Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Asylum ❯ Becoming Insane ( Chapter 5 )

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Asylum
Supernatural, AU
Dean/Sam

Summary: For the past few years, Dean Winchester has been a resident of various mental health facilities and has gained quite a reputation since being forcibly admitted. Abandoned by his father who had previously been a patient himself, the only thing keeping him going is the thought of his brother.

*Disclaimer* I do not own anything. Except maybe the occasional OC. Supernatural is property of Eric Kripke and others.

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Ch. 5: Becoming Insane


Dean stayed in his room the next day, not coming out for anything except eventual trips to the bathroom. Usually, he would have been absolutely starving, but today his appetite was elusive. His face was set in a perpetual frown, focus turned inward as he sat on his bed, back to the wall. His arms were draped across his knees, and he bounced his hand idly from time to time.

What am I going to do about Sam?

Upon deeper introspection, he was even more disturbed about their interaction. He wanted a cigarette but couldn't be bothered trying to go outside. His hand twitched. Since last night, he kept seeing Sammy in the wrong way, kept remembering things like the feel of his arm looped around his neck as he'd helped him back to his room, or...

Christ. He didn't even like admitting it to himself. But he wasn't so sure it was `being immersed in his role' that had made him drift so close to Sam.

“This is crazy,” he said aloud, his voice gruff and pissed off.

He didn't want to see Sam until he'd gotten this sorted out. Maybe being in these institutions so long was starting to rub off on him. Maybe he was going insane?

“I should talk to Bobby,” he muttered. The longer he had to play Sam's not-brother, the more screwed up this could get. It was better if he could say, `Hey, it's me, Dean. How ya doing, Sammy?' If he could be Sam's brother again, all of this would go away. Bobby could tell him how long until they were in the clear.

Then he wouldn't have to keep seeing Sam's startled flush in his head. He wouldn't find himself wondering what Sam would have done if he had leaned forward and made to kiss him. Would he have realized what was about to happen? Would he have allowed it?

Unhappiness spiked through him again and he clutched his head in his hands. “Gah! What the hell?”

It was too late today to talk to Bobby. He'd have to wait till morning. Which would take a small eternity with how restless he was. What he wouldn't give for a few beers. He needed something to kill the time. Anything.

He thought guiltily that he should still go see Sam and that, unlike him, Sam had no choice but to be confined to his room. He would have no way to pass the time or the ability to talk to anyone, save maybe a nurse here and there. He shouldn't have to suffer because his big brother was losing his goddamn mind.

“Sorry, Sammy,” he murmured. “Maybe tomorrow.” He still wasn't sure how to explain why he'd be allowed to visit his brother when no one else was. Sam was no fool. He'd be suspicious and the cat would soon be out of the bag.

---

“Hi, Dr. Singer,” Sam said politely the next morning, grateful as hell to have someone to talk to. He was bored out of his mind. He'd hoped that the green-eyed guy might reappear, but he had not.

“Good morning, Samuel.”

“Ah, just `Sam' is fine.”

“Of course.” The psychiatrist sat down in a chair that had been added to the room the other day. “How are you feeling?”

Sam gave him a baleful look. “Do you guys all have to say that? It's so cliche.”

The doctor smiled. “I've found quite a number of patients are disappointed when I don't give in to convention.”

Sam wasn't sure if he was serious or joking. “I feel okay, I guess. Just incredibly bored.”

“Well, I think I might have the solution for that.”

“Books?” Sam said hopefully. Books could keep him entertained a long while. “Laptop?” The internet would be even better, though he was doubting that was an option.

“Try `roommate',” the doctor said.

Sam was puzzled. “Really? But how would that help? I'm still supposed to be stuck in this bed and they could come and go as they pleased.”

“True,” he agreed.

“And what if we don't get along?”

“I don't think that will be a problem, Sam.”

“Why not?”

“You've already met before.”

The green-eyed guy? he thought with a rush of anxious excitement. He could actually see him again, if that were true, and try to drag some answers out of him. “Muhammad?” he said dubiously, having no other name to go by.

Dr. Singer laughed, eyes full of amusement. “Is that what he told you?”

“Uh...yeah. That isn't his name, is it?” He wasn't really asking. He was pretty sure it wasn't the guy's name - it had only been a joke.

“Nope.”

“Doc, why him?” He felt suspicious. Was there something they knew that they weren't telling him?

“Well, we don't want to have you integrate with the other residents just yet. We'd like to keep you here for observation, but we don't want to leave you isolated. A roommate would be ideal. `Muhammad' is convenient as he'd already met you by accident. None of the other residents even know you're awake.”

“Oh.” Sam felt oddly disappointed.

“I'll also bring you some books. I apologize for the lack of mental stimulation you've been given since your waking. Thank you for being patient.”

“Uh. Sure.” Sam thought it was odd he was being thanked. What else was he supposed to do?

“How is your appetite? Have you been able to keep anything down?”

“Applesauce?” he recalled. “A little soup?”

“So, your stomach is still adjusting to solid food then?”

“I guess so. I tried to eat some chicken, but I got some vicious stomach cramps and then I threw it back up again anyway.”

Dr. Singer nodded and wrote something down on his metal clipboard. “That sort of thing should subside within the week.” He looked up. “How is your head? Any muzziness? Headaches? Bright lights bother you?”

“The lights bother me a little. Makes my eyes feel kind of strained and like I'm about to get a tension headache.”

“We can dim them for you.”

“Thanks.”

The psychiatrist tapped his pen against his leg consideringly. “And have you experienced any... altered states of consciousness?” Sam gave him a puzzled look and he went on to explain. “Any random shortness of breath? Hyperventilation without apparent cause?” Sam shook his head. “Realistic dreams? Fear? Paranoia?” Sam was still shaking his head. “Have you heard or seen anything you thought was out of the ordinary?”

“Only this place,” Sam said truthfully. “It felt really weird to wake up here. I mean, I thought it was hospital, and then I wondered if maybe I'd died or something. It was so deserted.”

Dr. Singer nodded. “And you were suffering a panic attack in the hall after leaving this room?”

Sam frowned. He hadn't mentioned anything of the sort. “I don't think I was.”

“Perhaps you weren't aware of it, but you were showing signs of it when I saw you the other day, just after it happened. Sweating, paleness, eyes constricting and dilating. Think back to when you were alone in the hall. What was on your mind?”

“Well... I was starting to feel like I was in some sort of nightmare. Only everything felt really real. I had no idea where I was and having the catheter on me was already kind of freaking me out.” He paused, seeing it all again. The hall with its crooked floor, and the echoing silence, the cavernous ceiling. The disorientation that had swamped him. The sudden fear that anyone he did encounter would be a threat to his well-being. And there had been one wild thought - that he'd been kidnapped and brought to some strange location to be experimented on. He wasn't sure where that had come from exactly but as he'd edged down the hall, he was convinced that he needed to do so in order to free himself.

It was only that familiar voice that had given him pause, calling his name. He'd responded automatically, feeling for some reason that help had arrived.

But the green-eyed man had seemed shifty, and his unfounded trust fell off sharply.

He couldn't believe in those eyes as they tilted strangely, or that full mouth twisted into a reserved, quirked smile - until the guy had the nerve to call him a bitch. In that moment, he was reminded so forcefully of Dean, that years of conditioning had taken over and he meekly went along with his offer of assistance, though he'd been fighting it so hard only moments before. He was just so stunned wondering if the guy helping him to his room actually could be his brother.

“Sam?”

“Huh?”

Sam realized from the doctor's patient expression that he'd totally zoned out. “Oh, sorry.”

“It's quite alright.” Dr. Singer said with a faint smile. “I must be going, but you'll see that the extra bed is brought in soon, along with some reading material.”

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome.”

---

Dean paced the floor of the psychiatrist's office angrily. “So you're telling me that not only do I need to keep up this charade for at least another week, at the minimum, I have to stay in the same room??” He growled in frustration. “Do you have any idea what you're doing to me here?”

“No,” Dr. Singer said calmly. “Do enlighten me.”

Dean shot him a nasty look.

“What does it matter, Dean? You were spending nearly all of your time in there.”

“But that was before he woke up!” He gesticulated aggressively. “Everything's different now!”

Bobby was giving him that `professional interest' face. It was pissing him off. Dean strode over to the desk he was sitting at and slammed his hands upon it. “What don't you understand?! I can't keep this up!”

“Dean, it's only been a few days,” the older man said reasonably. “Is there something else going on that you'd like to tell me about?”

“No,” Dean said shortly.

“Then we will proceed as planned. The bed should be in by now. Please take some of my books down to Sam so he has something with which to enrich his brain.”

Dean growled again and strode over to the shelves, grabbing things off of it at random.

“This may or may not be of interest to you,” Dr. Singer said, “but it seemed that this would be the best way to explain your presence upon Sam's waking. I'm sorry if you feel inconvenienced. The other consideration was keeping Sam from encountering people who knew you that might call you by name. Worst of all, your last name. Not even a flawless charade would be able to withstand that.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean said in a clipped tone. Of course Bobby had had his reasons, and they were good ones, Dean had to admit, but this put him in such a tight spot! He wasn't in a mood to be pleasant.

Stalking out of the office, a stack of books in his hands, he ran into Gordon.

“Hello, my friend,” the black man said, conveying levels of meaning that were known only to him.

“Get bent,” Dean said, weaving around him.

“I heard a rumor, Winchester,” Gordon called at his back as he kept pace. “A real doozy of a rumor. Care to hear it?”

Dean stiffened. “Not really.”

“That pretty boy Sammy has woken up, and guess who he is?”

“His name is Sam,” Dean corrected, hating Gordon's ignorant, mocking use of the nickname.

“Yes, Sam. Sam Winchester.”

Dean stopped walking and turned to look at him. “What, so you're telling me I have a brother now?” He put as much scorn into his voice as he could. “Where the fuck did you hear that? That's fucking asinine.”

“Is it?” Gordon persisted, eyes alight. “I suppose my source might have misheard you the day Sammy came in, but I don't think so. You're crazy, Winchester, but even you have a standard set of behaviors you generally stick to. What made you run after Sam `Campbell' like a bat out of hell, knowing that Dillan and his crew would never let you get that far?”

“Well, shit, Gordon. If I'm crazy, what in the hell does that make you?”

White teeth flashed in a wide smile. “Answer the question.”

Dean smiled back. “Sorry, it's against my policy to cooperate with assholes.”

“There's a reason they're letting you in there to see him.” Gordon's tone was becoming hostile. “It isn't coincidence.”

“Anybody ever tell you you're paranoid?”

“You--!”

“Hey, Gordon,” another voice called out. One of the orderlies. “Leave Winchester alone. He has a delivery to make for Doc Singer.”

“This isn't over, Winchester,” Gordon hissed.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Is it ever?”

“Gordon!” the orderly snapped as the man took a menacing step towards him, looking like he wanted to put his fist through Dean's teeth. “Move it along!”

Dean shrugged off the encounter and continued his trek downstairs to his brother's room. He was still in a bad mood, but somehow being able to antagonize Gordon a bit made him feel a little better. Go figure. And here I thought the guy was all bad, he thought sarcastically with a twisted smile.

Things were coming to a head, though. He and Gordon were likely to be crossing fists soon. He welcomed it. He just didn't welcome the inevitable consequences afterwards.

---

Sam had fallen asleep, lulled into a stupor by his intense boredom. He thought he heard the door open. He didn't pay much attention, it was probably one of the nurses. She didn't turn on the light so he continued to doze.

“Hey, Mari,” a voice said as the door opened a second time. It was pitched low, so he could barely hear it. “How is he?”

“Hi, Sugar,” a female voice responded in an undertone. Sam thought it must be Marilene. She was the only one who addressed people like that. “Where've you been hiding yourself?”

“Around.” There was a small laugh. It sounded fake. Rueful.

“Well, he seems to be on the mend,” she told him. “But he could do with someone his age to keep him company.”

“Yeah, that's what Bobby said, so here I am.”

Sam started in surprise at the name. He'd pegged the voice as belonging to the green-eyed guy without a name, but once more he was becoming suspicious that his name was actually Dean.

“Do you mean Dr. Singer?” she asked. “Why do you call him that?”

“Dunno.” The voice sounded like it came with a shrug. “Just looks like a Bobby to me.”

See? Wasn't he saying what Sam himself had thought earlier? That Dean would have thought Dr. Singer just looked like a `Bobby'?

He lay there, pretending to be asleep, but his heart was thudding in his chest.

“Hey, Mari,” the male voice dropped even further. Now Sam really had to strain to hear it. “He ask you anything about me?”

“He asked how you managed to have such a firm looking ass.”

What?! Sam was indignant. I did not! He was about to roll over to clarify that, when the conversation resumed with a feminine chuckle.

“Oh, my,” she laughed. “I don't think I've ever seen you turn such a charming shade of red, Dean.”

Dean? Sam froze. Dean?! As in, his Dean?

“What is wrong with you, woman?” Dean demanded in a hushed voice. “Making up off-the-wall shit like that...”

“Oh, but it was worth it just to see your face.”

“Ah, whatever,” came the gruff reply. “Now get on out of here unless you have actual work to do.”

“Sure thing, cupcake. See you later.”

The door closed behind her and Dean walked into the room with a sigh. Sam still lay frozen, wondering if he should say something or not. And if he did, when? Now?

There was the scuff of feet on the floor and the sound of Dean dropping something weighty onto the second bed. “Goddamn heavy books,” he muttered under his breath.

Sam was facing the second bed and opened his eyes to watch him. There was indeed a leaning tower of books that Dean was busily holding steady while he looked for a better place to put them.

Here in the dark like this, he could almost picture being back home again, a kid in his bed, with his big brother checking out some suspicious noise he'd heard in the night. The top of the silhouette was the same, his spike-topped hair making the same jagged accent to his profile. Only the body was different. He was no longer a kid. Neither of them were.

He sat up, emotion tearing at his throat. Was this familiar stranger really his brother? Was it possible?

Sam squinted at the figure before him, feeling in his bones that it was. “Dean?” he called softly, experimentally.

There was a pause where neither of them moved or spoke.

“Good guess,” the dark-haired guy said with an upward quirk of his lips, visible in the stray light. “I'm your roommate.”

“You're my brother,” Sam corrected slowly as it started to sink in. “Dean.” He hadn't seen Dean in over 10 years, when he was just a kid. God, it's been forever. He looked so different, but Sam was sure it was him. His green eyes were the same as he remembered, so were his expressions, the way he talked...

The guy gave him a baleful look. “No, man,” he said shortly. “I'm Dean, but I'm not your brother. I'm just your new roommate.”

Could I be wrong? Sam wondered, brows drawing together in confusion. Uncertainty crashed through the awe from just a moment ago, felling him. The disappointment was crushing and he felt his face begin to fall. “Sorry... my mistake.”

“No worries,” his not-brother Dean said with a smile, clapping him on the shoulder. “Water under the bridge.”

“Sure,” Sam said, laying back down and turning to face the other way. For a moment, he'd been so sure.

“So, Campbell,” Dean said, and there were sounds of him settling on his bed. “What's the deal with this brother of yours? Don't you even know what he looks like?”

Sam dug his arms under his pillow and scrunched it up to his face. His voice was muffled as he said, “He looks like you.”

There was a lengthy silence, broken only by the periodic turning of pages. Dean must've had a book out that he was looking at.

“Pretty sad that you can't even recognize him,” Dean said disparagingly. “Pre-tty sad.”

The tone and the words pissed Sam off. He rolled back over and shot his roommate a glare. “And what the hell would you know about it, huh?”

Dean shrugged and turned a page distractedly. “Maybe nothing. Maybe something.”

“Yeah? Well I haven't seen my brother since I was 10.”

“Why not?”

“He disappeared.”

Another page turned, and Dean made an appreciative look at whatever he saw there, mouth puckering in a silent whistle. The book seemed to be one on nude photography. His eyes coasted up to Sam's briefly. “Ever try to look for him?” There was something quietly intense about that gaze.

Sam frowned. “Sure, I tried. But I guess he was too good at not being found.”

“You have any relatives you could have asked?”

Sam readjusted himself on the bed, tucking his feet up and sitting Indian-style. “My dad was even harder to find. And my mom...” He frowned as his head suddenly spiked with pain. “Ow.” He brought his hands up to his temples. “My mom, she...” he groaned as the pain spiked once, twice more, and there were flashes of red. Violence. Smiles. Blood. Nausea swept him up in its vicious hold and everything started spinning.

“Sam!” he heard faintly. “Sammy!”

Sam almost laughed to himself. Now he was hearing things.

“Sam, open your eyes! Right now, you hear me?”

There was such desperation in that voice, Sam made an effort to comply, even though he was sure his eyes had never closed. Dean's anxious face swam into focus and he realized he was being shaken.

“What?” he murmured, not making sense of why a Dean that wasn't his brother could look at him like that. He remembered one time when he was 6, his brother had given him a look just like that one. He'd gotten his foot stuck between the roots of a tree in the forest and had sprained his ankle before getting knocked out when his head hit the ground. When Dean had finally found him, he'd done nothing but yell at him and tell him he was stupid for getting hurt by something that couldn't even move. He sounded angry, but his face, the moment Sam had seen it, was panicked and it looked bad, like he was going to be sick. And while he carried on, he'd started to look relieved. Stern, but relieved.

“Thank god,” Dean said under his breath. His arms were holding Sam steady. “Can you sit up? Lean back?”

Sam nodded weakly and let Dean guide him back onto the bed, resting his head on the pillows. His hand rested on Dean's forearm, clutching it unconsciously. He could feel the muscles corded and sliding within it.

“Sorry,” Dean said. “I didn't know this would happen.” He sounded closed off and uncomfortable.

Sam shrugged. “Me neither.”

“Uh... mind if I?” Dean asked. His left arm was pinned under Sam's shoulders. His right was still resting beneath Sam's hands, but had fallen to rest upon his stomach. It felt kind of nice. Comforting.

“My head hurts,” Sam said. “Can't you just lay here a minute till it stops?”

Dean was silent a moment.

“I guess,” he said finally, and gingerly settled next to Sam.

It was kind of a compromising position. To anybody who walked by, they would have appeared like lovers curled up together. Sam lay on his back, while Dean, because of his arms, was facing him, body less than a foot away.

“Thanks,” Sam said.

---

If Dean thought such a position was awkward, it was nothing compared to the awkward he felt upon waking up.

He hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep until he opened his eyes and Sam's sleeping face was turned towards him, mere inches away. It was smooth in sleep, like a little kid's, and his lashes formed little crescents on his cheeks. His bangs fell across his forehead in unruly waves. Dean reached out to brush them aside, and started as Sam moaned in his sleep, face turning into the touch.

Heart suddenly knocking him in the teeth, Dean's eyes were pulled to Sam's lips, which twitched into a smile in his sleep. They parted slightly, and he couldn't help but notice how full and compelling they looked. He also couldn't help but notice the fear and excitement that were battling for dominance within him, and the way their legs were intertwined. One of Sam's legs was thrown up quite high between his own and was becoming one hell of a distraction.

He needed to get out of this arrangement. Before he did something they'd both regret.

Before his free hand reached up again to brush Sam's hair aside, as it was doing now, and before Sam responded to the touch by tilting his face upwards, closer to his. God help him, he was drifting that two inches lower that brought their lips near to touching. His lower belly clenched tightly as he hung in the balance, not quite stepping over that last boundary, but actively considering doing so. He toyed with the thought of brushing his lips against the ones before him, and his body responded strongly. It reminded him that he had not properly been with anyone for years, aside from quickies with a weak-willed nurse here and there. He'd never been one to show interest in his fellow man.

“Mm,” Sam mumbled, stretching a little as he started to wake.

Dean jumped back just in time.

“Dean?” Sam queried in a sleep-thickened voice that shot right through him.

“Think my arm's asleep,” he muttered, tugging at it. He was eager to make a hasty retreat.

Grey eyes blinked at him slowly, refocusing on his face. “You really do look like him.”

“Who?” he asked absently, trying to reclaim his legs before any more errant motion made him press Sam's body into the mattress beneath his.

“My brother Dean.”

“Well, I can't exactly help that, can I?” he said a little more harshly than necessary. He was getting desperate.

Hurt flashed over Sam's face, but was gone in an instant. Hidden. “Yeah. Sorry.” He sat up, helping to untangle their limbs.

“Now, if you're done getting your beauty rest,” Dean said, “I'm hitting the shower.” A cold shower, he added mentally.

“Sure. Okay.” Sam was giving him a slightly odd look that he could not decipher.

One thing was for certain, Dean thought as he closed the bathroom door behind him. This arrangement had to change. He was pissed. Not only had he himself set off a dangerous memory in Sam his first 15 minutes in the room, he'd nearly given into his blooming insanity and done something they both would regret.

He'd just have to tell Bobby it wasn't worth it.

He was going to end up fucking everything up, no matter how hard he was trying not to.

---
TBC

A/N: Chapter title from Infected Mushroom - “Becoming Insane”. Yes, there are lyrics, but you just have to listen to this one. There are all sorts of vocal distortions and such going on that just can't be represented with the words of the song. This, also, is one of my favorites by IM. :)