Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Asylum ❯ Deeply Disturbed ( Chapter 9 )

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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. 9: Deeply Disturbed


“So, Dean, when were you going to tell me?” Sam said in a tone that was unlike any Dean had ever heard from him before. It was implacable but shot his veins through with ice.

“Tell you what?” he responded roughly, hoping that somehow he was getting this wrong. Hoping somehow that Sam didn't know.

“That you are my brother, you lying asshole.”

--------

Dean felt his legs go rubbery and he had to sit down. “How did you find out?” he asked hoarsely.

“Really, Dean?” Sam bit out, “You've been fucking lying to me like this and the first thing you want to know is how I fucking found you out?”

“I was going to tell you,” Dean said under his breath. Sam so rarely got angry, he wasn't really sure how to react.

“Before or after you tried to fuck me?” he spat.

Fury snapped over Dean, hearing his little brother parrot Gordon's words back at him. They sullied him. “Where the hell did you hear something like that?”

“You know where,” Sam said, standing up and getting in Dean's face. “I heard the two of you talking before you hulked out. I just didn't know it was about me.”

“Well, congratulations,” Dean said snidely. “Now you know Gordon is a dick who likes to make shit up.” Unless Sam heard his name used in the conversation, he wouldn't have known who the fight was about and he would have acted much differently after pulling Dean off of the guy. He had to have heard something after that, from someone else. But who?

“Is that why you got so pissed at him, then?” Sam countered. “Because he was `full of it'?”

“And why not?” Dean yelled, getting to his feet. “So now I'm supposed to stand still and listen to some dickhead spouting off shit about my little brother?”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Sam shouted back. “I found out by hearing random people talking about Gordon in the halls. I got to hear all about my crazy, violent brother from some complete strangers!” He gave Dean's chest a shove, emphasizing his anger. “How was I not going to find out? You think Winchester is a common name, Dean, do you??”

“Hey, lay off,” Dean said harshly, knocking his hands back. “You weren't the one with doctors half up your ass telling you to keep your pie hole shut or else you'd be sending your brother back into a fucking coma.”

“So you were stringing me along just to convince me that you weren't my brother?” Sam's voice was incredulous.

“YEAH, something like that.” Dean ran his hand through his hair, a scowl on his face. It was kind of a lie. Kind of really misleading. But Sam's version was a better one, so he was sticking with it. “Well, what was I supposed to do, Sammy? You were seconds away from figuring it out every time I turned around.”

Lightning cracked across his jaw as Sam launched a powerful hook-shot through his face. It unbalanced him and he landed against the edge of the mattress, then slid down onto the floor between the beds. “OW, dammit,” he growled as he held his throbbing jaw. “The fuck was that for?” Damn, but the kid had some upper arm strength.

“For fucking kissing me, you asshole,” Sam swore. “What in the hell am I supposed to make of that anyway? Do you have any idea how fucked up that is?”

“Well, if I didn't before, I sure would now.”

Sam had every right to be pissed. He had to be thinking of the attraction he'd felt and was now fighting the very notion of its existence now that he knew it was for his long-lost, lying, asshole of a brother. And, as far as he knew, Sam was straight as an arrow, making this a double whammy.

“So you're back to jokes already,” Sam said darkly. “Get up so I can hit you again.”

“Look, Sammy,” he appealed, ”I'm sorry. I really am, but do you think that punching me is going to make you feel any better?”

“I'm willing to test it out.”

Dean groaned and got to his feet. This was going to suck. “You sure you're not pissed because maybe you liked it a little?” The words had barely gotten past his smart-ass mouth, then pow! Pain seared the lower half of his face as Sam's fist connected again and he tasted blood. He hit back reflexively and felt his bruised fist collide with Sam's cheek, and heard him curse.

“Goddamnit, why are you hitting me back?!”

“Look,” Dean said, “I'm sorry and all, but I'm not going to sit here while you make hamburger out of my face. You wanna fight, we'll fight. But I'm not going to be your punching ba--”

Hands clamped onto his shoulders a split second before a knee slammed into his abdomen, making him double over. Motherfucking OW. “Bitch,” Dean said, returning the favor as he straightened, sending an underhanded fist into Sam's midsection, knocking the breath from him in an audible exhale. Conveniently, Sam was in the perfect position to also be caught into a headlock. Dean put him in one and torqued him into an elbow lock as well for good measure.

“Ow! Jerk!” Sam cried out as he struggled and Dean tightened his hold.

“Are you finished yet?”

“Hell no,” Sam ground out, trying to wriggle free. “I'm going to kill you.”

“What for?” Dean was feeling pretty worn out. Beating the shit out of Gordon, threatening his sort-of friend for alcohol and then getting wasted, only to have two solid clocks to the face from his brother who'd been seriously wronged... stuff like that could really take the spring out of a person's step. He just wanted to lay down, go to sleep, and never wake up. “For a kiss? C'mon, it wasn't that bad. Just forget it already.”

“Shut up!” Sam yelled with scorching intensity, his voice quavering slightly. “You knew, Dean, but I didn't!” The accusation was heavy, the words furious and seeming forced. Sam was struggling, caught between venting his anger and saying too much. “I--” he tried to continue, choking on the word as a fine tremor worked its way through his body.

Dean felt like a total bastard. If only he'd been strong enough to fight it, Sam wouldn't have to feel like this or be upset like this. Sam thought that he had been messing around, just trying to be convincing and that he'd felt nothing all the while. He couldn't be further from the truth, but Dean couldn't enlighten him. They had to cut free of this and move forward. It was what was best for Sam. He couldn't drag him further into this debased attraction that existed between them.

A drop of something wet hit his arm and he realized Sam was crying.

Oh, hell. He felt his own eyes tear up.

“C'mon,” Dean said heavily, “let's go lay down.” The only thing for this was probably to just sleep it off. Though that probably wouldn't be happening unless Sam was restrained, or else his little brother would be busy trying to kick his head in. He kept Sam loosely in the headlock while climbing onto the bed and pulling him along. If Sam resisted or tried to retaliate, he could easily bring him to heel.

He didn't want to fight anymore, so he'd just have to strong-arm his brother into feeling more peaceable.

Dean settled back on the bed, shoving the pillows atop each other and reclining upon them. Sam lay partially against him because of the submission hold, still breathing through clenched teeth, body tight with anger.

It was a poor example of `relaxation', laying like this, and was closeness without being close. They'd never been at such odds with each other before.

His heart ached. How could he have lost control and kissed Sam like that? He'd been holding it together for so long now. Was seeing someone half naked really such hell on his self-control?

At the time, he'd even been stopping Sam from giving the shirt back, realizing at the last moment that he wasn't prepared to see all that bare skin again. Then he saw the way Sam was looking at him, saw the color rise in his cheeks and the suddenly averted eyes... and the next thing he knew, he'd leaned forward and was melting into the hottest set of lips he'd ever kissed. And Sam was kissing him back, just as wet and dirty as Dean could have wanted. It rode through him hard and fast, and that was when the desire had had him by the nads.

His mind was on overdrive, wanting, imagining, craving. He wanted to touch, taste, and feel everything. He'd pushed Sam down, and it was only with his brother's lack of resistance that he realized how easily it could all happen. He saw how easy it would be to screw everything up. It was then that truth smacked him in the face, making him panic. Sam would never be able to forgive something like this, or going further, even if he wanted it at the time. There was no way.

“I hate you, Dean,” Sam said, his voice muffled against Dean's side. It sounded a little more petulant than pissed off.

“...I know.”

“No, you don't.” Sam shuffled a little bit, discovering to his frustration that Dean's hold was remaining very effective at keeping him down. “You weren't there when I needed someone the most,” he accused. “I had to rely on a stranger instead of my own brother.” He meant that because of Dean's masquerade, he couldn't be there for him in the same capacity. All Dean had been able to offer was a stranger's empathy. “Dean,” his tone shifted, sounding a little more like an appeal, “do you even care that Mom's...?”

Dead.

That was what he was saying. “I did the best I could, Sammy. I'm sorry it wasn't enough for you.” He felt a tear start to slip down his cheek and he had to take a deep breath and focus on locking his emotions down. “Of course I care that Mom--” he stopped, remembering to watch his words around Sam, “...had an accident.”

“You didn't hate her?”

“No, not exactly.”

“Well, I did,” Sam said in a surprisingly cold tone. “Underneath everything, I could never forgive her for splitting us up and then refusing to tell me anything about where you were.” There was a faint sniffle then, a flicker of emotion. The coldness rubbed out from his voice, ushering in tears as he said, “But... I still really loved her, you know?” Sorrow was carved into the words, and regret.

“Yeah.”

He looked down upon the light brown wavy hair of his brother's head. There wasn't much else he could say, but he totally understood the mixed feelings. He had some in him right now, about Mom and also about Sam. This stupid submission hold was probably the closest thing he could give to comfort his little brother at the moment, the closest thing to a hug. It forced them to remain in contact, even though that was the last thing Sam wanted right now.

“I missed you so much, Dean,” Sam said then, the tears still riding his voice. Unspoken was the accusation, After I finally found you, why did you have to lie to me and fuck things up like this?

“Me, too,” he admitted, losing the battle with his own tears. He closed his eyes, tilting his head towards the ceiling in an effort to thwart their descent. His arms twitched where they lay about Sam in an almost hug. Me, too.

---

Morning light trickled into the room and it was Sam that woke first. The rise and fall of rhythmic breathing reminded him that his head lay pillowed upon his brother.

I finally found him.

Part of him was elated. But another part felt dark and twisted, angry and bitter. He lifted his head, feeling Dean's arm slide from around him. Their legs were twined in an approximation of the intimacy he'd been made to want from the man he'd thought was only his roommate.

Damn you. Why did you do this to me?

It had been worse than simply `a shock' to find that the one who had kissed him like that - who had been making him busily bend his morals fore and aft - was his own brother. His actual, honest-to-god brother!

Now he was left holding the bag while Dean shrugged off the matter.

He'd said he was sorry, sure, but `sorry' wasn't quite enough to cover something like this.

Sam stared down at his sleeping face, dismay piercing his chest. He knew every line of that arresting face, every curve, every freckle. He still felt the same pull as before, and the same heat as his eyes drifted over lips that were so full they appeared to be pouting when not drawn out into one of their many expressive smiles or smirks.

So now he knew the truth, but his body and his feelings did not know the difference.

Dean's lashes fluttered slightly as he woke and opened his eyes, which were fern green in this light. They were so beautiful, so compelling, and it pissed Sam off. He looked away, deciding that extricating his legs from Dean's was top priority.

“Still mad at me?” his older brother asked needlessly, rubbing a hand through his dark hair. Sam was noticing he did that when feeling uncertain.

“Yeah,” he said shortly. “Still mad.”

“Aw, come on, Sammy,” Dean grumbled, his face falling. “Even after that heart-to-heart we had about Mom?”

“I seem to recall you having me in a headlock,” Sam said pointedly. “Sorry if that didn't exactly give me a warm fuzzy.” He could already tell he was going to forgive Dean, as asinine as that was; it was always hard to stay mad at him, even when they were kids. But Dean didn't need to know that.

“What do you want, Sammy? You want a popsicle or something? Cherry? Orange Cream?”

“Oh, shut it! I'm not five anymore. You can't fix things like that.”

“Five? You were still sucking on those things at ten!”

Sam put a hand over his face, the innuendo making it flush. “Dean,” he muttered.

“Oh,” his brother said in surprise. “Sorry, uh, I wasn't--”

“Whatever,” he said under his breath. Even on a good day, Dean loved to tease him. But if he was going to be reacting to every little thing, intentional or not, this was going to be torturous. “Move, I need to use the bathroom.”

Dean moved aside without comment, but Sam could feel his gaze upon him until he shut the bathroom door behind him.

He drained his tank and then got into the shower.

I have to get this out of my system. The problem was... up until a little while ago, his brother had been nothing more than a collection of memories that lived on inside him. His `roommate', however, had been real and immediate, not to mention supposedly not related to him. He'd been safe - only reminiscent of those old memories. But not anymore. Now he was anything but `safe', and Sam found that he was still attracted to him.

That kiss, and the desire that had been pulled from him like an unending string of yarn... he couldn't forget it. He couldn't forget the feelings that had surged through him as they'd sunk down upon the bed. He'd been ready... ready for whatever came next.

Sam's face was brutally hot as he slipped a hand down to touch himself, doing what he could to kill that wayward desire, grateful for the racketing noise the water made. He had to lay aside his feelings for the other Dean, and remember how he felt about his brother Dean.

The distinction was harder to make than it should have been.

And how could it not be? They were the same fucking person!

Other-Dean's eyes were the same color as his-Dean's eyes. They laughed the same, moved the same. And.... they made him feel the same. Their lips would be the same, and so would their hands, their caresses, their voices in his ear...

Reaction flooded him, shaking through his body as his brain overloaded itself on every piece of slightly off-color history they'd shared over the past few weeks. Every extended look, every solicitous joke, every near kiss...

He gritted his teeth as he shuddered, release snapping through him with more strength than he'd ever felt before. Even his poor, dead girlfriend, the one he was introducing to his mom, the one that he'd deemed to be `The One', even she had never made him feel even a fraction of this.

He sank down to the floor of the tub, eyes stinging, and wrapped his arms around himself. This was so fucked up. So beyond fucked up. It was like he was in love with his brother, but he couldn't be. It was wrong, and mental, and he wasn't sure if he could help it. The fact that he felt the urge to apologize to his dead girlfriend just made everything that much worse.

---

“Bobby,” Dean said later that morning, sitting in the psychiatrist's office. “We need new rooming assignments.”

Sam, who was sitting near him, looked up in surprise. Dean hadn't mentioned anything about this to him.

The psychiatrist was still looking at them with incredulity written all over his face, as he had since first clapping eyes on them. He re-adjusted his tie, which clashed a little with his grey suit, looking like he was debating saying something. After a moment, he asked Dean, “Did you tell him, then?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “It was a big hit.”

Bobby leaned back in his chair. “You boys look like hell warmed over.”

“Sammy's still pissed at me since I had to lie to him,” Dean said, his eyes flicking to Sam's, telling him to shut up. “So I think it's for the best.”

Dr. Singer turned to the younger brother. “Sam?”

“Yeah, he's right,” Sam confirmed. He caught Dean's eye and asked him silently, `What the hell?' Dean shot him the `just trust me' face, making him roll his eyes.

“Well,” Dr. Singer said, contemplating the state of them. “We can't have more fights.” He rubbed his hand over his short beard. After what happened to Gordon, the facility was in a state of lock down. Even a twitch of explosive behavior was bound to be medicated aggressively. Staffers had bets that it was Dean that had worked Gordon over so hard, but it was only speculation; there was no solid proof.

An orderly by the name of Fred had seen Dean in the hall some time before Walker was found, but Dean seemed to have an alibi. One of his card buddies, Garnet, mentioned being with him at the time.

Alcohol was grudgingly mentioned (after much convincing on his part), which was most definitely against facility rules, but he was going to pretend he didn't hear about that for now. But it made sense, because afterwards, it seemed that Dean had taken the plunge, laying the truth out on his brother and getting into a fistfight for his troubles.

“Sam,” Robert said carefully, “you do realize that it was under my discretion that Dean lied to you about being your brother?”

The younger Winchester scowled, wavy bangs falling into his eyes as he glared at his brother. “Sure,” he said scathingly. “Along with a ton of other shit that doesn't nearly make it okay to me.”

Dr. Singer wondered if Dean had lost control of his impulses, and that was the true source of the fight that had split Dean's lip and caused a nasty, swelling bruise upon Sam's high cheekbone.

“Alright, I'll approve it. Under one condition.”

“What's that?” Dean asked, his green eyes sharp.

“I think it best you do not disclose to the general population that you are brothers. It helps that you entered the facility with different names, but that won't last against inquisitive minds unless you are mindful of it. They will start to ask questions if they frequently see you in each other's company.”

“So what are we supposed to tell people?” Dean asked, a careless look upon his face. “That same spiel about me being the one that found him first and all that crap?”

“Yes,” Robert said, “because it's true.”

His real reason for this precaution was in case the boys made up. As in, really made up. Whether it was acted on or not, the two of them had a vibe and others would not react so well to them being family - not if they thought the boys were `together'. Residents, gay or not, who had been found having relations with one another were not usually treated softly by other residents, but they weren't ostracized as it was not uncommon. He imagined that mood would shift, however, if a pair of brothers was discovered in such an arrangement. It would be more unique, more taboo, and something that could be easily isolated and attacked.

“Who are we going to be rooming with?” Sam asked, slightly hopeful that he might make an acquaintance here, but worried all the same.

“That has yet to be determined,” Robert responded.

“Better not stick me with any of my mates,” Dean warned. “We'd rip each other up in close quarters.”

Dr. Singer suspected that wasn't the case, that he had another reason for the request, but he could oblige Dean. All of the members from his card circle, the patients he associated with the most, were in stable rooming assignments. There was no need to break any of those up.

“Are we done, Dr. Singer?” Sam asked. “I'm hungry.”

“Do you agree not disclose the nature of your relationship with Dean to anyone, Sam?”

Like hell I would, Sam thought in annoyance. I'm busily trying to convince myself otherwise. “Yeah. No problem.”

“You're free to go. I'll contact you later with the new room assignments.”

“Great,” Dean said, stretching like a cat. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

Once they'd left the office behind, en route to the cafeteria,  Sam said, “Okay, what gives?”

“What?” Dean said, all nonchalance.

“You don't want to room with me anymore?”

Dean shrugged. “What's in it for me? Maybe things'll settle out if I'm not staring you in the face, reminding you that you're pissed at me.”

“Jackass,” Sam swore in irritation. Dean was supposed to suffer his ire, not switch fucking rooms because he felt like being a coward.

“It'll be easier,” Dean said so quietly, Sam almost didn't hear him.

“What?” Sam said sharply.

Dean flashed him pained green eyes, then looked away, putting his hands behind his head. “It'll be easier for you,” he said with another shrug, as if Sam was someone who needed mollified.

Your act isn't fooling me. Dean was known to pretend indifference even when he cared about something, or act bored when something had actually hurt him. At least, Sam had seen it when they were younger. It felt like he was doing the same thing now, but his actions and words were wrapped up in the anger Sam felt, and he couldn't clearly determine if that was truly the case.

He wasn't entirely sure that Dean had just been toying with him before, with all of the teasing and flirting and such. Maybe he actually had been acting on feelings, but if he was, he wasn't owning up to them.

“You'd better hope I don't get some psycho for a roommate,” Sam warned, “or it'll be my blood on your hands.”

Dean looked disturbed. “I'm sure it'll be fine.”

“Though I guess I might always get some pervert who can't keep his hands to himself...” he trailed, determined to get a rise out of Dean.

His brother's face became shuttered and closed. “That happens, and I'll take care of it myself.”

Sam didn't like the sound of that, and it was ambiguous as hell. “And what does that mean?” he pressed, grabbing hold of Dean's shirt to make him stop striding down the hall so quickly. “What would you do?”

Dean's hand rested over top of his, set to remove it, but not moving immediately to do so. Their eyes clashed and he said, “You don't want to know.”

Sam bit the inside of his lip, the intensity in Dean's voice burning through him. Images of that guy Gordon flashed before his eyes. “I want to know,” he said stubbornly. He could still remember the feel of the tension that had been riding Dean's body when he'd pulled him off of the bloody mess he was making of the prone Gordon. He'd been more beast than man, his green eyes had been wild, crazed and, for one terrifying moment, Dean hadn't recognized him.

Dean pulled Sam's hand from him and tossed it aside. “No, you don't.” He stalked down the hall, not looking back to see if Sam was following or not.

Sam jogged after him, a frown etching his face.

---

“Didja see the new guy?” Garth asked the circle, throwing down a card.

“Yup,” Garnet said. “Saw him in the cafeteria with Winchester.”

“You think he's doing him?” Pokey asked, following his roommate's card with one of his own.

“Maybe,” Jared, the weightlifter said with a raised brow. “They seem pretty tight.”

“Do you mind? I'm sitting right here, you assholes,” Dean muttered, playing his card.

“That's right,” Pokey said, face lighting as if with epiphany. “From the horse's mouth! You sleeping with the new guy, Dean? Ow-!”

“Dumb shit,” Garnet said, sniggering a little as his roommate clutched his head from the epic smack Dean had cuffed him with.

“New guy's name is Sam,” Dean informed them tersely, “and for the last time, I am not sleeping with him.”

“Bet you want to, though,” Garth twittered.

“Hey man, fuck you,” Dean spat. “Not all of us are so hard up for some ass that we're gonna start slapping the other side of the fence.”

“C'mon, man,” Jared said peaceably. “No one said that you were.”

“Thank you,” Dean said with an affirming nod of his head and a scowl. Some of these motherfuckers didn't know when to quit.

Jared continued, “They're just suggesting you have a thing for Campbell, which you do.”

“Aw, man,” Dean said with disgust, his one ally turning against him. “Fuck all of you. I got better things to do than listen to this shit about some dude I barely know.”

“Better things like what?” Pokey said, nose buried in his cards. “Like doing Campbell?”

Dean gave Lewis's chair a mighty kick, knocking it over and spilling the man onto the floor in an ungraceful crash. “Your Scotch was great, by the way,” he said with a sharp, taunting smile. He knew personally how hard it was to smuggle alcohol into this place and that, for Pokey, the loss of an entire bottle had to be the equivalent of losing his left nut. “Get me some more,” he suggested flatly.

He left to the sound of the small man's lips flapping open and closed like a goldfish. “Did you hear him, G?” Lewis' aggrieved voice said faintly as Dean stalked down the hall. “He drank it all and....” And then the little gnome was out of earshot.

Damn it, but playing cards had gotten annoying lately. Maybe he'd have to find something else with which to occupy his time.

But this answered his question at least. There was no fucking way he was bringing Sam around these harpies.

---
TBC

A/N: Chapter title is from Infected Mushroom - “Deeply Disturbed”. It is more of an instrumental, voice-warp sort of thing (that even sounds like he's saying more things than he is), so the lyrics are pretty un-lyrical looking.. but here they are anyway. The song is really cool though and sort of defies description, as do most of their songs. lol.

Infected Mushroom - “Deeply Disturbed”

"(music)...
(voice):
And i'm deeply disturbed
And i'm deeply unhappy
And i'm deeply disturbed
And i'm deeply unhappy
And i'm deeply disturbed
And i'm deeply unhappy
And i'm deeply disturbed
And i'm deeply unhappy
(music)...
(voice):
(background sound)deeeeeeeeply disturrrrrbed
Deeeeeeeeply disturrrrrrrrbed
And i'm deeply disturbed..(background sound)..deeeeeeeeply
And i'm deeply unhappy ..(background sound)..disturrrrbed
And i'm deeply disturbed..
And i'm deeply unhappy
Deeply disturbed..(background sound)..deeply
And i'm deeply unhappy ..(background sound)..disturrrrbed
Deeply disturbed
And i'm deeply unhappy....
(music)...
(voice)
DISTURBED........."