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Dean can’t count to the amount of times he’s stared down the barrel of a gun - and that’s because it’s happened one hell of a lot, not because he can’t count that high. He’s faced demons and paranoid werewolves and even common criminals, and the feeling never wavers. The drop of the heart, the catch of the breath, tremble of instinctual fear that wracks through your body.
Over time, Dean has been able to control this reaction down to a mere backthought with the knowledge that he was a good hunter. He always knew what he was doing.
Except now. Now, he had no clue what to do. And the feeling was as strong as his first time.
Sammy’s hand had a slight tremble as he held the gun, forefinger hovering over the trigger, the end of the barrel a mere inch from Dean's face, pointed right between his eyes. Dean was going cross-eyed staring down the bottomless well.
“Sammy, I-”
“Shut up, Dean! Just-” Sammy’s eyes scrunched in pain, his free hand massaging his temple. “Just...let me think.”
“Okay.” Dean’s hands twitched where they were held up, itching to disarm his little brother. The only thing stopping him was the knowledge that Sammy wasn’t exactly...stable right now, and would freak at the slightest movement. Frankly, he didn’t think a hole in his skull was very complementary to his looks, and wasn’t willing to test that theory.
And he wasn’t exactly willing to allow his brother to accidentally kill him and live with that guilt.
“Okay, Sammy, that’s okay. You take all the time you need.” He scanned the bunker kitchen for any means of getting out of this situation.
Sammy growled. “Fucking headaches!” He pushed the gun closer. Dean flinched as the cold end of the gun pressed between his eyes. “This is your fault, Dean.” Sam spat, his bloodshot eyes boring, unfocused, into his own.
Dean swallowed. “Okay, yep, sure thing, Sammy. Maybe we could talk about how I’m a horrible human being without the gun?” He tried for a trademark smile. If he could just get Sammy to lower the gun, maybe he could talk to him, or at least knock him out so they can talk about...he hadn’t even told him what he was angry about.
“You mind me asking why you’re threatening to kill me, Sammy?”
Sam’s tongue flickered over his lips, eyes clouded with pain. “You...you...it’s your fault, Dean.”
Dean narrowed his eyes, mentally flickering over the major events of their last few months for anything that he could have done to Sammy to trigger something like this. He came up cold. “Mind being a little more specific?”
Sam scoffed. “Don’t play dumb.”
At Dean’s confusion, Sam’s expression only seemed to darken further. “Eileen.”
Crap . “You’re girlfriend? Look, Sammy, I get it, okay? It sucks, it fucking sucks that she’s gone, and I know this isn’t easy, but come on! I liked Eileen, why would I be responsible for her death?”
“Not...not directly, no, not intentionally, but…” His hand adjusted on the handle of the gun. “But if you...if you had...if she…” A sob escaped Sammy’s lips, and Dean’s heart wrenched at the sound.
“Okay, okay, Sammy, just...put the gun down, we can talk about this.”
“No!” The butt of the barrel really started to hurt with how hard Sam was digging it between his eyes. “No, I’m so done with the talking and the dealing that isn’t dealing, I-” He wiped furiously at the tear that slipped down his cheek. “I’m so fucking done with words. Only action.”
The safety of the gun clicked off, and Dean’s heart climbed into his throat.
“Sammy-”
“Shut up. Please.” His voice was broken, a mere whisper. “Don’t make this any harder than this already is.”
“You don’t have to, Sammy, we can work through this.”
“Can we?” A shattered, humourless laugh. “What, the same way you worked through Kevin? The way you’re working through Cas?”
A growl erupted deep in Dean’s throat before he could stop it. “That’s different.”
“How? How is it fucking different? You loved Cas the same way I love...loved Eileen.” The energy seemed to be depleting from his broken brother. The pressure he was pressing the gun into Dean’s skull was lessened, if slightly. “I loved her, Dean. I loved her so fucking much, and-” Another sob. “And I can’t…”
He took a breath, let it out, stared back at Dean, and dropped the gun. Dean’s lungs finally let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.
Sam clenched his teeth, running a hand through his hair and gripping it, hard. “I’m so...sorry, Dean, I-”
“Hey.” Without a second of hesitation, he enveloped Sammy in a hug, pulling him down into his grip the same way he always has. Sammy trembled in his grip, letting out wracking sobs as Dean shushed him, ignoring the growing damp patch his baby brother was currently leaving on his jacket.
“It’s okay, Sammy. It's okay.”
“N-no, it’s not.”
“I know.” Dean sighed, closing his eyes against Sam’s shoulder. “I know it’s not. It sucks, it sucks ass.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know, Sammy.”