Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Asylum ❯ Semi Nice ( Chapter 10 )

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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. 10: Semi Nice


Sam sat on his new bed in his new room, with a frown, back to the wall.

His new roommate did the same, staring back at him, only he wasn't frowning.

Sam sort of regretted making that crack to Dean about getting paired with a psycho. This guy was huge, hulking, and looked like he could crush a motorcycle in his bare hands. Or Sam's spine, in which case, he would hardly break a sweat. He had a fair number of tattoos covering pale arms the size of tree trunks.

Sam couldn't tell from his expression if he was more likely to kill him or eat him. The man had an intent sort of beady stare.  

Attempts to talk had not gone well. The shaved-headed man responded monosyllabically at best. The alternative was a grunt, or merely the STARE.

Sam would love to be leaving the room right about now, but he couldn't. His roommate Bernice's bed was on the side with the door, effectively barring his exit. He thought it was utter crap that `nice' was in the man's name. He only knew this, because the man spelled it out during their longest conversation to date.

`Hi, I'm Sam. What's your name?'

`Bernice. B-E-R-N-I-C-E.' the man paused, possibly assessing him. `I like mangoes,' he said, then gave Sam one of the original versions of the stare. `But I don't like fruits.'

`Uh... good,' he'd said after he recovered. `Me neither.' He was pretty offended if the guy was implying he looked gay, but he sure as hell wasn't going to ask for clarification or pick a fight with this one. He'd be dead before he started.

Sam did try asking what the man was in here for, but all he got was a creepy smile, so he decided to let that go, too.

He wished Dean would locate his room and come looking for him. It would give him a reason to stop this staring contest with Bear (as he'd dubbed him in his head) and get the hell out of here.

“Your hair's like a girl's,” the man-bear said in his gruff voice.

Sam scowled, his eyes flicking to the side as he counted to 10. What the hell?  Why did everyone think that not cutting or shaving all of your hair off made you have `girly' hair? Some people could get away with close cuts and have it suit them, like Dean, but he knew he'd look funny... and his ears tended to get cold. Besides, he thought defensively, girls certainly seem to like my longer hair. So bite me, Cue ball.

“It covers a hideous scar I got when I was young,” he said shortly. Not true at all, of course, but maybe it would get the guy to shut up about it and stop looking at him like that.

“Can I see it?”

Sam shot him an indignant look edged with disgust. “No.” What was with this guy? Dean, where the hell are you?

“Why not?” his strangely insistent mountain of a roommate asked menacingly.

“If I showed you, I'd have to kill you.” Sam tried to sound believable. Calm. Blunt. He was also counting the remaining moments he had to enjoy being among the living.

“Heh.” The Mountain laughed.

This could be either good or bad. “Heh” as in, `You're funny, kid'. Or “Heh” as in, `I'm going to paint the wall with your guts.'

There was a knock at the door, a triple rap.

Oh, thank god.

“Sammy, you in there?”  

“It's `Sam',” Sam called back with irritation. Like he needed to give Mt. Krakatoa over there any more ammunition with a nickname like that. He eyed down his roommate and repeated, with a determined glare, “It is Sam.”

“Yeah, whatever, man,” Dean said through the door. “Come on out, I need to talk to you.”

Sam slid off of his bed carefully, watching Bernice like one would a sleeping lion. No sudden movements. Quiet. He edged around the side of the room, flattening against the wall as he got nearest to the other man, and then slipped out the door like greased lightning. As it shut, he leaned upon it, catching his breath and waiting for his jangling nerves to settle.

“What's up, Sammy?” Dean asked, taking stock of him.

“Stop calling me Sammy. It's Sam.” He pushed off from the door and set off down the hall. Dean needed to quit while they were ahead. The nickname was starting to bug him - other people would wonder about it if they heard it, just like his roommate. And he already got shit for his long hair, he really didn't need to add the list.

“Why?” Dean asked, not one to honor a request unless he deemed it valid.

“I don't like it,” he said shortly. Dean called him stubborn, but so was he. Stubborn and relentless.

“I could always switch back to `Samantha',” Dean suggested with a lift of his eyebrows. “Since you liked that so much.”

Sam glared at his brother, knowing that he could and would call him that in front of other people, just for a laugh. “Don't you fucking dare.” If looks could kill, Dean would be one seriously dead smart-ass right now.

Dean's mouth quirked up at the corner in an amused smirk, and Sam was taken with the urge to punch him.

Dean's smile widened as he seethed, and his older brother threw an arm around his shoulders as they walked. “Relax, Sammy,” he mock soothed. “I probably won't.”

Sam shook his head and wondered what he'd done to deserve a brother like Dean. He shrugged off Dean's arm, and said, “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Well, I wanted to see how your roommate was working out, for one.”

“I'm not sure.”

“You find out what he's in for?”

“No one's here for violent aggression and murder, right?” Sam asked, hoping the answer was `no'.

“Murder? No. Aggression, maybe, but they medicate the fuck out of you.”

“Great,” Sam muttered. So maybe his roommate couldn't kill him, but only because some medication or other was acting like an electric fence.

“You worried or something?” Dean asked, his eyes studying Sam's face.

“No,” he lied. “It's fine.” He didn't see any good coming from a clash between his brother and a freaking volcano. He'd deal with this on his own. After all, he'd been dealing with things on his own for a long time now. He was no longer an innocent, sheltered kid, doted on by his entire family. Not by a long shot. Besides, he could always ask Bobby about the possibility of a room change if things got worse. “How's yours?”

“Meh,” Dean said.

“Meh?”

“I'll tell you later,” Dean said by way of dismissal. “Listen, the other thing I wanted to talk to you about... there are some guys I know around here, real winners, I tell ya. Take what they say with a grain of salt.”

Sam felt his eyebrow rise. “And these are friends of yours?”

“Sort of. We play cards. Anyway, just in case we run into them--”

Dean broke off as they neared the cafeteria, nodding to someone Sam had never seen before. He noticed Dean's body language change as they stepped inside the crowded dining area; he was suddenly on guard, tight, eyes flicking around the room as if placing every face within the four walls.

“Winchesterrrr,” a voice cat-called.

“Good work on Gordon, man,” another called out aggressively. “Way to fuck someone up, you psycho.”

“It wasn't me,” Dean called back without looking. “I finish what I start.”

They made it another dozen steps closer to the food line, when a hostile-looking man stepped in front of them. “I say you're a liar, Winchester. ”

Dean groaned internally, recognizing one of Gordon's fanclub. Friend. Something. He didn't really care, except this guy was definitely itching to make a scene and he'd been trying to lay low. He certainly never wanted Sam to see him lose it again, like he had with Gordon. It had changed the way his little brother looked at him, the memory of it flickering in his eyes from time to time. Looking at him like he was dangerous. Grey eyes were on him now, wary, wondering what he was going to do.

“Say whatever you like, Wilcox,” Dean said with a tilt of his head and an arrogant tone. “But don't stand between a man and his breakfast.”

The man's coffee colored skin flushed with rage. His distinguishing feature was a long black Fu Manchu mustache, which was like an upside-down horseshoe of hair that tapered at the ends and fell past his chin. He also had a fro. Dean would have been inclined to like him if the guy hadn't been such a dick.

“You won't be able to eat breakfast when I'm through with you.” The man started forward, hands at the ready. Circling.

“That so?” Dean said in a bored tone, turning his back on him. He counted out a few seconds mentally, then shot his left arm up over his shoulder in back-handed fist, clipping the taller man in the face. Idiot.

“My toof!” Wilcox cried out. Dean tossed a glance over his shoulder to see the man's mouth dripping blood behind the protective cup of his hand. “You moferfucker!”

“You get what you pay for,” Dean said, wondering if the guy was going to be stupid enough to rush him again.

“Dean!” A harsh whisper and a hand on his arm brought his attention back to Sam. The look he was on the receiving end of made him feel guilty. “What?” he said, shrugging off his brother's arm. “He started it.”

“I know,” Sam said, eyes darting between him and the other guy. “But maybe you should chill.”

Dean rolled his eyes. If he turned over a pansy new leaf of non-resistance to tools like this, the bastards would be a lot more cocky with him. Sam didn't understand how this worked, obviously. Dean was preventing future fights by taking stands early on. Gordon was something of a special case. He'd always known that if they'd crossed fists, one of them wouldn't be getting back up. So for him, Dean had avoided outright confrontation.

“You should listen to your new friend,” Wilcox said, wiping at the blood on his chin with the back of his hand. His brown eyes were like flint. “Unless you want him involved in your little disagreements.”

“Do I look like a fucking accessory to you?” Sam said with irritation, making the guy acknowledge his presence instead of talking around him. The guy had some fucking nerve threatening Dean by threatening him, as if he was some defenseless chick hanging off his arm like brainless eye candy. Another snap judgment people were prone to make is that he couldn't take care of himself. Just now it was pissing him off beyond belief.

“Oh,” Wilcox said with a smile. “Whaddaya know? It talks.”

“Sam, cool it,” Dean said under his breath, knowing he was fast losing his temper.

Two more guys materialized at the mustached man's side. It was starting to size up into a proper fight.

“But I think the question we'd like to be asking,” the tall man with the fro said, “is can it fight?”

“Wanna find out?” Sam said with a sharp smile.

“Sam!” Dean barked out in a low voice, trying to order him to stop. It didn't seem to be working. “Dammit.”

Sam ignored him. He was sick of people thinking they could push him around. Still, he waited for one of them to make the first move. Dean seemed to think that sort of thing was important in this place, and maybe it was.

It didn't take long before one of the backups ran at him, taking a swing. Sam ducked the punch and did a leg sweep, knocking the guy off his feet. He barely had time to straighten and someone else's fist caught him in the jaw. He saw stars for a minute and was grabbed from behind and punched in the stomach. Bile rose in the back of his throat.

He thought he could hear Dean involved in his own skirmish, but trying to look was a distraction he couldn't afford.

Sam head-butted the guy behind him, hearing a crack, then turned, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and doing a hip throw that slammed the man's back to the floor. He staggered back a bit, his head spinning. The problem with head-butts, he thought. They bite back.

Sam swore more people had joined the fray. He had his eyes on at least 3 to 4 guys, and he could hear Dean working on his own set. He glanced over quickly and confirmed this, watching Dean land a clean punch to some guy's face that actually made him spin a rotation as he fell.

“Hey, Campbell,” Wilcox said as he slammed his fist into Sam's left eye.

Shit. Stupid mistake. Sam hit the ground as he was knocked into from behind. He barely had time to try and protect his ribs before someone began viciously kicking his midsection. Or maybe it was multiple someones...

He tried to figure out their exact location from the angle of the blows, so he could make his next move. He was pretty sure it was two in the front, and one bitch behind him, making his kidneys fear for their imminent safety. Best course would be to...

All of a sudden, he was being dragged up by the collar of his shirt by someone so strong, they were doing it one-handed. With ease.

Oh, fuck. His eyes opened reluctantly, no longer needing protected as the blows had temporarily ceased. His goddamn feet were hardly touching the ground and he could see there was a momentary pause in the fight itself, many of the participants staring his way. Dean was one of them, frozen in action, fist caulked back to hit a guy he had by the collar, green eyes wide.

“Don't fight,” a voice rumbled from behind him, like the grating of tectonic plates.

Sam swallowed hard, recognizing the voice. “H-Hey, Bernice,” he managed to get out. He was still unsure if he was out of the frying pan or if he'd officially fallen into the fire. The urge to throw up was either fear or the sudden loss of adrenaline.

“You're not made for fighting,” he said, specifically to Sam.

Riiiiiight. Creepy. “You mind putting me down?” he tried to ask nicely.

“Yeah,” Bernice said, and Sam was suddenly really hoping that this was not a sign of his roommate taking a liking to him in a weird way. “Wait for it,” the huge man added.

Wait for what?

At that moment, a bunch of orderlies ran into the crowded cafeteria and everyone scattered. It was bedlam, with shouting, stampeding and general chaos. Sam was sort of above it all, no one wanting to get too close to him or the mountain that held him aloft by the scruff of his neck.

Mt. Krakatoa soon began to shuffle through the mass of people, taking him to the exit, and who knew where after that. Sam tried not to let himself freak out, but he wanted off of this ride. NOW.

One of the orderlies barred the way. “Where are you going, Bernice?” he said authoritatively. He looked a little twitchy, though, like he was scared he might be poking a sleeping lion with a pointy stick. Which he may well have been.

“Infirmary,” Krakatoa spoke, and the orderly gave way like a poor sap facing a lava flow.

Out in the hall, Sam said, “You wanna put me down now?”

“No.”

Oh, man. He grimaced. It was just like being in the room with him earlier, only freakier.

Sam endured his escort to the infirmary, grateful as hell that that was where he'd actually ended up. “Uh, about earlier,” he tried again as he was set down. “For helping me out with those guys... Um, thanks.”

“Don't thank me,” Bernice said, and pushed him through the door.

Right.... Sam thought sarcastically as he stumbled, because that would be a `strange' thing to do.

Not like staring at your new roommate as if you were trying to decide whether to roast him or grill him is weird in the slightest. He wondered if the bar for strange in this place was set universally or individually.

He sighed. He wasn't really sure why he'd been taken to the infirmary. It wasn't like he'd suffered anything a couple of Tylenol wouldn't fix. That's mostly all they'd do for him anyway; he'd been roughed up before.

He looked around, noting a row of railed beds on either side of the room. About 12 altogether. Some had racks with curtains strung across them, for privacy he guessed. He walked upon the blue linoleum floor, edging further into the room. It had a disturbing mix of astringent, antiseptic odor and musty light. “Hello?” he called, just to make sure if he was alone in here or not. It didn't seem like any of the beds were occupied, but there were a few doors on the back end of the room and someone could easily be in there.

This place was kind of creepy for being a hospital.

On the left was a desk that resembled a laboratory work area. It had a computer on it. Curiosity called, and he took a closer look. It was probably a bad idea to touch it, but he was already shaking the mouse and considering trying to crack the password to the medstaff account he found at the login screen.

A noise and a flow of cool air made him look up. He didn't see anything, but it had definitely gotten chilly in here. He stood, eyes swiveling, trying to place the noise as he walked slowly back down the room. The hair on the back of his neck was raising.

“Winchester,” a coldly pleasant voice said from behind him.

He turned and there was a man standing there, a doctor, judging by the white coat. He had an expansive beard and his name tag said Dr. Walter. “Who, me?”

The man nodded with a smile. His eyes glittered oddly.

Sam's brows drew together. “My name's Campbell.”

“Of course it is,” the doctor said. “And yet, you are a Winchester.”

Sam took a subtle step back as the man approached. His right hand was hidden in the pocket of his white coat. “I met your father once,” he said conversationally. “Nice man,” he nodded to himself, the smile shifting upon his bearded face like an unformed thing, “but severely delusional. A very interesting case.”

“Are you implying he was a patient of yours?” Sam asked. This guy can't be more than 35, tops. Could one really get through school that fast, and be seeing patients? His dad had been admitted to a mental hospital nearly 10 years ago.

“Oh, yes,” the man's modulated voice said softly. “He was briefly in my care. You could say, he was the one that got away.”

The hidden right hand was really bugging Sam, and it seemed that there was something in that pocket that the doctor's hand was touching. For a moment, vertigo seemed to take hold, the world swirling around that one detail - that right coat pocket.

“But now both of you boys are under one roof, partially under my care. Like a family reunion. Quite touching. Quite touching indeed. Like father, like sons.”

“Uh, I'm gonna go,” Sam said, walking backwards steadily. “Stuff to do and all.”

“Really, Samuel?” the doctor flashed him a set of pearly whites. “But surely you came here for something? Why not let me treat your wounds?”

“I'm good.” Back step, back step. How far was the damn door, anyhow?

“You're feeling dizzy, I can tell.”

He flinched. “I'll live.” He didn't want this doctor anywhere near him.

“I can give you something for the pain.”

Back step, back step, back step. He was moving faster now, and so was Dr. Walter.

And the right hand was emerging, a small, clear syringe in its fingers. “You shouldn't fight, Samuel,” the doctor was saying as he took off the transparent blue cap that covered the needle. “But let me help. I can make you feel right again.”

Sam's back ran up against the door, and for one panicked second, it wouldn't open. It slid beneath his damp fingers, refusing him an exit.

Light glinted off of the needle as the plunger was depressed and droplets of liquid shot up from the tip in a thin, short stream.

Sam's stomach clenched, cramping with fear, and the pain nearly made him double over. He couldn't look away from that needle as it drifted closer. Couldn't move. Trapped. He felt cold.

“Delightful,” the doctor said. “A shame the one with the sunny disposition has arrived.”

“Sam?” Dean called then, knocking at the door with the flat of his hand. “You in there?”

The doorknob twisted beneath Sam's nerveless fingers and the door was opening behind him. He pushed past Dean and ran.

“Sammy?” Dean called after his brother, a frown marring his face. He took a quick peek inside the infirmary and saw nothing. No one. He closed the door, shaking his head and took off after him.

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TBC

A/N: Chapter title from Infected Mushroom - “Semi Nice”. After I wrote this chapter, this song title caught my eye and struck me as funny, a nice tie-in to the OC I made. (Both to his name and his questionable intentions/motivations.)  

The song is an instrumental, so I'd say to just listen to it as background music. A lot of the songs are pretty long and are great when just on while you do other stuff. Like reading! :)