Archive of Our Own ^beta

Title: 'Cause I Know I'm A Mess He Don't Wanna Clean Up
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my show, not even my idea. Thank kali_sama for that.
Rating: R
Summary: Snagged this little plot bunny from kali_sama: So, basically, it's a simple AU wherein Dean gets whammied first, not Sam, and it's Dean that tries to shoot Sam. I love this idea simply because hurting Sam is the one thing Dean never ever wants to do, so it would be a great opportunity for angst, especially if there's a big inner struggle about not hurting Sam versus the doctor's influence.
Author's Note: I know I rewrote Asylum, so don't tell me I used some of the same dialogue. Thank you.



“Well for starters, we’re not going to panic,” Dean told them, getting irritated with that damn kid.

“Why in the hell not?” Matt asked, nerves coming into his voice.

Before Dean could answer, his cell phone rang. He reached into his pocket and grabbed it, checking the caller ID. “Hey.”

Sam’s voice crackled across the line. “Dean, it’s me. I see it, it’s coming at me.”

Shit, Dean thought, the worst possible scenario jumping to his mind. “Where are you?”

“I’m in the basement, hurry up.”

“I’m on my way.” Dean shut off his cell phone and dropped it back in his pocket, looking at the two teenagers in front of him. “Okay, can either of you handle a shotgun?”

 

“Sammy?” Dean called, his gun and flashlight out in front of him. “Sammy? You okay?” He walked in through the open door, going into the room. “Shit.” He sighed, and began looking around the room. “Sam?” he yelled. He heard something behind him, and turned. He gasped slightly at the sight of the spirit, right in front of him.

The spirit’s hands were on him in an instant, electricity flowing between them. “Don’t be afraid,” the spirit said, and the electrical charges began to flow even harder. “I’m going to make you all better.”

 

“I told you, I looked everywhere,” Dean began. “I didn’t find a hidden room.”

Stop it, Dean pleaded with himself, trying to get the lies to stop coming out of him mouth. This is Sammy. Tell him the truth.

“Well, that’s why they called it hidden,” Sam remarked, glancing over at his brother. Suddenly, he could hear a breeze blowing through the room, despite the lack of windows anywhere. “You hear that?”

“What?” Dean deadpanned.

Yes! Dean silently cheered. He heard it. He’s going to find the room, he’s going to find the bodies.

Sam turned towards the wall, shining his flashlight all along it.

Dean gulped, and shifted on his feet, trying to keep it cool.

Sam’s flashlight fell upon the bottom of the wall, where there was a chunk of wood missing, and there was light coming from the other side. He knelt down, sticking his fingers through the hole. “A hole,” he murmured to himself, before pushing himself back up. “There’s a door here.”

Dean shook his head slightly, and barely spared an second before he swung his gun up, pointing it at his brother.

No, no no. What are you doing? Dean asked. Stop it. Put the gun down, he’s my brother. Stop it, you can’t do this.

“Sam,” Dean said, getting his attention.

Sam glanced up and over at Dean, eyes going wide. He looked down at the gun, then back up at Dean, who was watching him intently.

Stop it Dean screamed. I won’t let you shoot him. Stop it. Please, he didn’t do anything, let him go. Don’t hurt him. He could feel as a sharp pain shot up through his body, going to his head.

Dean reached up, and wiped the blood from his upper lip, keeping the gun on Sam. “Step back from the door.”

Sam stood up slowly, eyes on Dean the whole time. “Dean, put the gun down.” He said it as calm as he could be, but inside he was scared to shit.

Dean smirked, and shifted on his feet. “Is that an order?”

Sam’s eyes filled with confusion. “What are you talking about? Dean, just-- just put the gun down.” He moved back slightly, pressing himself to the wall, anything to try and get further away from Dean, and the gun.

Put it down! Dean yelled. Don’t do this! He didn’t do anything.

“I am sick and tired of this, Sammy,” Dean continued.

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked quietly, voice coming out weak and scared. “Dean, what’s going on, what happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Dean snapped. “I’ve just decided that I’m putting up with this anymore.”

“Putting up with what?” Sam asked, straightening his back, trying to look a bit more intimidating. “Dean, what the hell is going on? Did-- did the doctor--”

“For once in your life, just shut your mouth,” Dean commanded, taking a slight step forward, raising the gun to the level of Sam’s chest.

“Dean, that gun is filled with rock salt,” Sam pointed out. “It’s not going to kill me.” But the loud gunshot, and then the pain flaring up through his chest from the salt, and then the pain from flying back against the door made him wish it would.

No! Dean screamed, wanting his body to move, to drop the gun and run over to Sam, making sure he was okay. But his body wouldn’t move, just stood there with the gun still in his hand.

A smirk graced Dean’s features, and he cocked his head to the side, watching Sam on the ground, listening to his groans of pain. “No, but it’ll hurt like hell.”

Sam coughed, which just sent more pain up through his chest. He sputtered, and lifted his head, watching as Dean walked into what he guessed was the hidden room, gun still in hand. “Dean! We’ve gotta burn Ellicott’s bones, and all this will be over, and you’ll be back to normal.”

He’s alive, Dean thought gratefully. Holy fuck, he’s awake, and he’s alive. Please, just-- just stop now. Please. Let me go. Let him go.

“I am normal,” Dean said simply, gun dangling from his hand as he stood over Sam. “I’m just telling the truth for the first time. I mean, why are we even here?”

“Because Dad sent us--” Sam began, but Dean cut him off.

“No, Sam,” Dean said quickly. “I meant, why are you even here? I mean, you’ve been running for as long as I can remember, and suddenly you up and decide to start paying attention to Dad?”

Sam tried to get himself to sit up, but the pain kept him down. “Dean, I want to be here,” he said futilely. “I want to be here, with you. I love you. Please, this isn’t you talking.”

Sam, just get out of here! Please, get up, somehow, and leave. Don’t listen to me, don’t listen. Please, Sammy. The pain in Dean’s skull grew, and more blood began running from his nose.

“That’s the difference between you and me,” Dean said. “I have a mind of my own, I’m not pathetic, like you.”

“Dean, I don’t-- Dean, stop this,” Sam pleaded. “Dean, this isn’t you, you don’t want to say these things. Please, fight him.”

I’m fucking trying, Sam!

“I may follow Dad’s orders, but what the fuck kind of sick puppy follows his brother around because he’s in love with him?” Dean asked, reaching up to wipe more blood off on his sleeve. “I mean, God!” he yelled the last word, and it echoed through the small room. “You disgust me.”

No Dean thought softly, the fight in him draining. Sam, that’s not true. Sammy, you know me, you know I don’t think that.

Sam’s tongue came out to wet his dried lips, and he trying with everything in him not to let his eyes fill with tears. He wasn’t going to cry for this thing, that wasn’t his brother. Wasn’t his Dean. He cleared his throat, and lifted his head slightly. “So what are you going to do? Huh? Gonna kill me?”

“You know what? I am so sick of you, Sam,” Dean told him, avoiding the question. “ I thought you were an annoying little brother. You’re even worse as a fuck buddy. I was relieved when you left. I finally didn’t have to put up with you any longer.”

It hit Sam like a freight train, to hear those things. But he reached down anyway, grabbing the gun from his waistband. “Well then, here. Take this. You won’t have to put with me ever again.” He lifted the gun up as far as he could reach, breath coming quickly. “Here, take it. Real bullets are gonna work a helluva lot better than rock salt. Take it!”

Dean snatched the handgun from him, dropping the shotgun to the floor.

Don’t you fucking dare! Dean pleaded. Drop the gun. Drop the gun and let’s go home. Drop it!

Dean took a deep breath and gripped the gun tightly, kneeling down slightly to get the gun closer to Sam’s head. His finger on the trigger, he was ready to shoot.

“You hate me that much?” Sam asked, looking up at the gun. “You think you can kill your own brother?” Truth is, he didn’t really want to know the answer to that question.

I’m not letting you do this Dean said, fighting again. He could feel his body begin to shake with exertion of fighting himself off, and he hoped it would be enough. I’m not letting Sammy die. Put the gun down. Now.

“Then go ahead. Pull the trigger.” Sam finished, now looking up into Dean’s eyes. The tears he had tried to fight off were about to come, and he could feel his bottom lip trembling.

No, Dean said once more. Don’t.

Dean shook, but pulled the trigger anyway.

Sam’s eyes opened wide, at the fact that Dean had actually done it. He had pulled the trigger. There really was a part of Dean that hated him that much.

Dean looked down at the gun in confusion, before pulling the trigger again. Nothing. And again. Still nothing.

No bullets, Dean said thankfully. It’s not loaded.

Sam reached up and grabbed onto Dean’s arm, pulling him down far enough to punch him, then kick out his ankle, sending Dean down to floor. They laid there together for a moment, before Sam pushed himself up, ignoring the pain in his chest. “Man, I’m not gonna give you a loaded pistol.” As Dean tried to push himself up, Sam punched him, hard, sending him back down to the floor, unconscious. He sighed, and patted Dean’s shoulder softly. “Sorry, Dean.”

 

Dean reached over and turned up the radio, wanting something other than an awkward silence in the car. He sighed, then glanced over at Sam, who was nibbling on the end of his thumb, staring at the road in front of them. He cleared his throat, and opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind. He could think of nothing to say. He sighed again, and turned up the radio a bit louder.

Sam glanced over at Dean, and reached over to the radio, turning it down. “Too loud,” he mumbled, looking out the window.

That was it. “Sam, when are we going to talk about this?” Dean asked.

“Already talked about it,” Sam pointed out, not looking back over at Dean. “At the asylum. Great apology by the way. Very believable.”

“Sam,” Dean protested. “Come on, Sam. I really am sorry. You have to believe me.”

Sam sighed, and turned, looking over at Dean. “Really? I don’t think I do. Actually, ever since you shot me, I’m pretty sure I don’t have to listen to another word out of your mouth. Ever.”

“Sam, it wasn’t me!” Dean proclaimed. “The doctor did something to me. I swear, it wasn’t me. Those things that I-- that he-- that I said, I would never had said them.”

“But you thought them,” Sam said quietly. “Ellicott didn’t just pull that shit out of the air, Dean! You thought it, so he said it. Just-- just shut up.”

“Sam,” Dean said quietly. “Please, forgive me. I’m begging you, please.”

Sam didn’t answer, just brought his knees up to his chest, curling away from Dean into the door.

“Sam, please, I love you,” Dean continued. “You know that. Forgive me.”

Sam sighed, and shook his head. “Dean, you shot me with rock salt. And you pulled the trigger on the pistol. You wanted me dead. I just can’t believe I never figured it out before.”

Dean took a deep breath, and checked the rear-view mirror, before pulling off the asphalt onto the dirt.

Sam looked up over at Dean, eyes wide. “Dean, what the hell? Keep driving.”

Dean shut off the ignition, and pocketed the keys. “We’re not moving, until you forgive me.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, and dropped his feet back down to the floor. “Good luck with that.” He undid his seatbelt and opened up the car door, climbing out. He stuck his hands in his pocket and jumped the ditch, walking through the field of dried grass before the woods.

“Sam!” Dean called, climbing out of the car. “Sam, don’t do this!” He closed the door, and jogged after Sam, quickly catching up to him.

“Leave me the hell alone,” Sam grumbled, quickening his pace.

“Sam, I’m not letting you walk away from me,” Dean told him, reaching out to grab onto Sam’s arm, but Sam just shook him off. “Sam, don’t make me--”

Sam turned suddenly, so suddenly that Dean ran into him, before stepping back. “Don’t make you what, Dean? Don’t make you hurt me? Don’t make you shoot me? Well, congratu-fucking-lations, you already did that, Dean.”

Dean looked up at him, eyes wide. “Sam, I’m sorry.”

“Dean, just let me leave,” Sam pleaded softly, looking up at Dean from under his eyelashes. “Isn’t that what you want? For me to stop annoying you, to leave you alone?”

Dean shook his head. “Sam, we’re in the middle of nowhere. There’s nowhere to go. Please, just get back in the car. I don’t want you to leave me, please. I can’t do this, I can’t deal with this by myself. I couldn’t make it stop, Sammy.” He dropped his head forward and wiped at his eyes, looking around the field, at anywhere but Sam.

“Dean,” Sam said softly, seeing how hurt Dean was. He reached out, cupping Dean’s cheek, making him look towards him. “What do you mean?”

Dean looked up at Sam, tears still brimming. “I tried to make him, or-- or me, or whoever the hell was saying it, I tried to make it stop. I didn’t want to say it, I didn’t want to pull the trigger … I tried, Sam. You have to believe me.”

Sam sighed, and let his hand drop back to his side. “Yeah well, how do you think I feel? I’m the one you shot.” He tried to smile, but his face went back to serious.

Dean chuckled sadly, shaking his head. “I did everything I could. It wasn’t much, basically just yelling at myself, but I tried.”

Sam looked to the ground, then back up at Dean. “Let’s just get back in the car. I’m tired, and I want a shower.”

Dean nodded understandingly. “Okay, let-- let’s go. Let’s just go.”

 

“I don’t think I can get anymore of it out,” Dean said softly, looking up at Sam. “I’m sorry.”

Sam looked down at his bare chest, tiny holes where the rock salt had gone in standing out against his skin. “It’s okay, thanks.” He sighed, then grabbed his t-shirt, pulling it back over his head. “I’m tired, I’m gonna try and get some sleep.” He stood up from the table and walked over to one of the beds, pulling back the sheets. “Night, Dean.”

Dean smiled sadly and nodded, looking down at the table. “Night, Sam.”

Sam yawned, and turned over on his side, closing his eyes. “Get the lights, will you?”

Dean stood up and walked over to the door, flicking off the lights. “I love you, Sammy,” he said softly, barely able to see his brother in the darkness.

Sam opened his eyes, and resisted the urge to get up, and just forgive Dean, and climb back into bed with him. He just couldn’t do it. Not after what Dean said.

 

“You hate me that much?” Sam asked, lifting his head, looking up at Dean. “You think you can kill your own brother?” At Dean’s silence, he continued. “Then go ahead. Pull the trigger.”

Dean did, but this time, the gunshot was loud, and Sam’s head thumped back against the floor as blood spread quickly from the hole in his chest.

“No!” Dean screamed, shooting up in his bed.

Sam was awake instantly, rolling over to look at Dean in the other bed, who was sitting up, panting. “Dean?” he asked, pushing himself up, before yawning loudly.

Dean looked over at Sam, eyes wide, as if he just realized that he wasn’t alone in the room. “Sam?” he asked, fighting to catch his breath.

“Dean?” Sam repeated, swinging his legs off the bed, standing up slowly. “What’s wrong?”

Dean just looked up at him, watching him as he walked over to his bed. “Sammy,” he said quietly, looking down at the bed sheets.

Sam sat down on the edge of the bed, bringing one leg up to get closer to Dean. “Dean, what’s wrong?” he asked again. “What happened?”

“I killed you,” Dean said, choking up. Tears filled his eyes, and he shook his head, stifling his cries. “I can’t believe-- Sammy, I killed you.”

Sam shook his head, and pulled Dean in for a hug, holding him close. “No, you didn’t, Dean,” he said quietly, rubbing Dean’s back.

Dean began to sob into Sam’s t-shirt, tears soaking through the fabric, and he clutched at Sam with one hand, wrapping the other around Sam’s neck. “I killed you,” he repeated, and began to sob even harder, his entire body shaking.

“Shh, no, shh, Dean,” Sam said as he began to Dean rock back and forth slightly, much as John had done for them when they were children. “No, Dean, I’m right here, I’m right here. Feel me, hear me? Dean, I’m not dead, you didn’t kill me. I’m still here.”

“I shot you,” Dean said weakly, sniffling loudly.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll give you that one,” Sam said quietly, pressing a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “Dean, you didn’t kill me. I’m fine, I’m okay. So are you.”

“I couldn’t make it stop,” Dean said, curling up on himself, practically a ball on Sam’s lap. “I didn’t-- I wanted to make it stop, I never wanted you to hear those things, Sam. I was wrong, I did--” he hiccupped, “I did mean it. But, not-- not anymore. I did, but not now.”

“What?” Sam asked, pulling away from Dean. “Dean, you meant it? I-- I disgust you?”

“Not anymore!” Dean cried, lifting his head. “Sam, I haven’t meant it in so long. I mean, you were my annoying little brother, and maybe I was a little relieved when you left, you and Dad were going to stop fighting, and I wouldn’t have to be in the middle anymore, and-- and-- but I love you, Sam! I swear it, I swear I do.” He pushed himself up, and quickly pressed his lips to Sam’s, a sloppy kiss, an apology of sorts.

Sam pushed Dean off him, and wiped at his mouth. “I disgust you?” Sam asked again, his voice breaking. “Dean, but you said-- why? Why did you do this if I disgust you?” Sam stood up off the bed, and began pacing around the room, trying not to cry.

“Sam, no!” Dean said, sitting up fully. “You don’t. You didn’t. I don’t know. Once, before I realized how much I wanted it too, I thought it was wrong, and maybe-- maybe for one second, only a second, Sam!”

“I can’t believe this,” Sam muttered, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I disgust you.”

“You don’t! Sam, you don’t. Sam, I love you so much,” Dean said, standing up and going over to him. “Sam, I love you. So, I’ve never loved anyone more than you. Please, please, please forgive me.” He dropped down to his knees to beg for forgiveness.

“Dean, get up,” Sam said softly as he stopped walking.

Dean shook his head, looking up at Sam. “Sam, please, I’m begging you to forgive me. I just-- I just want to forget everything, and forget that I hurt you, and just move on. I want you to love me.”

“Get up,” Sam commanded softly.

“Sam,” Dean pleaded. “Just tell me you forgive me. Just tell me that you forgive me, and we never have to talk about this again. Please?”

Sam sighed, and shook his head, walking over to one of the beds, sitting down at the foot of it. “Dean, I don’t-- I don’t see how we can keep doing this, if you feel this way about me.”

Dean crawled on the floor over to the foot of the bed, looking up at Sam. “Sammy, you can’t do this. I love you, you need to listen to me.”

Sam shook his head again, a feeling of despair in stomach making him feel queasy. “Dean, I can’t-- I love you, and I thought you loved me too, but I guess I was wrong. And maybe you’re right, this is wrong, and illegal, and everything, and you have no idea how long it took me to do it because I was disgusted with myself, and I thought you’d hate me, and like, disown me, or kick my ass or something, and when I finally did it…Dean, you said you loved me. You lied to me.”

Dean shook his head, grabbing onto Sam’s knees, looking him in the eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said weakly, voice raw from crying so much. “I can’t do anything else. I can’t say anything else. I’m sorry.”

Sam pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes until he saw spots dance behind his eyelids. “I can’t deal with this right now, Dean. I’m tired, and I’m sore, and I just want to go to sleep. Please, let me just go to sleep.”

“Can we talk about this in the morning?” Dean asked hopefully, straightening up.

“We are definitely talking about this in the morning,” Sam told him, standing up. He walked over to his own bed and climbed in, watching Dean still on the floor. “Go to sleep, Dean. Staying up all night won’t help anything, not even this.” He laid down, and stared at the wall, listening to Dean trying to silence his cries.

“Sam?” Dean asked, voice thick with tears.

Sam made a small sound of affirmation, but didn’t look over at him, didn’t say anything.

“Are we breaking up?” Dean managed to ask before his voice broke, and he went back to crying.

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam admitted softly. “I don’t know.” He could hear Dean stand up, and walk over between their beds, and he could feel him standing over him. “Dean, go to sleep. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

 

“Do we go?” Dean asked, setting the phone down on the nightstand between them. “I mean, I know one of us does…but do you?”

Sam sighed, and looked over at Dean, biting his bottom lip. Finally, he answered Dean. “Yeah, of course I go. If you’ll have me.”

Dean smiled gratefully, and nodded. “Of course I want you to go. I’ll always want you to go.”

Sam smiled back then reached up scratch his head. “I guess we’d better get going then.”

Dean took a deep breath, and swung his legs off the bed, standing up and taking the few steps to Sam’s bed, and sat down on the edge beside Sam, reaching up to run his fingers through Sam’s hair. “Love you,” he murmured before leaning in to give him kiss. He moved his lips against Sam’s slowly, sweetly, until Sam started to kiss back. He pulled back, looking Sam in the eyes.

“Why’d you stop?” Sam asked, reaching out to run his fingers through Dean’s cropped hair.

“Just wanted to see if you’d start,” Dean answered, a smile beginning on his face.

“You can’t get rid of me now,” Sam said quietly, leaning in to rest his forehead against Dean’s. “I guess I love you.”

Dean sighed, then gave Sam another quick kiss. “I’m sorry.”

Sam nodded. “I know. Now come on, let’s go," he took a deep breath, "save some lives.”