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Shots

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I'm sorry for everything
Oh, everything I've done

Am I out of touch?
Am I out of my place?
When I keep saying that I'm looking for an empty space
Oh, I'm wishing you're here
But I'm wishing you're gone
I can't have you and I'm only gonna do you wrong

Oh, I'm going to mess this up
Oh, this is just my luck
Over and over and over again

I'm sorry for everything
Oh, everything I've done
From the second that I was born it seems I had a loaded gun
And then I shot, shot, shot a hole through everything I loved
Oh, I shot, shot, shot a hole through every single thing that I loved

-“Shots” by Imagine Dragons


 

Sam always knew there was something wrong with him.

It wasn’t that hard to figure out, considering the first body left in his wake was his own mother. But it wasn’t until Jess died that he started counting.

Mom. Dad. Jess. Madison .Pamela. Ellen. Jo. Bobby. Kevin. Fuck, even Dean, a few times.

But there was nothing—nothing—he wasn’t willing to sacrifice to save his brother.

Even Charlie.

He’d asked her, practically begged, to help Dean, and she’d agreed. But because Sam was in her life, someone she called a friend, she died. Because of Sam.

Sick and twisted as he was, it wasn’t like he hadn’t been expecting it, on some level. Everyone he cared about died at some point. Admittedly, he’d tried to keep her the slightest bit at arm’s length even after worming her way into his heart, letting her get close enough that he considered her an honorary little sister, but not too close. No one can get too close.

But when he’d walked into that bathroom and seen Charlie’s mutilated body in the bloody bathtub he’d nearly lost it. For the first time he felt sick down to the marrow of his bones. The contents of his stomach he’d just barely managed to keep in rebelled hours later, as Charlie’s fucking corpse kept flashing behind his eyes.


 

So here he is, a week later, a whole week after burning Charlie’s goddamn body, laying on his bed set on drinking however much whiskey it took until he blacked out. Again.

Dean had been avoiding him all week. That was okay, because Sam wished he could avoid himself too. Who’d want to look at the person to blame for your mother’s death?

Sam brought the bottle of whiskey to his mouth and took another healthy swig.

“Hey Sam? Where’s the-?” Dean said as he entered his brother’s room, only to stop in his tracks as he spied Sam with a nearly empty bottle of whiskey. “Dude are you getting drunk again? That’s my thing.”

“Mine now… ‘s my fault,” Sam slurred. Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. He’d killed Charlie. And mom. And Jess. And, and, and. Too many ands. Too many people he’d killed.

Sighing heavily, Dean took another step forward. “It wasn’t your fault. It was fucking Stine’s, and I’m going to tear him limb from limb because of it.”

That seemed to piss his brother off, as Sam shot off the bed, shaken out of his drunken stupor, and glared at Dean. “Shay it, Dean. Just admit it. It’s my fault Charlie died. I killed her! Come on, we’re all thinking it!”

“No one’s thinking that,” Dean growled. “I don’t blame you-”

“But you should,” Sam laughed a cold, bitter laugh, “Don’t you get it? He was right. He was so right.”

“Who was right?”

“Dad. Dad was right. You should have killed me when you had the chance,” Sam choked out through bitter laughter and even more bitter tears. If Dean had just killed him, everything could have been avoided. Dean going to hell, the apocalypse, the leviathans, Dean going to purgatory, the angels falling from heaven, everything. Couldn’t he see how funny that was? Sam had died multiple times, while the ones who actually deserved to live died. Because of him, always because of him.

“Don’t you say that, DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING SAY THAT!” Dean hissed as he grabbed Sam by the collar and threw him against the nearest wall. “Now you listen to me. You’re gonna get past this. It’s gonna hurt like hell, you’re gonna feel guilty, but you’re gonna suck it up and do what needs to be done because it’s not you’re goddam fault. Capiche?”

Sam looked away and nodded, not able to look his angry brother in the eye, but added when Dean still didn’t let him go, “Yeah, I capiche.”

“Good.” He let Sam go and for a moment his face softened to something akin to the brother of Sam’s childhood memories. “Now get some sleep.”

“Yeah, okay.” Suddenly feeling tired, not to mention sloshy, Sam took his brother’s advice and flopped on his stomach onto his bed. It was true, everything would be okay.

Because when he finally cured his brother from the Mark of Cain, saved his ass for once, Sam would put a bullet in his brain.

Not one more person he cared about was dying because of him.


 

Am I out of luck?
Am I waiting to break?
When I keep saying that I'm looking for a way to escape
Oh, I'm wishing I had what I'd taken for granted
I can't help you when I'm only gonna do you wrong

Oh, I'm going to mess this up
Oh, this is just my luck
Over and over and over again

I'm sorry for everything
Oh, everything I've done
From the second that I was born it seems I had a loaded gun
And then I shot, shot, shot a hole through everything I loved
Oh, I shot, shot, shot a hole through every single thing that I loved

In the meantime can we let it go
At the roadside that
We used to know
We can let this drift away
Oh, we let this drift away
At the bay side
Where you used to show
In the moonlight
Where we let it go
We can let this drift away
Oh, we let this drift away

And there's always time to change your mind
Oh, there's always time to change your mind
Oh, love, can you hear me?
Oh, let it drift away

-“Shots” by Imagine Dragons