here and do a little work on him myself." He turned and continued down the hallway.

"I don't know, it sounds kinda..." Sam stuck out his lower lip as though he were thinking of the right word to use.



"Yeah, exactly." Dean shone the flashlight on the last door in the hallway, then opened it and proceeded through, motioning Sam to follow him.

The room was tiny, 8'x12' maybe, with nothing on the walls but dirt, grime, and mold, and contained one storage rack with a few items sitting on it. Dean was looking around, examining every wall, when Sam walked into the room.

"I told you, I looked everywhere. I didn't find a hidden room." He said boisterously.

Dean continued to scan the walls, "'Ell, that's why they call it hidden."

Sam glared at him, but did not reply.

Dean heard a faint rush of air in the silence. "Do you hear that?" He asked, trying to track down the source of the noise. Leaning down near the baseboard on one wall, he held his hand out to feel the airflow. "There's a door here."

He heard a rattle behind him. To his trained ear, he knew that was the movement of Sam's shotgun, but before he realized what was going on, he heard Sam call his name. "Dean."

He turned to look Sam in the face, then looked down at his side to see the shotgun directed at him. He looked back at Sam's face to see blood dripping from his nose.

Sam reached up to wipe the blood away with his left sleeve. "Step back from the door."

Dean stood, facing Sam with his full chest. "Sam, put the gun down."

"Is that an order?" Sam demanded angrily.

"Nah, it's more of a friendly request," Dean replied, trying to throw a little charm and wit into the situation, hoping it would help his rapport with an obviously ill Sam.

"Cuz' I'm gettin' pretty tired of takin' your orders." Sam brought the gun up from his side, fully extending his arm as he levelled it at Dean's chest.

Dean watched the barrel as it came nearer to his face. He looked at his baby brother who still blushed at the thought of a porno, now aiming a weapon at him. He chuckled nervously, "I knew it. Ellicott did somethin' to you, didn't he?"

Sam shifted back and forth on his feet. "For once in your life just shut your mouth," he commanded.

"What are you gonna do, Sam? Gun's filled with rock salt. It's not gonna' kill me--"

KRACKOWW! Sam had pulled the trigger.

Dean felt the rock salt strike his chest hard, knocking him backward off his feet. He fell through the hidden door, which broke in half when he hit it, and landed hard on his back in the adjoining room. Dean's head landed hard on the concrete, making him loose consciousness.

"No, but it'll hurt like hell." Sam said coldly.

Ow, Dean thought, darkness surrounded him. Breathe, damn it, breathe. Dean inhaled sharply, the reintroduction of oxygen into his winded lungs painful in itself. He coughed as Sam came into focus above him. He rubbed his chest. "Sam! We gotta burn Ellicott's bones, and all this will be over, and you'll be back to normal."

"I am normal." Sam replied snidely, "I'm just telling the truth for the first time. I mean, why we even here? 'Cuz you're followin' Dad's orders like a good little soldier? 'Cuz you always do what he says without question? Are you that desperate for his approval?"

Dean grimmaced at the pain. "This isn't you talking, Sam."

"That's the difference between you and me; I have a mind of my own. I'm not pathetic, like you." Sam waved the shotgun around to make a point.

"So what are you gonna do? Huh? You gonna kill me?"

"You know what? I am sick of doing what you tell me to do. We're no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago." He held his arms out to his sides.

Dean moved his right hand toward his inside pocket and Sam immediately repositioned the shotgun to aim at Dean's head. Dean panted, "Well then, here, let me make it easier for ya." He drew his .45 from his coat and held it up to Sam.

A confused look pervaded Sam's face, not understanding what Dean was doing.

"Come on, take it." Dean held it up higher, closing his eyes. "Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock salt." Dean had checked the gun on his way down the stairwell moments before. The clip was empty. "Take it!"

Sam grabbed pistol in one swift move, tossing the shotgun aside. He leaned down and aimed directly at Dean's chest.

"You hate me that much?" He looked imploringly into his brothers eyes. "You think you can kill your own brother?" But it wasn't his brother. There wasn't anything there but hate. "Well then, go ahead. Pull the trigger." Sam stared at him. "Do it!"

Dean watched Sam's face contort with rage as he pulled the trigger.

Dean didn't hear the sound of the shot, nor did he feel the bullet enter his chest. His vision went black. He felt the blood start pooling beneath him, but even worse, he felt it start filling his right lung. His breathing started coming in short, shallow bursts. He racked his mind to figure where the bullet had come from, and he kicked himself when he realized he didn't actually check the chamber.

He tried to mentally calculate the probability that he would survive that shot, let alone another if Sam decided the first one wasn't good enough and reloaded. A .45 round at such close range would pass right through, it would leave a big ass hole, but it would go through. But the fact that he was lying flat on his back on a concrete floor meant that it would probably hit the floor and ricochet, and sending concrete schrapnel into his back.

He blinked over and over, trying to clear the black haze from his vision so he could see his brother. He wanted to know if Sam were going to shoot him again, but more, he wanted to see his brother again before he died.

He began to gag on his own blood, breathing it out with one lung, breathing it in with the other. "Sammy!" he called, as blood splattered his own face from the effort.

Something must have broken the spell on his brother. Dean heard the gun clatter across the floor, as he felt Sam's knees bump into his side. "Oh, my God. Dean!" Sam grabbed his right hand and squeezed it hard. "Oh, God, this is bad." He put his other hand on Dean chest, trying to apply pressure to stop the bleeding. "Dean!! Stay with me! Stay here! Oh, God. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it."

Dean coughed up more blood as he tried to speak. "I-- I know." He squeezed Sam's hand as tightly as he could, trying to stay lucid, to concentrate on something other than the pain, or the drowning sensation. He convulsed and threw his head back into the ground, his whole body tense.

Sam had taken his hand putting pressure on Dean's chest away and pulled his cell out, dialing 911. "Help, please help!" Sam shouted into the phone. "We're in the basement of the Roosevelt Asylum, my brother's been shot!! Oh, God, he's losing a lot of blood! What? What type? B-b-b-b, he's B negative. Please hurry!" Sam threw the phone down without ending the call.

Dean's breathing came now in short, ragged bursts. He struggled to speak, "Door's locked--" he pause to breathe a few times. " burn...Ellicott."

Sam put his hand on the side of Dean's head, looking at him intently, tears streaming down his face. "Door's locked?" He shook his head, not quite understanding. "Door's locked. Door's locked!" he shouted as he finally realized that the paramedics wouldn't be able to get into the asylum since the spirits had sealed the place shut. They had to finish the job, kill Ellicott, and there was a chance the seal would be released.

Sam scrambled to grab the duffel Dean had been carrying. The handles were still over Dean's arm. "Shit," Sam mumbled. "Dean, Dean, I'm going to take it off your arm, okay? I'm sorry." He gently raised Dean's back just a little to get the bag out from under him, Dean winced visibly, and Sam wimpered, a tear falling from his chin. "Shit!"

The bag was blood soaked, as were Sam's hands. Not a good sign. Dean was losing a lot of blood, very quickly. Sam grabbed the flashlight he had dropped, shaking it a little to get it to work.

He climbed to his feet and started searching the room frantically for Ellicott's body. He pulled open every closet, every cupboard. Finally he came to a small compartment against the back wall, he jerked open both doors violently. For a millisecond, Sam felt relief, he had found one of the things keeping his brother from the help he so desperately needed.

He rummaged through the bag, pulling out both salt and lighter fluid and dumping them on the dehydrated remains at the same time. "Hold on, Dean!" He shouted over his shoulder as he set the matchbook he had found in his pocket ablaze. "Help is on the way. Stay with me!!"

He threw the ball of fire at the body. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw a shape he hadn't noticed before. He turned to see the spirit of Dr. Sanford Ellicott go up in flames.

"Dean? Sam? We heard-- Oh, my God!" He turned to see Kat and Gavin standing in the doorway. "Oh, my God, what happened?" She screamed.

Sam just looked at them, mouth hanging ajar, shaking his head. He couldn't bring himself to say that he had shot Dean. "Help me get him upstairs," he commanded. "The doors should open now." He jogged the short distance between himself and Dean.

Sam positioned his face right over Dean's. He was still breathing, but slower, blood covering his chin. "Dean?" Sam called, shaking Dean's face a little with his right hand. "Dean?? Dean, open your eyes. You have to open your eyes! Dean!"

His closed eyes fluttered slightly, but did not fully open.

"Good enough," Sam made a snap decision. "Kat, you grab his legs. Gavin, get on the other side of his upper half, we'll both carry him."

The two teenagers were in shock over what they were witnessing, and did not move at first. "Now!" Sam shouted, which seemed to work, as both ran to do as he said.

"Sammy..." Dean said very quietly, as they lifted him from the concrete.

Sam sniffled and bit his quivering lower lip. "Shhh...Don't try to talk, save your strength."

They were half way up the stairs, Dean shook his head slightly, "I'm...sorry." He struggled to get out, tears welling in his own eyes, which were now only slightly open and looking Sam in the face.

Sam shook his head, swallowing hard. "No, you don't have anything to be sorry for," he looked Dean in the eye. "Nothing. And you're not going anywhere, so quit apologizing."

As they reached the front doors of the building, they were greeted by the sounds of sirens outside. Dean was still trying to say something, so when they laid him on the ground and Sam took of his coat and laid it under his head, Dean used much of the strength he had left to grab Sam's shirt. "Live...normal." He coughed a bit, and continued, the words coming in ragged bursts much like his breathing. "Take care...of my car."

Dean's hand lost it's grip and slipped from Sam's shirt, and as Sam watched, Dean's eyes blinked slightly, but then did not open again.

"No! No, no, no, no, NO! Dean! Dean!!" Sam shouted as he released Dean's other hand and tried to find a pulse in his neck. Before he could locate one, he was pushed out of the way by the paramedics.

A police officer grabbed his arm and pulled him backward. His mind was reeling. The officer was saying something, but he was not listening, intently watching the EMTs lift Dean onto a gurney.

"Sir!" The cop jerked Sam around to face him. "Sir, I need to know what happened. Who shot that man?"

Sam watched as they loaded Dean into the ambulance. "He...he's my brother." Sam regretted what he was going to say next, especially if Dean didn't make it, but he had to tell the cops something. "We were just goofing around, we broke into the asylum 'cuz we heard it was haunted. He went crazy, tried to kill himself."

The cop, a short older man with a large beer belly, looked incredulous. "You're telling me that man tried to commit suicide by shooting himself in the chest?"

He shrugged, giving the officer a shake of the head indicating he didn't know the whole story. "He was alone. I don't know." A tear fell from Sam's cheek. "Can I go with him? I have to go with him!" He turned on the cop, a crazed look in his eye.

The officer looked him over, "Fine, we'll find you at the hospital." He looked past Sam's shoulder to the EMTs. "Hold it Jane, got a passenger here! Well, go, boy." He said to Sam.

Sam ran and climbed into the ambulance right behind the female EMT. "Is he alive?" He demanded of her, grabbing Dean's left hand

"Barely," came her grim answer. "But it'll be a bona fide miracle if he survives. What's his name?"

Sam looked around the ambulance, looking at the IV blood transfusion the paramedics had already started. He tried to remember exactly what name they had signed into the hotel this morning with. "Dean," he started. "It's Dean Tufnel"

She chuckled as she wrote it on the paperwork. "Like the guy from Spinal Tap?"

Sam gave a weak smile, "Kinda." Sam read her nametag, 'Jane', before he looked back to Dean, willing him to live.

"And your relation?" The woman asked, still checking off questions on her paperwork.

"Brother," Sam said without looking at her, his answer almost brainless. "He's my brother." He squeezed Dean's hand, looking at his brother breathe through the tube that was stuck down his throat. "Dad," he mumbled. "I should call Dad." He patted his pocket where his phone was usually stored, and realized he left it in the basement of the asylum. He reached for Dean's pocket, for Dean's phone.

The EMT looked on without comment. She was now checking Dean's pulse.

Sam waited for his father's voicemail to pick up, hardly expecting to actually reach his father. "Dad," he said when the automated system beeped. "Dad, it's Sam. Dean's hurt, bad. We're in Rockford, we're going to the hospital. Dad," he sniffled and wiped away a tear, "I don't know if he's gonna make it." He swallowed hard. "You might want to get here if you can."

Before he hung up the phone, the machines in the ambulance started going crazy. One let out a loud continuous tone, while another beeped wildly. "What's going on??" Sam demanded, tightening his grip on his big brother's hand.

"He's crashing!" the woman shouted, as she grabbed a syringe marked 'adrenaline' and jammed it into Dean's chest. She reached for the paddles to jumpstart his heart.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, "Dean, you can't leave me, man! We were just starting to be brothers again! Dean!"

"Let go of him!" Jane shouted as she pressed the paddles to Dean's chest. Sam watched in terror as his brother's full body tensed from the jolt, but fell back to the mat soon after, the machines resuming their mournful whine.

"Clear!" The EMT shouted. She pressed the device to his chest again. The same full body muscle spasm took place, but Dean fell back again, with no signs of life.

Sam looked around confused, "Try again!" he shouted. When she didn't listen, he shouted louder, "Try Again!"

She put the paddles back on their charger, then turned to face Sam. "Sir, I'm sorry." She removed her latex gloves. "I'm sorry." She repeated. "There is only so much the human body can take. Your brother has simply lost too much blood."

Sam sat staring at Dean as the only noise left was the lonely, monotone squeal of the now useless heart monitor.