Summary:  What if at the end of ‘Simon Said’ Webber had ordered Dean to shoot Sam instead of himself...
FYI:  SFTCOLARS's Challenge Fic.
A/N:  This fic idea came from DiamondUnicorn over on SFTCOL(AR)S, and I thought it was absolutely brilliant…
Disclaimer:  Those wonderfully wicked boys still don’t belong to me…

‘Shoot your brother...’

Dean heard the command in his head, clear as day, as if Webber had been standing right next to him. He felt a sort of fog invade his mind, and he found himself obeying the command.

‘Aim and shoot.’

The order was simple, and Dean found himself steadying the sniper rifle in his hands, and aiming at his baby brother. There was something so wrong about this whole thing, but try as he may, Dean couldn’t figure out just what that was.

‘Pull. The. Trigger.’

‘No...’ Dean thought, struggling against the hold the man had on him. He felt his finger pushing down on the trigger, and he panicked, not wanting to shoot his brother, but not having control over the movements of his body.

‘Do it now!’

With the last command, Dean felt himself pulling the trigger. He jerked at the last second, but he knew, even as the bullet left the barrel, that it wasn’t going to be enough to avoid hitting his little brother altogether.

‘God Sammy, I am so sorry!’ Dean thought, even as he forced himself to watch as the bullet pierced into Sam. He had a clear view through the scope on the rifle of the bullet entering Sam’s shoulder, a small spray of blood coming from the younger Winchester, even as he jerked away from the pain.

Sam heard the shot a split-second before he felt the bullet enter his shoulder. His body spasmed, to get away from the pain, but it encompassed him. There was a mind-numbing rip, and he felt the bullet leave his shoulder as fast as it had entered. He dropped to his knees, already trying to figure out what must have happened.

He knew that unless there was another trained hunter in the woods, that Dean had shot him, and he knew his brother would never hurt him of his own volition. Sam guessed that Andy’s brother had made Dean shoot him, but it didn’t make sense that he would make Dean do that.

God, was it pick on Sammy day or something?

His head spinning, Sam lost his train of thought, and tried to breathe through the pain radiating from his shoulder, through the rest of his body. It hurt so much he thought he might throw up, and the thought wasn’t a pleasant one.

He heard another shot, and turned to see where it had come from. The move had been a bad one, he thought when he felt the pain spike, and nausea rise. He held a hand to his stomach, even as he leaned over and emptied his stomach onto the pavement in front of him.

Sam heard crashing from the bushes in front of him, even as he continued to heave. There was a frantic call of his name, and then he felt a soothing hand rubbing his back. the touch made him flinch, which sent more pain through him, and Sam groaned.

“Easy Sammy, it’s okay, we’re gonna get you taken care of.” He heard Dean tell him, and inwardly laughed at the thought.

Right, Dean was going to get him help, after he had just shot him. Perfect! Sam knew the thought was bitter, but he was in pain, and it was only logical to blame Dean for everything that had happened. He had shot him after all.

“M’okay, Dean.” Sam mumbled, trying to raise himself back up, so that he could see his brother’s face. The pain was almost worth it, to see the look of incredulity on Dean’s face, as he tried to process the fact that Sam was telling him he was okay.

“Sure yah are Sammy, and Poe was sane and sober,” Dean told him, a strained smirk lining his lips, even as he steadied Sam, keeping one hand on his back, and placing the other on Sam’s chest.

“N’er proven tha’ he wasn’ sane,” Sam slurred, and swayed.

“Whoa Sammy!” Dean whispered, even as he tried to keep his brother up.

“Dean? M’dizzy,” Sam fell limp in his brother’s hold, even as he said the words, and Dean lowered him to the ground awkwardly as Sam’s bent legs got in the way. He was careful not to hurt Sam more than he already was, even as he yelled out for Andy.

“Andy!” The younger man turned to him, and his eyes widened as he took in Sam’s still form, and the growing puddle of blood beneath him. “Call an ambulance!” Andy nodded, and fumbled for his cell phone, as Dean turned his attention back to his brother.

“Hold on Sammy,” Dean whispered, taking off his shirt and bunching it in both hands. He lifted Sam a little, and placed one bunch on the entrance wound, and then his placed the other on the exit wound on Sam’s front. He closed his eyes, praying that Sam would forgive him, and pressed both bunches into Sam’s shoulder.

“Urr-gllluhhh;” Sam moaned, as he tried to pull away from the invading pain, not even fully conscious. Dean held steady, knowing that although he was hurting Sam, he had to keep pressure on the wound, that he had to try to stop the bleeding.

Dean heard the approaching sirens, and breathed a sigh of relief that his brother was going to get the help he needed. Sam fell still again under his hands, and Dean turned his full attention back to his brother, even as he tried to gauge whether his brother was just unconscious, or not breathing...

Please be okay...

Dean checked the monitor for the twenty-sixth time since he had sat down. He had been sitting at his brother’s bedside for a little over two hours, and despite the fact that the doctor had told him that Sam would be fine, Dean found himself still fearing the worst.

He still couldn’t believe that he had actually shot his brother.

“Sir, are you okay?” A paramedic asked Dean, as two others took care of Sam under Dean’s supervision.

“I’m fine,” Dean told them, not wanting to lie, but at the same time, not wanting to tell the medics that he was just the opposite, that he was scared, that he was angry, that he felt guilty as hell for the fact that he had shot his brother.

He had shot his Sammy...

“Is he okay?” Dean asked, looking pointedly at Sam, and then back at the medic.

“He should be okay. It doesn’t look like the bullet hit anything, he just lost a good amount of blood.” The medic told him, and Dean nodded, daring to hope. “Now I won’t promise anything, because I haven’t had the time and equipment to check out your brother, that I would like; but like I said he should be fine.” Dean nodded again, the movement jerky, and seemingly uncoordinated.

“Okay,” Dean whispered, not lifting his eyes from his brother’s still form.

The medic had turned out to be right. Sam had been weak from blood loss, but there had been no major damage to his shoulder. The doctor had started an intravenous line in the back of Sam’s hand to pump lost blood into him; and another line had been inserted on the inside of Sam’s arm for fluids, antibiotics, and pain medication.

The doctor had told him that other than being painful for a while, the wound would heal in time. Sam would have to wear a sling along with his cast for a couple weeks, but other than that, and making sure the bandages were clean, there wasn’t much to be done to help Sam out.

The relief that he had felt at the news that Sam would be okay, had been quickly replaced by guilt. The time he had been sitting next to his brother had been spent thinking about what he had done, and what he could now do to try and make things right for Sam.

After a while, Dean got to thinking about Sam and the Asylum. He figured that he now knew what Sam had felt after he had shot Dean, and knowing Sam and his emotions, Dean felt bad that he had shot Sam down every time he had tried to talk about things after they had left that god-forsaken place.

Guilt weighed heavily on him, and Dean knew that like it or not, he and Sam had to talk about what had happened, both with Webber and with Ellicott. Chick-flick or not, they had to talk, and with a smirk Dean wondered if he and Sam talked things through, if the Supernatural would stop making them want to shoot each other.

Sam was groggy. There was no other word for the way he felt. He had remembered feeling like this many times growing up, and for some reason, the only times he had felt this way had been when he was in a hospital.

It was the drugs, definitely the drugs. Doctors always gave him really good drugs. Drugs that made him feel really... happy, no matter what the situation was, the drugs always made him feel better, and groggy.

He pushed his way through the haze that seemed to cloud his vision, and tried to remember what had happened, but found the fog thicker in the direction of his searches. Through the fog, Sam heard a voice calling. He fought his way toward it, feeling almost giddy at the chance of seeing something other than the clouds that seemed to fill his vision.

‘Sammy,’ he heard the voice call from somewhere above him, and he rolled his eyes.

“It’s Sam,” he thought, and heard a chuckle coming from the same person that had called him. With a start he realized that he had said the thought aloud.

Sam, it’s time to wake up little brother. Time to open them eyes.’ The voice told him, and Sam inwardly groaned at the prospect of having to wake up. But Dean wanted him to open his eyes, and wake up; for that reason, and that one reason alone, Sam struggled to open his eyes.

“Dean?” Sam asked as he forced his eyelids open a crack.

“Yeah Sammy-boy, it’s me,” Dean told him and squeezed his hand. Sam realized that Dean had been holding his hand the whole time, and while the thought warmed him, it also sent a blush to his cheeks. His brother had been holding his hand as if he were a little boy, and while it gave him comfort in the fact that Dean worried, Sam didn’t know if he wanted Dean to let go, or if he wanted his big brother to let go, and hide.

He settled for letting Dean take comfort, while taking some for himself, and squeezed his older brother’s hand back; letting him know that he was okay, that everything was going to be fine. Dean smiled at the gesture, and Sam gave him a little nod, trying to convey everything he wanted to say with the simple movement.

“You okay?” Sam asked as Dean sighed and released his hand.

Dean turned to him, a surprised look on his face. “Am I okay? Sammy, I’m not the one laying in a hospital bed, looking like a stuck pig.” Dean told him with a small laugh. Sam smirked, but kept searching his brother’s face for answers. “Yeah Sam, I’m okay.” Dean relented with a small exhale of air.

Sam nodded, “Good.”

Dean’s lips quirked and he studied his brother. “What about you, you okay?” He asked after a minute, seemingly satisfied with what he saw.

“I’m okay.” Sam told him, and meaning it. He honestly hadn’t felt a lick of pain since he had woken up.

“That’s good,” Dean told him, and Sam outright laughed. Looking perplexed Dean stared at him. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked and Sam nodded. “Well if you’re fine, what are you laughing at?”

“Dude, you are such a girl.” Sam answered and laughed again.

“What? Who’s the pansy lying in a hospital bed?”

“Jerk-off.”

“Bitch.”

“Whore.”

“Meany.”

“Oh yeah Dean, that really hurt. Hurt me right here.” Sam pointed to his chest.

“Shut up geek-bitch.”

‘Yeah they were going to be just fine... Now all Dean needed was a better comeback...'