Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Asylum ❯ Special Place ( Chapter 12 )

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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.

A/N: Sorry for the slow update. Personal stuff. :(

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Ch. 12: Special Place  


Sam slept fitfully, dreams plaguing him. There was Mom's face, drifting in front of him like a phantom, her eyes flickering between their normal color and a swampy black, set into a morbid skull. The images flickered back and forth, as if contained in flashes of lightning - a dark version and a bright version.

He stumbled, running suddenly, and was slipping on something slick. Catching himself and continuing on, he realized his hands were red. It was blood that clung stickily to his skin and clothes. And there was a lake of it to his right, amongst the reedy grass, surrounded by trees. It was the park, and there was a pale, gorged moon on the horizon. Jess, his girlfriend, was lying in the reeds, half in the lake. He scrambled to her, and her dead eyes seemed to be watching him, telling him something. Her limp hand on the grass was pointing.

He turned to look and saw the hallway in Oak Grove, where he'd seen Dean and Gordon arguing. They were there now, circling each other, a feral light in both of their eyes.

“Dean!” he called out. Maybe he could stop it this time.

But Dean did not seem to hear him. As if in slow motion, he pulled a gun out of his leather jacket. Sam ran, ran hard to get to him, but the scene was not getting any closer.

The blast was deafening, blood spraying Sam's face as he suddenly found himself standing next to them. Gordon was smiling as he fell, a blossom of red fanning out from the left side of his chest where his ruined heart would be. He fell, and the sound was like a lead weight smashing the ground.

Hands gripped Sam's shoulders, and Dean was turning him so that they were face to face. His brother looked emotionless, just a faint, unreal smile upon his lips. It was at odds with the look in his eyes. Flat. Aggrieved. Flat. Anguished. Flat. “Dad always said to get them through the heart,” he said with a slight nod of his head.

“Them? Who? Dean, what are you talking about?”

Dean's face swam closer and his hand reached up to caress Sam's cheek, smearing the blood there. “The monsters.”

“But Gordon was human,” Sam persisted, eyes flicking to the dead man on the floor. He felt sick and couldn't get the smell of blood out of his nose.

“Really?” Dean's brows rose a little and he looked nonplussed as he regarded his kill. “Huh, maybe you're right.”

His green eyes swung back to Sam, an intense look in them. His hand trailed down the side of Sam's face, stopping at his lips. After a moment, his fingers continued on, tracing the lower one with slow, avid concentration. He started to lean in, pulled forward as if on strings.

“W-What are you doing?” Sam felt slightly panicked.

“Shhh.” Dean's lips brushed his. “Don't let Dad find out.”

Then Dean was kissing him, and Sam couldn't make himself put an end to it. Dean's hands were cupping his face, as if he were drinking from a chalice. The devil's cup. Ornate, golden, tempting, and wrong.

He knew it was wrong, and yet he couldn't quit the feeling of it - he wanted this. God help him, he wanted this.

Dean pulled back just enough to speak. “You have no idea how badly I want this.” His voice was husky. Their foreheads pressed together, and he caught a glimpse of intense green. “You think it's just you, but it isn't. And it's so much worse for me.” Dean's mouth bent to his neck, tasting, teasing. Biting.

It ran through Sam in a furious rush of desire. Every touch was spiking it, every lick, every kiss, even the bites that grew increasingly harder. Even the sharp pain of one that felt like needle pricks in his skin. He clapped his hand to his neck and his fingers came away with tiny trails of blood.

Dean was watching him like a cat, expression closed. “Sometimes, when they stick you, it makes you forget.”

Sam's eyes flew open and his breathing was harsh in the silence of the darkened room he shared with Dean. Conflicted emotions burbled in him - confusion, fear, lust. He felt as if an oppressive cloud had descended upon him, trying to choke him in its blackness.

These... waking dreams, as he'd started to call them, they were getting more intense. He didn't have them all that often, but he'd experienced them off and on since he was a kid. They were almost hyper real, psychedelic, and... on occasion... they seemed to hold a grain of truth. He'd had several since coming to this place.  

He wanted no parts of it. They were disorienting and disturbing.

“Sammy?” Dean's sleep-filled voice murmured.

Sam's eyes flicked towards him, and his face was as close as it had been in the dream. Close enough to kiss. And that wasn't all. Dean's head was resting on the pillow above Sam's shoulder, but his body was sprawled out over Sam's, one of his brother's legs twined around one of his.

Sam's face flushed hot with embarrassment. It was still fresh in his mind, the touch of Dean's mouth against his, and the desire for that to recur in the waking world speared through him. He fought against it as hard as he could.

“Sam?” Dean sounded marginally awake now, his head lifting from Sam's shoulder.

“I'm fine,” he breathed out as Dean's body shifted against his. Pleasure fluttered in his belly, persisting even through his denial. It stirred currents in his blood, messing with his head, shortening his breath. He could make out his brother's face hovering near his, concerned, and he damned himself for entertaining the thought of being kissed for even a second. He was willing it to happen almost as fervently as he was willing it not to happen.

“You sure?” Dean sounded like he didn't believe him. “You sound kind of strange.”

Panic.

“Well, you're kind of laying all over me,” Sam said pointedly, trying to put the pressure on Dean instead of himself. “So it's a little awkward, here.”

“You're the one who climbed into my bed.” Dean wasn't taking the bait. “You know I'm a messy sleeper.” He shifted again, like he was starting to get up, and his hip pressed against Sam's growing arousal.

Sam stifled the noise that fled his mouth. Crap.

“Dreaming about something good?” Dean tried to joke, but Sam felt the tension in his body and wasn't fooled. This was officially a FUBAR situation. Dean could never know the thoughts he'd been having. “And here I thought you were having a nightmare with all that heavy breathing,” his brother added probingly.

Sam's face flushed with embarrassment and he was glad the room was dark enough to keep that a secret.

“I was dreaming about Jess,” he said stiffly. Mentioning the actual nightmare would probably be more trouble than it was worth, so he kept that to himself. Again, he apologized to his girlfriend's spirit, wherever it was, feeling guilty as hell that she'd never been capable of making him feel this way. Using her as a scapegoat now was low, he knew that.

“Well, she must've been built like a brick house if getting tangled up with me made you dream about being with her.”

“Shut up,” Sam snapped bristling at the insult to his deceased, would-be fiancée. But that wasn't all. There was also the implication that lay beneath the words, that he couldn't possibly have made that sort of mistake, even in sleep. That he knew. And of course he knew, that was the problem. He knew exactly who was making his heart race against his will. “You never even met her,” he said tersely. “She was gorgeous.” Guilt was making him extra defensive. Poor Jess had died because of him, and he could hardly remember now what he'd liked so much about her; his head was too filled with Dean.

“That so?” Dean said somewhat rudely. “Too bad you'll never be seeing her again.”

“Asshole!” Sam shoved at him, horrified. He couldn't believe the nerve of his brother, saying something like that. “She's dead. Where do you get off talking like that?”

“Yeah, that's me, Sammy.” Dean's voice was flippant and dark. “Nothing but a low class asshole.” He grabbed Sam's arms, pinning them to the bed next to his head, body stretching out over his to do it. Their gazes clashed. “Nothing but a jealous son of a bitch, thinking about how you got to go off to college, have a life, while I was stuck with Dad. When he was around, that is.”

Sam was finding it difficult to focus. His body was shaking against Dean's, becoming overwhelmed by their proximity and the desire it fostered. And yet their conversation was making him angry and confused. “But you chose-”

“To stay with him? Yeah.” Secretive, green eyes tilted at him, their color muted in the shadows. “But I always wondered what your life would have been like. How much easier it would have been than being dropped by mom, and later falling in here.”

“Why are you here, Dean?”

Dean lowered his mouth to Sam's ear. “Obviously because I'm insane,” he said, brushing the lobe of it with his lips.

Sam shuddered and his eyes fluttered shut. “Stop it, Dean, you're not crazy.”

Warm breath fanned his ear, Dean's mouth not straying far. It made his heart dance heavily in his throat. Lips grazed delicate flesh. “Oh, yes,” he said softly, turning his head in closer to Sam's, violating his personal space beyond reason. “You have no idea.”

Something Dean had said to him in the dream flitted back to him. `You have no idea how badly I want this. You think it's just you, but it isn't.'

Was that... possible? Or was it just some random misfiring of his brain? It had to be coincidence... but, there was an overwhelming sense of deja vu.

“Dean, maybe you should let me up,” Sam said thickly. It was almost scarier if they both felt this way. There'd be nothing to stop it.

As it was, he could feel every contour of Dean's body against his, and the strength in his brother's arms as they pinned his own. He strained against the hold, finding he was firmly pinioned; and all that did was just focus the sick desire even more firmly upon Dean.

---

Everything in Dean's being was screaming for him to halt. All except for whatever bits were responsible for controlling his motor skills, and perhaps his inhibitions. It was like being incredibly drunk, or asleep.

He'd been so jealous hearing about Sam's dead girlfriend whom he was still hung up on. It made him angry, territorial, and possibly even irrationally stupid - playing to his desire like this, and risking so much. The one overwhelming thought in his head was, You want this, too. He wanted to revoke the importance of the girl who'd weaseled in close to his little brother and made him smitten. But he shouldn't, especially not like this.

And yet, here he had Sam pinned beneath him, panting and half aroused from some stupid dream, and he was pushing his luck, pushing the bounds of decency. It seemed like it was only when they were fighting that they could be close like this and have it be okay. But anger was fading as he spoke against Sam's ear and felt him shudder, leaving only the wanting.

He was slipping farther down the path of no return, courting a flame that would never be able to be put out. It would devour everything.

Was it the medication he'd been plied with the past few days that was making this so surreal and inescapable? He played at Sam's ear, feeling the softness of it under his mouth and wanting to test it with his teeth. Could he really blame this sort of acting out upon that? Would Sam let him?

“Dean, maybe you should let me up.” Sam sounded affected. Uncertain.

Dean's eyes had mostly adjusted to the near dark and he found he liked the tormented expression on Sam's face. He leaned in, threatening the sanctity of Sam's lips. He could see the feelings his brother had towards him, and the doubt and fear at having him close like this. It made him feel appeased, maybe even special, that Sam would allow himself to be thrown into such turmoil instead of rejecting him outright - instead of pushing him away. He lowered his lips to Sam's and felt texture of them. The dry heat.

This was different from before. A conscious decision this time, instead of acting mindlessly in the moment. He slid his tongue along the seam of Sam's lips, detecting something there that he wanted access to. When Sam's lips parted in a slightly ragged breath, he thrust his tongue inside, claiming him anew. It was still a novel experience. He'd kissed girls before, plenty of them. But Sam was different. Sam was used to being strong, used to being in control of encounters like this. His weakness at this moment of trespass, and his fear of breaking this taboo, translated into the kiss, making it all the more precious and intoxicating.

Dean tasted him, taking his time to explore and he felt Sam respond to him. It was in his mouth, the tautness of his body, and the muffled sound of his pleasure.

He felt Sam's arms flex against his hold, still putting up paltry resistance. It stoked the fire that had been living in ragged streaks inside of him. He exerted more force into his grip, and dared to roll his hips against his brother's, causing Sam's body to jerk and shudder against his. He repeated the motion and Sam was moaning into his mouth, adding fuel to the fire.

I'm going to hell for this.

He released one of Sam's arms, almost inviting him to stop this from progressing, trailing his hand down the length of his lean body. He even relinquished the sultry heat of his mouth, opting to explore the side of his neck as his hand brushed down Sam's stomach and lower.

He discovered Sam's neck to be quite sensitive and he teased it mercilessly, making Sam writhe beneath him. His skin was hot to the touch beneath his shirt. His stomach was flat, toned, and skipping beneath his fingers. Sam's pulse was jumping in his throat, practically beating upon Dean's tongue, and his breathing was rough.

As he traced a hand up Sam's thigh, barely skirting his arousal, his brother jumped. “Wait, Dean,” he said in a winded voice. “This... we can't...”  

“Can't what?”

If Sam couldn't properly voice what he was objecting to, Dean wasn't going to pay him any mind, even if he did know exactly what was going on in his brother's head. He felt drunk on Sam's reactions and wanted more. And more was such a tiny step from where they were now. Why should they stop, when they'd already strayed so far off the path that even denial would be hard pressed to save them?

“This,” Sam emphasized. His eyes looked a little wild. “This shouldn't be happening.”

Dean gave him a lazy, hooded stare. “Say we stop here,” he said, his voice low and hard. Sam's scent was driving him crazy, he could smell it, taste it. His brother was as aroused as he was, painfully so. “Tell me we wouldn't go stroke ourselves off afterwards, while thinking about exactly what we were just going to do.” Stopping now made it only a difference between doing a deed first-hand or vicariously though the imagination. It was still the same sin. Sam had to understand that. Running away changed nothing.

“T-That's,” Sam stammered, startled. His voice gained strength a moment later and was full of conviction. “That's not what would happen.”

“No?” Dean said, iron in his voice. Sam was trying to back out, to deny it. He wouldn't let him. “Isn't that exactly what happened before? Don't lie to me. I heard you in the shower.”

“That had nothing to do with you!” Deep grey eyes flashed in the dark.

“Sammy,” Dean growled, “I can tell when you're lying to me.”

“Not all the time,” Sam muttered, jaw clenching. His wavy bangs scattered across his forehead almost as defiantly.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Sam said stonily. “And don't even try to come off sounding all big when you have a constant stream of lies pouring from your mouth.”

“I lied about one thing,” Dean said, pulling back, “and I already apologized profusely for it.”

“Oh, right, about us being related,” Sam flung out sarcastically. “Then how about that half-assed apology for kissing me before, then saying it was just camouflage so I didn't figure out it was you? Is what we're doing right now camouflage, Dean? And from what? From right here it looks like `camouflage' was just another bald-faced lie.”

“No,” Dean corrected slowly, irritation spiking, “right now we're fighting. As it should be.” He pulled further away from Sam, gaining some needed distance. “I don't know what I was thinking,” he muttered, backtracking already. “This medication must be fucking with my head.”

“Great,” Sam ground out, “so now you have a convenient excuse to hide behind, but what about me?”

Dean looked him over, a deadpan expression on his face. God help him, it was hard to miss the deep color of that kiss-bruised mouth, and it called to him strongly, even though Sam was making him want to smack him.  “You're a poor sap who's so hung up on his dead girlfriend that he wasn't in his right mind after having a dream about her.” It came off sounding antagonistic, even though Dean had merely meant to show him how easily he could explain it away.

Sam shook his head and glared at him. “Convenient, if only it were true,” he shot back. “But I wasn't dreaming about Jess. I lied. I was dreaming about you.”

Jesus. Dean put a hand over his face. What the hell is he thinking saying something like that? “Why the hell you gotta tell me that, Sam? What do you expect me to do?” He'd been running from this for so long and he was tired. Tired of fighting it. He couldn't protect Sam from these debased urges if Sam wouldn't protect himself. “You're right, this shouldn't happen. But it keeps coming up and I can't get away from it.”

He just wanted to give in. He'd never be able to outlast this in the long run.

He was such a failure as a brother.

“Is that why you wanted to change rooms?” Sam asked. “The real reason?”

Maybe Sam could keep him talking and get him through this, however. The lust that had been clouding and choking him was abating somewhat and he was starting to remember the feel of his resolve.

“Yeah.” Dean looked anywhere but his face. “And you were pissed at me. I really had thought it might help.”

“Instead, we end up here.”

Dean got defensive. “I didn't know they'd put us back in the same room again.”

“That's not what I mean. I'm saying, it didn't help. It didn't change anything. If anything, I think it might have done more harm than good.”

“Ok, Mr. Stanford, please enlighten me, because that sounds completely mental.”

Sam shook his head, trying to find words. “It's like... we were trying to have a fight, and hash things out, but then you took the means away. There was no way to resolve anything, especially being in separate rooms. And all that served to do was put us on edge which was a setup for what happened in the cafeteria.”

His voice sank into the tones he used when he was trying to get through to someone empathetically, and had a quiet sort of urgency, “I think that's why Bobby put us back in the same room. So we could talk.” He firmly emphasized the word `talk' as if reminding them of what they should have been doing all this time, instead of what they were doing.

“Well, won't he be disappointed,” Dean said under his breath.

“We need to work this out, Dean,” Sam insisted. “This...” he faltered a little. “We hadn't even seen each other in years. We have to remember how to be family again.”

“We?” Dean scoffed bitterly. “I never forgot. Maybe you did.” He shook his head. “But I just... I can't see you the same way anymore. I'm sorry.”

“You need to try.”

“Sammy, I'm telling you, I can't.” Dean felt frustration peaking as Sam's careless insistence smacked aside his efforts. “All I've been doing is trying and it isn't fucking working.” He slid off the bed and grabbed his jacket, shrugging into it.

“Where are you going?”

“I need some space,” he said shortly. He tried the door and it wasn't locked from the outside. Lucky him.

He stalked down the hall quietly, knowing and not caring that he was breaking curfew. If they'd realized he'd wake up tonight, they'd probably have locked him in. Sam, on the other hand, he was a regular boy scout who obeyed the rules so they needn't have bothered. You'd be hard pressed to find even one toe of his out of line.

So how was it that Sam'd had so very much out of line just a short while ago? Only to then twist everything around and make it sound like a little talking could bring them around? How could talking possibly change or erase what was growing between them? It pissed him off that Sam was acting like he hadn't thought deeply on the matter, that he hadn't been struggling with it and fighting with himself to leave things be.

It was so much harder to bear like this - Sam practically admitting to feeling the same way, then wanting to pretend, together, that everything was normal and peachy fucking keen.

He needed to have Bobby switch their rooms back, no matter what Sam thought. He'd go insane trying to keep his distance.

The community locker room and bathing area was deserted and dark as he entered it. Appropriate for this time of night. The sickly green blue tiles and the grungy look of the place were enough to make you expect to see blood slung about everywhere or something equally gruesome. He knew it was cleaned daily, but the room looked grimy and forlorn, blackened in the edges, like it hadn't been used for a few decades.

He ignored such details, like he always did, and moved further inside.

He had not been joking when he said to Sam that stopping where they did wouldn't really save them. He'd been dead serious. The need wouldn't stop just because they did, and it still demanded an outlet. It reared its vicious, ugly head even as he locked himself into a stall, preparing to deal with it. It swarmed him with greedy, grasping fingers, as he took himself in hand, unmaking his resistance and worming its way into his thoughts, taking them over.

It put Sam before him, practically on a silver platter.

There was no resistance this time. No stalling words. No clinging questions of morality. Just the feel of bare skin and heat.

There was just the damning pleasure he couldn't fight against. He corrupted them with it in his thoughts as he sank into Sam in both mind and body, craving the euphoria like a beast, crushing Sam's mouth beneath his.

He leaned against the wall, head tilting back as his body shook with desperate desire, flesh hard in his hand. He'd never let his thoughts go this far before. Always, he'd stopped himself from even starting to imagine it, what it would be like to penetrate the body he craved. And he hadn't intended to go very far tonight either. He was just opening the doorway and seeing if Sam would cross the threshold. He'd just wanted to touch, and taste a little.

But a little was leading to a lot more in his head, and it was breaking the seals on his restraint.

He was so drunk on desire he felt sick.

His heart was beating double time and the vision in his head was too real as he thrust into his hand. It was Sam he felt around him, Sam who was leaning into him, fucking his mouth with his tongue as Dean's body shuddered violently.

Release was sharp, intense, but the craving remained.

He slid down the wall, body shaking with aftershocks. His mind felt like a blown fuse.

It was best not to think.

He closed his eyes and focused on catching his breath.

There was an idea floating around in his head, a place he'd been planning to go after here. Now was the perfect chance, being the first time in a long while that he hadn't been under lock and key. It was time to see what it was like underground. Providing he could get into the cafeteria. He needed salt... he was fresh out.

The lighter was still in his jacket pocket, in case he discovered anything he needed to burn. The problem was accelerant. But maybe the kitchens would have something useful.

---
TBC

A/N: Chapter title from the song below. This one is instrumental for the first half, fyi. I also really was stuck on “Killing Time” while writing this chapter. (But I already posted that song, so I'm just mentioning it. And re-posting a snippet. ^^ )
             
(So how can it be)
The color of the world had turned dark on me
(Falling free)
Losing my reflection and my clarity
(Talk to me)
I feel the sickness taking over me


Infected Mushroom - “Special Place”

Turning back, turning back,
to my special place.
Give it up, give it up
all the fears we shaaare.
Turning back, turning back,
to my special place.
Give it up give it up
all the fears we shaaare.
And i just don't cAaare,
all the fears we shaaare,
and i just don't cAaare.

[Bridge] x9
Bring it up bring it up, Don't take it dooown
bring it up bring it up

bring it up bring it up
bring it up bring it up
bring it up bring it uUuuuuup

Turning back, turning back,
to my special place.
Give it up, give it up
all the fears we shaaare.
Turning back, turning back,
to my special place.
Give it up give it up
all the fears we shaaare.

And i just don't cAaare,
all the fears we shaaare.
And i just don't cAaare,
all the fears we shaaare.

And i just don't cAaare,
all the fears we shaaare.
And i just don't cAAAaaaaaare.