Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Asylum ❯ Can't Stop ( Chapter 7 )

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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. 7: Can't Stop

When Sam experimentally cracked the bathroom door and looked out, Dean was gone.

A frown marred his face and he let out a sigh, lifting a hand to his brow to smooth away the headache that was thinking of forming. It happened sometimes when he frowned too hard; his brows pinched together and created a pressure in his skull. It'd be easier if he could just get mad sometimes instead of frowning in reaction to things. It would save him some pain.

He leaned on the door frame and tried to think.

Once again, with those green eyes swimming so close to his, he'd frozen. Body, brain, and possibly even morality. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe. He was just aware of the mouth that hovered before his, and the tickling warmth of breath which marked the passing moments.

He hadn't been sure what was going to happen. Well, he knew... or at least he could speculate... but it was kind of unreal. First, they were fighting, tempers flaring (at least, his was), then they were settling back comfortably and talking right after - as if that was a normal transition to make.

Then... then there was one of those moments where it almost sounded like Dean was hitting on him (he still wasn't sure what to make of that). After that, time had slowed with the hand that was brushing across his stomach and with Dean's face drifting too close.

As with other things pertaining to the green-eyed man, the signals Sam was getting were all over the place.

The guy had just been checking out what looked to be a pornographic photography book of female nudes. Then he was (possibly?) hitting on his male roommate.

Yet when push came to shove, he didn't quite try to bust a move.

Not to mention, I've told him how he reminds me of my brother...

Or what if he was Dean? Like really Dean. His Dean?

But how bizarre, such a situation... Why would he do it? Was it a joke gone too far? Was it? It had certainly seemed serious, and yet if he had been certain of that, it would have been easier to pull away. As it was, he didn't even react until the hand on his stomach trailed over his hip, promising it wasn't a joke at all. Just a second more and he was certain the last little gap between their lips would have closed as well. He could feel it to his core. That's what would've happened if he hadn't done something right that second. And his Dean or not, his roommate gave him that time. There was no other reason for that hesitation, right? It was like he was thinking at Sam, telling him, `push me away'.

It had felt so serious, so weighty.

And yet, once he'd broken the hold, he'd been mocked. Laughed at. Called uptight.

It was so confusing.

Not to mention, even with all this going on, he still couldn't figure out whether this guy really was his brother or just a look-alike. He wasn't even sure if he should want him to be Dean. Because how could he explain his brother hitting on him? It was kind of disturbing. And kind of...

(And if it isn't your Dean?) a stray thought queried. (How would you feel about it then?)

When they'd been grappling, when he'd been pinned and his roommate had whispered `submit' into his ear... something had happened. Something had changed, and he was overly aware of the strong body straddling his, of the quality of that deep voice, and of his body being pressed against the mattress.

“No,” he said, rubbing a quick hand over his face. A laugh fell out as he shook his head and said, “Oh, no, no.”

He turned back into the bathroom and closely consulted his reflection in the mirror. His eyes looked different. The irises were thinning as his pupils swelled. He saw it in his own face, his expression, when his mind kept on its current track, replaying that scene on the bed... and the later scene on the bed.

He gripped the mirror in both hands. “No, Sam,” he said to his reflection, his voice intense. Warning. “Just. No.”

He couldn't be attracted to his roommate, could he?

“What the hell?!” he yelled, spinning from the mirror in disgust. “I don't like guys.“

He muttered to himself, biting the tip of his thumbnail. “I don't swing that way. I don't. So why-?”

Another horrifying thought struck him, one which he was definitely less equipped to deal with than the one he was currently mulling over. Was it because this Dean guy reminded him of his brother?

His world lurched sickly on its axis and he had to sit down. The top of the toilet was convenient and he fumbled to it, sitting and then putting his head between his knees to take a few deep breaths.

“Ok, Sammy,” he murmured. “Calm the hell down. We'll figure this out.”

He lifted his head again after a few minutes and rubbed his face with his hands. “It's a brother complex,” he said experimentally. “I looked up to Dean since I was kid, then I was always looking for him.”

When he was 15, he'd overheard his mom on the phone once, talking to a friend about his father. It was after the fact, but that was how he learned his father had been living in a loony bin for the last few years. Something about delusions and monsters. He remembered the panic he'd felt then, his fear for his brother. Was he ok? What had happened when he and his mom left and Dad went crazy? Dean had wanted to look after their dad after the divorce, but who had been looking after him?

He'd become obsessed with trying to find Dean, but his mom refused to answer his questions. She'd said only that John had always been a bit odd, but his delusions had finally beaten him and that was why she'd left him. Sam had yelled at her once, asking her how she could take him and leave Dean there if she was so worried about Dad's delusions bringing them to harm.

`He's got the same sickness, Sammy,' she'd said. `You have to let it go.'

Sam didn't remember Dad seeming like a nut job. Sure, maybe he was teaching his sons some kind of off-the-wall stuff, but that didn't mean necessarily that he was crazy. What if the things he was hunting were real? In that case he was teaching his family how to protect itself. On the other hand... and this was the rub... what if the things he was hunting didn't exist? What if Mom was right and it was all in his head? What, then, were the things he was `hunting'?

He took a deep breath, knowing he would not come to an answer on this in the next 5 minutes when he'd failed to discover one for years.

His mom had known where Dean was, at least some of the time. He wasn't sure if she kept tabs on her older son because she cared, or because she wanted to make sure Sam couldn't find him.

They'd hashed out this conversation many times, many ways, but generally it went like this: `He's been in detention centers, Sam. He has a criminal record. He'd only be a bad influence on you even if you did find him. I thought you wanted to go to college? You know the only way is if you study hard and get a scholarship; I just don't have the money, baby, I'm sorry.'

Sure, he wanted to go to college. But that wasn't the only thing he wanted.

He was sure she meant well, but... she didn't seem to understand the gaping hole that Dean's absence had made in his life. And to just write him off as a delinquent and a troublemaker so simply and easily... It bugged him. He'd rather find Dean and ask him personally what the deal was, what he'd done. Maybe he could slap some sense into his older brother and watch out for him the way Dean had always done for him when he was little. What Sam did not want to do, most of all, was give up on him. Not without a fight. Even if Dean turned out to be a bit touched in the head like their mom thought, as long as he was still Dean, Sam wanted to be there for him.

Which brought him back to his current dilemma - possibly harboring an attraction for someone that reminded him of Dean.

“My wires are just getting crossed,” he muttered unconvincingly.

Again, what were the chances that he'd actually found his brother accidentally, and after all this time?  He shook his head. “Couldn't be.” Even if Dean had followed in Dad's footsteps and been institutionalized, what were the odds he would be at the very facility I got brought into? It would be one helluva coincidence.

So his being drawn to this green-eyed guy... it was probably just his intense desire to see his brother again. He'd wanted so badly to have his search be at an end, that he was seeing things that weren't there and fixating. And in his head, he was probably suffering some torqued subconscious urge to tie himself, in some way, to this person that reminded him of Dean. To reclaim that lost bond, even if it was just a proxy.

“Yeah, that has to be it.”

See? It was okay. He wasn't harboring inappropriate feelings for his brother. He could breathe again, instead of feeling like he was on some macabre merry-go-round that was spinning faster and faster and would never stop.

BREAK!

The psychiatrist's office felt like a safe harbor for Dean at the moment. It was a place where he could come clean about what was going on in his head, and a place that did not have Sam in it. He'd stayed out of dodge since the incident and did not want to come face-to-face with him so soon. He didn't know what he should do, or what he was supposed to say.

“Dean?”

“What?” Dean stopped looking out the window and tried to focus on what Bobby was asking him.

“I said, do you feel that Sam is still as volatile as before?”

Their grappling match came to mind, and so did the feel of Sam's body straining against his as they fought for the upper hand. He could recall every sinuous twist and every expelled breath, as well as every second he'd had Sam beneath him, held helpless in that shoulder lock.

“Uh,” he said in a rough voice, then coughed into his hand before continuing. “Yeah. He seems to be getting his energy back. I don't know about the memories thing, though. That's what you're getting at, right?”

The doctor nodded. “I'm keeping what you said in mind and I plan to transition him into normal life here as soon as I think he is stable enough for it.”

Dean had a sudden disconcerting thought. Once Sammy `recovered' fully, would they be taking him away? This was a mental hospital, after all. If they deemed him normal, how much longer would he even be here?

How much longer do I even have with you? he wondered.

But if Sam was deemed normal, maybe he could put in a good word for his brother and tell them that he wasn't crazy. Maybe they could both leave here together.

Though, where would I fit into that perfectly arranged life of his? Between University and girlfriends...

...and later on it would be work and maybe even a wife? Just where exactly would there be room for him in his little brother's life? It was depressing, really. Sam was the most important thing he had in this world, but he didn't think he would ever be Sam's. Sam was normal, had led a more or less NORMAL life, thanks to their mom, and he would have no use for a brother who was seen as anything but normal and who would want to hang around for more than just holidays.

But what could he do? What in the hell could he do about it?

“Dean, sit down,” Dr. Singer's voice said sharply.

He complied automatically, too distracted to even bother being difficult. He realized his breathing was shallow, coming fast, and his hands were shaking.

Before he knew it, a light was shining in his right eye, then his left. “What are you thinking about?” Bobby was asking him. He shook his head, strangely not able to see past the tip of his nose. All he could think about was that his `best case scenario' life with Sam almost made him feel like just shooting himself. “It's like you're having a panic attack.” The words drifted over him, disembodied. “This isn't like you.”

All this time, he'd been harboring some fantasy that Sam was out there somewhere, past the stone walls of the facilities he'd been kept in the past several years, and that he was happy. And maybe that he'd forgotten all about his older brother... meanwhile Dean wasted away, treasuring the memories of Sammy, content that he was not screwing things up for him by being around. That had all come crashing down when Sam had entered his world, as one of the mentally distressed. That bubble of safety had shattered, and suddenly it was much more than just Sam's happiness he was worried for.

But since Sam had woken, complications just seemed to keep piling up.

-You can't be brothers.-

-You can't let him remember the accident.-

-Try self-gratification to help you keep your hands to yourself.-

`You look like him. My brother Dean.'

Each memory and the words that had been spoken to him were hitting him like slugs, punching holes through him while he tried to keep his balance. Emotions were flashing through him like strobe lights, rendering him transparent with their blinding force.

`I looked for him. Maybe he was just too good at not being found.'

The hope he'd felt when Sam mentioned his `brother' Dean, even that... it was twisted and dark. Hope was colored with desperation - that he hadn't been forgotten, that he was missed, needed. He'd held to it, poked at it, even as he worked his way into Sam's affections - as an outsider, a stranger - deceiving him and wondering if keeping Sam in the dark would allow him to act on the corrupted feelings he'd been finding himself drowning in.

-Is he recovering? How has Sam's mental state been lately?-

Guilt seared him.

`You don't know when to quit!'

Desperation paralyzed him, seeing those accusing grey eyes again, hard as flint. They merged in his head with the ones he'd seen with pupils blown, pulling him in. What was it he was trying to do, forcing this on Sam? It was too big a risk. His mind was still fragile. What if this broke him? But he couldn't control the impulses, not completely.

((You have to stop me.)) he thought brokenly. ((I need you.))

He didn't want this. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Sam. And how would Sam react if Dean let this go on and acted on the veiled desire he'd witnessed in those wide, wary eyes, only to find out later what their true connection was? How would he feel, knowing that it had been his brother? And that his brother had known it all along.

“Dean,” Dr. Singer barked out, no longer receiving any real response from the dark-haired young man. His head was lolling slightly and a stricken look was upon his face. His eyes were wide and glassy. “Dean!”

`You're my brother,' Sam's voice had been heart-breakingly hopeful, `Dean.'

`I'm Dean, but I'm not your brother,' he'd said, callously crushing that hope with lies. `I'm just your new roommate.' The way Sam's face fell was a testament to his believable acting - a good thing - but it tore at him and he wanted to take it back.  

((God help me, I need you.))

BREAK!

Sam was on guard as he moved through the facility. It was strange to be walking through these halls, seeing glimpses of others as he followed the orderly that had come to get him. They appeared, disappeared and reappeared like phantoms, behind grand doorways, through halls, or around giant brick columns that rose from the first floor to the second in the area he was in now. There was an open area in the middle, splitting the 2nd floor walkways; a sort of two story atrium that might have once been intended as a sun area. There were windows in the upper reaches near the ceiling that would have been to let light in. Just now, the lighting looked muddy like it was shining through dust and cobwebs, the area looked sinister, and the patients were pale ghosts in hospital grey, flickering in and out of existence.

The room he and Dean had been using was part of a main section that seemed predominantly used only on the first floor and was older and less re-worked than the rest of the place. It also had higher ceilings, more architectural uniqueness, and a main atrium on the one end of his hall with a ceiling that was two stories high, flanked by a sweeping staircase. They went up one side of the stairs and passed through a door in the massive, ornate, and intimidating wall that backed the top of them. From there, it was a short walk through closed, darkened halls before the path split around the narrow inner atrium they were passing now.

As the atrium fell behind them, the hall swallowed them up again in its dusky confines and low ceilings. There were more doors here, one of which the orderly was stopping in front of.

Sam stopped outside Dr. Singer's door and looked around, even though he'd been doing nothing but looking this entire time. He was a little on edge. He'd essentially been ordered not to leave his quarters previously. Why was Dr. Singer wanting him to come to his office all of a sudden instead of visiting him in the room like he normally did?

“Go on in,” the orderly said.

Sam tugged at the plain, lifeless t-shirt he wore. It was, he thought, one of the articles Dean had won at cards. It was new, dark grey, and carried no significance, only it was all he could find to wear apart from the white hospital gown he was not going to be caught walking around in. The sweat pants were his own, left by the staff in case he got cold in his bed. Unlike everything else in that room that was hospital-issue, they were not white, but dark blue.

There had been what looked like a set of men's pajamas, lightweight, cool, long-sleeved and dishwater grey, which he'd been wearing most days, but staff had collected it for laundering. He really, really wanted some normal clothes to wear. Where had Dean come by the t-shirts and faded, torn jeans that he wore as a near standard uniform? He couldn't have won them all by cards, could he? How was it that the jeans fit him so well, if that was the case?

The other people he'd noticed mainly wore either the white of staff, or hospital issue grey. Some had plainclothes, but it didn't seem wildly common. Maybe a t-shirt here and there with the drab grey pants. Some had tunic style hospital issue tops, or ones with short sleeves.

Sam lifted his hand to knock, rousing himself from his musings, but he was interrupted by the orderly saying, “He's expecting you. Just go in.”

“Sure,” he said with brevity, turning the knob.

“Dr. Singer?” he called as he stepped inside. “It's Sam.”

“Come in,” came the curt response.

The psychiatrist was standing by the window, the light bright upon him compared to the dimness of the rest of the room. Sam almost didn't notice the small couch on the far right of the room, across from the desk, or that it was occupied.

Sam felt a rush of anxiety for some reason as he recognized his roommate's familiar form, reclining upon it like a discarded doll, eyes staring sightlessly. “Dean?”  He moved across the room quickly, crouching down beside him before he even registered a thought to do so. “Dean, can you hear me?” he knew instinctively that something was wrong, but he didn't know what. All he could think is that it freaked him out, seeing the spiky-haired man looking so lifeless and devoid of the very things that made him him. “Dean!” He took strong shoulders in his hands and shook them, staring intently at the face before him, willing it to register a response.

Dean's eyelids fluttered almost imperceptibly. Green eyes slid slowly over to meet his. “Heya, Samm-” his flat voice dropped out and he looked down.

“What's the matter, Dean?” he persisted. “Hey, look at me, man.” It was disturbing, this change in behavior. Where was that smart-aleck mouth of his? Where were the endless string of half smiles and smirks that flitted over his face, easy as breathing?

Since when was his roommate capable of staring him in the eye with such gravity? He felt his brows drawing together, worry marking them as he stared back. “You okay?” he asked.

Dean moved then, brushing his hands away, and sitting up. “When'd you crawl out of the woodwork?” he said, not looking at Sam and running a hand through his hair. A smile tried to twitch to life at the corner of his mouth but died before actualizing.

Sam frowned, feeling suddenly out of place for kneeling on the floor and being worried about someone he barely knew anything about. He rose to his feet, suddenly awkward. Unimpressed green eyes slanted back to him and dark brows twitched upward, blandly questioning his presence.
                  
Tension fizzled through him as he remembered Dean cornering him so closely, trying to get a rise out of him. Sam felt stupid for feeling anything for him. He let that show in his face, and he swore Dean's eyes changed in response.

“You'll have to excuse him, Sam,” Dr. Singer said levelly, coming over to stand beside him. He shot Dean an odd look that was marked with disapproval. “He was having a panic attack. He's out of sorts.”

Shock flashed through him. I brought him out of a panic attack?

“Is... That isn't why you called me here, is it?” Sam glanced between the doctor and Dean. A panic attack would explain that strange stillness and oddness Dean was exhibiting, but it wouldn't explain why he had been called in... The doctor wouldn't have been calling him in personally to snap Dean out of it, could he?

“Don't be stupid,” Dean said, rising to his feet.

“You sit back down, boy,” Dr. Singer said before Sam even had a moment to get irritated at the insult.

Dean sat. Or lost his balance. It was hard to tell.

“What's going on between you two?” the psychiatrist asked.

Sam froze and felt his face heat for some reason, which embarrassed him.

“Nothing, Bobby,” Dean said stiffly. “Everything's peachy.”

“Right, and I'm the Queen of Sheba,” Bobby said, his eyes looking like they wanted to roll with sarcasm. “Is it the rooming situation?” He took off his spectacles. “I thought you boys were getting along.”

Sam glanced quickly at Dean from the corner of his eye. If looks could kill, Bobby might well have taken a few shots to the head from the intensity in Dean's eyes. He looked pissed. “So, what, you thought a little group therapy couldn't hurt, might help?”

Sam felt the rising tension. Maybe he should just bail. “Look, if you guys have an axe to grind,” he started to say, pointing his way to the door.

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean said, eyes locked on Singer, his voice sounding very much like an adult telling a child to sit still and not move until told otherwise. His brother used to do that to him. Sam sat in a nearby chair and tried not to fidget. He didn't like the tone of this.

“Are we doing this now, Bobby?” Dean's voice was gruff. “Is that what you've decided?”

“No, it isn't.”

Sam looked back and forth between them. They were staring at each other hard, a battle of wills. Dean's eyes were flicking, searching Dr. Singer's face before his glare started to settle back down into something more civilized.

“My purpose in calling you both here is that I need to assess whether sharing a room is seriously detrimental to either of you in any way. This is a routine assessment.”

“Detrimental how?” Sam asked. He was still upset with Dean, but the doctor seemed to be hinting that their room assignments could change. The thought made him feel discomfited. He glanced at Dean again and was surprised to see something that looked like panic flash in his eyes, visible when their gazes crossed accidentally.

“Well,” Dr. Singer said, pulling a chair over and sitting down with them like they were having some kind of marriage counseling. “Anything that is making anyone feel unstable, or like their symptoms are worsening. Any extreme discord.”

Dean was surprisingly quiet, so Sam picked up the slack. “No, I don't think so.”

Bobby looked at him. “Any headaches? Head pressure? Flashes of past events?”

“Well, not exactly,” Sam said. There had been a few times where certain topics surfaced, and it had thrown him into a tailspin, but it seemed to be lessening. He'd been preoccupied with Dean, mostly, and it had been a good distraction. He shrugged and decided to go ahead and voice the thought. It could be that Dean was acting weird because of what happened earlier. He guessed he could cut him some slack. It was an easy enough way to say that he wasn't still mad at him over it or anything. “I think having Dean around has been good for me.”

For some reason, he felt like he was saying something a lot more meaningful than what it was intended to be. He felt Dean's intense eyes on him. He wanted to look, but couldn't. “I'm ok with the living arrangement as long as he is,” Sam added, sounding lame to his own ears.

“And you, Dean? Do you assent in continuing the arrangement?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said quietly.

Sam snuck a glance at him then, and noted that he looked relieved. He turned to Bobby. “Hey, uh... since this is my first time venturing out of that room, could I possibly get some real food? Maybe look around the place?”

“That... could be arranged,” Bobby said, looking like he wanted to say `no'.

“Have you eaten yet?” Sam asked Dean. He tried to be casual as he threw Dean a bone, offering to make up. He sort of missed the easy bantering that they usually had going on at any given time.

Dean's eyes flicked to Bobby and then back to Sam. “I'll take a rain-check. Promised Jared I'd spot him at the gym and all.”

“Oh.” Sam tried not to sound disappointed. “Okay. Sure.” It wasn't surprising that the green-eyed man might have buddies here. I'll make acquaintances, too, I just haven't met anyone yet. Still, there was a sting of jealousy pricking him, though he wasn't sure if it was of Dean, having freedom and all, or over Dean. Within the confines of their room, it was like they were the only two souls in the world and now, all of a sudden, there were people like this Jared guy that knew him.

Dr. Singer tapped his pen against his hand and made a mental note to make sure they went to the cafeteria at a time where it would be largely empty. He was concerned that other residents might disrupt the fabrications they'd lain on Sam. And especially if Dean and Sam were together. All it would take is one `Hey, Winchester!' and it would be all over. It was inevitable, but if they were careful, they could keep things under wraps a bit longer.

A tour of the facility would be difficult as well, but maybe he could arrange for an excursion outside. That carried less risk, and a little sun would be a good thing. Afterwards, he could see how soon it might work to move Sam and Dean's room assignment into the regular residential area, though that would probably have to wait until Sam found out the truth about Dean.

BREAK!

Dean escaped the office and headed down the hall, feeling lucky to have survived. He'd been talking to Bobby and his thoughts about Sam had run away with him, going haywire. Next thing he knew, he had a concerned Sam staring him in the face and it was almost more than he could take.

Bobby said he'd been having a panic attack - he must've called Sam in to snap him out of it. And it had, but...

He'd been ready to tear Bobby's throat out when he thought that the man was going to reveal their secret. He wanted to tell Sam and all, but the timing was horrible. He didn't want it coming out while they were still at odds over that near kiss. Or having it come to light over a stupid panic attack that he had been having, that revolved around Sam's monumental importance in his life.

He wanted to make sure they were on firm ground first.

The truth could come after that, in all its scathing glory.

The only good thing that had come out of all of this is that Sam didn't seem to be as pissed at him as he thought. Well, not only that. Hearing Sam say, `I think having Dean around has been good for me,' had had a profound affect on him. It was like hearing his brother invalidate a large and ugly fear he'd been holding onto for some time now. And that Sam would say that, even after all the questionable behavior Dean had been subjecting him to...

It was a relief. A relief so huge he was almost afraid to believe in it.

He hadn't been fucking everything up beyond belief.

They were still ok.

BREAK!

Their room was empty when Dean returned there from his workout.

Huh. Must've gotten something of a tour after all... he thought as he began to strip off his sweaty clothes. He knew Bobby was concerned that someone would say `Winchester' anywhere in Sam's vicinity. Truth be told, so was he. But they couldn't keep Sam in the dark forever. And it wasn't fair to expect his patience to be indefinite. He'd stayed cooped up in this room for long enough. Dean certainly wouldn't have lasted as long.

He dropped his shirt and pants on the floor, kicking them into an out of the way spot, to be dealt with later. But for now, a well-earned shower. Sliding off his boxers, he tossed them on top as he opened the bathroom door. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

The first thing he registered was the steam.

The second thing he registered was that while the shower was no longer running, there was most certainly someone inside. He froze. “Hello?” Sam's slightly deep voice said with a tense undertone.

Shit!

The fact that he was completely naked was about to be a serious fucking problem.

What in the hell was Sam doing showering in the evening, anyway?

He looked around frantically for something to cover up with, not keen on being seen in the buff. Not like this, when he'd made a stupid tactical error. Sam's hand was reaching up to pull the curtain aside. No, the towel would be weird, especially if Sam had noticed it hanging there when he came in. He'd figure it out - that Dean had come into the room in full glory. It had to be the boxers, and a prompt exodus from the room. Otherwise he was going to have a helluva lot more explaining to do and this was not going to look nearly as innocent as it was. He didn't need to add to his already stellar track record of nearly jumping Sam by making Sam think he was going to accost him in the shower or something. He carefully turned the doorknob, trying not to make a sound as he MacGyver'd his way out.

“Dean? That you?”

“No,” he said automatically, wincing as he was caught mid escape. “I mean, yeah. Uh, sorry, man, I didn't mean to walk in on you. I just thought you were still out and all and I was gonna grab a post-workout shower...” Oh my god, I'm babbling. He was literally halfway out the door, feeling a breeze on lower parts of his anatomy, his feet inconceivably frozen in place, and he was fucking babbling.

“Oh, well, shower's free,” Sam said, then the curtain was sliding back.

Dean almost had a coronary right there.

Instinct must have prevailed, because in less than a second flat, he ducked back through the doorway and practically dove back into his boxers, heart slamming in his chest. Was he seriously getting out of the shower naked, knowing I was in there?? he wondered, curbing the urge to check. What the hell? Who does that?

“Dean?” Sam said, poking his head out from the bathroom as Dean scrambled to assume a natural looking pose leaning with his arm against the wall and his other hand on his hip.

“Yeah?” he said with a shake of his head and a rueful smile, trying to act like nothing was up. He lifted his eyebrows expectantly. He probably looked like an utter tool. How is one supposed to look natural wearing nothing but boxers and a smile?

Sam gave him an assessing look. “You okay?”

“Hm?” Dean noted that Sam had a towel wrapped around his waist. Maybe he'd had it with him inside the shower. Dean was momentarily distracted by some of the water droplets sliding down his torso. Damn he has some ab muscles for not working out in 2 months. “Uh, yeah, fine,” he said, shaking his head with a small laugh, swinging his eyes up to Sam's. “I'm fine.” He shrugged off the weird peering look Sam was giving him with a nervous twitch that manifested as a wink.

“You're sure?” Sam asked slowly, nodding at him slightly as he kept those assessing eyes fixed upon him.

Dean realized suddenly that his pose might be mistaken for something solicitous, that his arm resting against the wall over his head, and his `casual' leaning was mimicking a classic guy move of trying to show one's body off to entice their sexual target. The smile was not helping him out here. He coughed, quickly retracted his arm and rolled his shoulder like he was working out a kink in it. “Yeah. Yup. Just want to, ah,” he nodded to the door, “take that shower.”

“Sure. Right,” Sam said, moving out of the way; meanwhile, Dean headed through the door too fast. “Um.” Between the two of them, one doorway was not nearly big enough, and there was an awkward up-close-and-personal shuffling. Sam moved to one side to slide around him, and Dean mistakenly also moved to that side as well. He tried to correct it, instantly going the other way, but so did Sam, eyes meeting his in surprise. Rinse, repeat.

“Ah,” Sam laughed awkwardly, scrunching his nose a little as he shook his head with a laugh and shrugged.

It was cute, Dean thought, and he wanted to press his lips to the embarrassed smile that fluttered upon Sam's mouth.

If he was honest with himself, he also wanted to pin Sam up against the door frame.

He wouldn't have minded feeling for himself how in shape Sam had kept his body over the years. His hands were itching to touch. And yeah, he even wanted to drag that towel out of Sam's grip.

“So, um, how about that shower?” Sam said, looking a little flustered. He licked his lips, a nervous gesture.

“Hardly seems fair for you to grab another one,” Dean said with a raised brow, as if Sam had meant they shower together. His voice dropped suggestively. “I know sharing's a virtue and all, but then I won't have any hot water left.” When Sam looked flustered like this, he couldn't resist the urge to tease him. The effect was immediate.

“Wh- No, I didn't...” Sam stammered, coloring slightly. Dean could feel his mouth quirking up at the edges as he floundered. “That is not what I meant!” he concluded indignantly.

“Of course not,” Dean said with a smile and a nod, clapping his hand on Sam's bare shoulder in a patronizing fashion before moving past him into the bathroom.

BREAK!
TBC


A/N: Chapter title from:

Infected Mushroom - “Can't Stop”

And i cant stop thinking about moments that i lost for you.
and i cant stop thinking about things i used to do.
and i cant stop making bad decisions
and i cant stop eating stuff you make chew
i put on a smile that you wann'a see
another day goes by that i loan to be like you.
[x2]

and i cant stop making bad decisions
and i cant stop eating stuff you make chew
i put on a smile that you wann'a see
another day goes by that i loan to be like you.

and i cant stop , cant stop... making
cant stop, cant stop
cant stop, cant stop shaking
cant stop, cant stop,
cant stop
[x100]

And i cant stop thinking about moments that i lost for you.
and i cant stop thinking about things i used to do.
and i cant stop making bad decisions
and i cant stop eating stuff you make chew
i put on a smile that you wann'a see
another day goes by that i loan to be like you.
i want to be like you.
[x2]

and i cant stop , cant stop... making
cant stop, cant stop
cant stop, cant stop shaking
cant stop cant stop,

and i cant stoppppp