Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Asylum ❯ Change the Formality ( Chapter 16 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: selena281 
Non Anime: Supernatural Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Suspense | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 04.13.2012 | Pages: 3 | Words: 8.0K | Visits: 192 | Status: Work In Progress
Non Anime: Supernatural Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Suspense | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 04.13.2012 | Pages: 3 | Words: 8.0K | Visits: 192 | Status: Work In Progress
______________________
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.
______________________
Ch. 16: Change the Formality
“Sorry,” Dean said some time later as they lay there, bodies sprawled next to one another.
“What for?” Sam replied tiredly, thinking he already knew what he was going to say.
“For... well,” Dean ran a hand over his hair. “I didn't mean to jump you like that.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “I didn't exactly stop you,” he pointed out, a little aggravated. Dean was trying to make this about laying blame, and was taking the fault upon himself.
“Yeah, but...”
“But what, Dean?” he said with an edge. “I was aware of what we were doing. I'm not a little kid anymore, so you can stop treating me like one.”
Dean flopped onto his back, letting out a noise of irritation. “I'm not treating you like a kid.”
Sam sat up and stared down at him. “Yeah, you kinda are. You keep acting like anything that happens is your fault, and that you have to take all the responsibility on your own.”
Dean shook his head, a surly expression on his face. “Look, you've got some weird shit riding in your veins, and this was the last thing you needed.” His tone was self-deprecating. “Besides, you're the one who said we should talk about this before anything more happened.”
“Well, too late for that now,” Sam said sarcastically.
“Damnit, Sam,” Dean said with frustration, “I'm sorry.”
“Maybe there's nothing to talk about, anyway.”
“What do you mean?” Dean said, his voice wary.
Sam shrugged and laid back on the bed. “Seems like I'm not sorry it happened. Guess I don't have a problem with this after all.”
“That's just nuts,” Dean said with aggravation, sitting up again. “How can you not have a problem with it? You're supposed to have a problem with it.”
“I didn't say it wasn't weird as hell,” he tossed back, reacting to his brother's increasingly acerbic tone. “I'm just saying that this will probably happen again and I don't think I'll be trying to stop it.” He looked up at Dean. “You obviously have a problem with it - though not a big enough one to keep you from jumping my bones. What's the difference?”
“Because,” Dean stressed in a pissed off fashion, “what the hell are you going to do when you get out of here then? How are you supposed to have a normal life?”
“I already told you I'm not leaving here without you,” Sam said angrily. “God, I can't believe we're having a fight about me not having a problem with this. You realize that's mental, right?”
“You may not be a kid anymore,” Dean said, “but I'm still supposed to be looking out for you.” He made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded like a growl as he ran his hand angrily over the top of his head, scrubbing at his hair in agitation. “Maybe I'm in here because my self-control is complete shit at times, but I don't want that to drag you down. And I sure as hell don't want you stuck in here, wasting away the rest of your life.”
“Do I get a say in this?” Sam asked shortly. “Or are you just going to make up your mind and tell me to `deal' with it?”
“That's what I should do,” Dean muttered. “Only I know you're too fucking stubborn to listen.” He glared at Sam. “Don't you see how dangerous this is? How dangerous this place is? You cannot stay here. You need to get out the first chance you get and not look back.”
Sam shook his head, refusing to back down. He could see that Dean was just trying to push him away and it was beyond frustrating. “And what is there for me out there, huh? You're all I've got.”
“I don't know,” Dean said with exasperation. “Some nice chick you could hook up with, marry, and do the white-picket fence kinda life with? You could have a dog, 2.5 kids, and a minivan to cart the little bastards around in. You'd love it. You'd be happy.”
“Where in the hell do you get this stuff, Dean? I never wanted kids or any of that. Is that the kind of life you wanted?”
“It's what everyone wants, right?” Dean said scathingly, ignoring Sam's question. “It's normal.”
“Is it really what you want?” He asked again, stressing the `you'. He tried to pick his brother apart with his eyes, and see what was really going on inside that head of his. Could he really picture Dean secretly coveting that normal sort of life? Or was it just the sort of thing he thought he should want?
“It doesn't matter what I want,” Dean snapped. “Not here, anyway, and I don't even know if I'll ever be able to leave. So don't fucking ask me something like that.”
“I'd pick you over normal any day,” Sam said bluntly. “And I'd rather be here than anywhere else because of it.”
“Damnit, Sammy,” Dean exhaled. “But they've already started in on you. You don't need to be medicated; someone's just fucking with your head.”
“I can't say I'm thrilled with that,” Sam admitted dismissively, trying to get back to the real issue, “but that's besides the point.”
“Don't you remember anything about it?” Dean asked him, diverting the subject before he could persist in it. “Where you might have been, or who you saw?”
“Not really.” The dream came to mind, but even that had become fuzzy and dissonant. He was mostly left with the impression that he'd been strapped down and interrogated. There was also something about needles; but he could do without dwelling on that.
“Sometimes they give you stuff that makes you forget,” Dean mused under his breath.
Sam was struck with a lurching sense of déjà vu. “What was that?” He'd heard this before. From Dean, he was sure. Only he was also sure that this had never really come up before. Could he have dreamed it?
Dean's eyes slanted at him. “The doctors. Or whoever. I think that sometimes they give us things that make us forget. Things that mess with our heads and our memories. I can't prove it though. It isn't anything they should be doing, so it would be hard to expose, them being more thorough about hiding it and all.”
“Do you think that happened to you in Solitary?”
“Maybe.”
“Just maybe?”
“Well,” Dean relented, looking a little twitchy, “Bobby swore he came down there to see me and I don't remember it at all. I think I saw someone else. So either my memory is jacked up or I was hallucinating.”
“Can medication make you hallucinate?”
“Dunno. I'm not a doctor. But I imagine it could.”
Sam started to look even more focused and animated than before. “So this could even be like the Rosenhan experiment,” he said with hushed excitement.
“Come again?”
“You know, the famous study a psychologist ran which he called “On being Sane in Insane Places”?”
Dean shook his head. “Not following.”
“He had assistants fake mental illness,” Sam settled into his explanation, convinced that anyone would have heard about this and that it was just a matter of mentioning the right details to jog the memory. “Like hearing voices, for example, so that they would be admitted into the hospitals. By the end, in order to leave, they had to admit to having a mental illness and agree to taking anti psychotics as a condition for their release.”
“Ok, firstly?” Dean said with an incredulous look, “Where in the hell do you hear about this kind of stuff?”
“Uh, books? The internet?”
Dean shook his head. “I know who I'm calling if I'm ever on a trivia show and am given a lifeline.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Man, if all I have to do to get out of here is admit some kind of mental malfunction, sign me up. Stupid me, I was set on proving I was sane.”
“I don't think it will be that simple. You're already taking medication in general, aren't you?”
Dean nodded. “Not much choice there. They watch you take it, and if you don't, they make you take it. No flushing it down the can in this place.”
“So they have already identified you as having a problem.”
“Sure, they just don't know what it is. And they are either unwilling or unable to believe there's nothing wrong with me.”
Sam still wasn't certain if there was anything wrong with his brother or not, but he didn't believe that it was anything that warranted living in this place indefinitely. Even if he was seeing things or was delusional about monsters, it wasn't like he was hurting anyone, right?
He felt a sudden dissonance at the thought, a sort of disagreement to that notion, down to his core. `...you could be right, in that the things he hunts are real. But what if you're wrong?'
A frown creased Sam's brow as disembodied words flowed into his mind like water. He couldn't place them. Not where he'd heard them, or who had spoken them. 'What if... it was those very delusions that your mother and your girlfriend died for?'
“Sam?” Dean said as Sam put a hand to his suddenly throbbing head. The pulses of fear were returning with the thoughts of his mother and her death. So were the impressions of blood. His stomach churned and it was hard to breathe.
“Sam, what is it?” Dean asked urgently. “What's wrong?”
“N-Nothing,” he said faintly, pushing aside his brother's bracing hand. “I'm okay.”
But he wasn't okay. He was seeing his mother's face again, the useless movement of her mouth and the grim visage of his father. Was it possible that he'd really been there when it happened? Was it.... Was it possible that his father had been the one to attack, thinking there was some monster lurking there?
“You're not okay,” Dean argued, grabbing his chin and tilting his face up. “You look like you're freaking out. Talk to me, Sammy.”
“Dad...” Sam forced out, “he was there when it happened.”
Understanding struck Dean's eyes. “When Mom...?”
“Yes. What if he--” Sam broke off, having excessive difficulty voicing his fear. “What if he did it?” His voice fell to a rasping whisper. “What if he killed Mom?”
“Impossible.” Dean was adamant. “He wouldn't, Sam, there's no way.”
“What if he mistook them for something else and thought he was saving me?” He persisted. He had to. He needed to hear Dean discount it and maybe even get pissed at him, tell him it was crazy. The alternative was too much for him to deal with. He could feel that he was shaking with fine tremors as that bloody scene played out in the back of his head where it was still hidden from his eyes. It was worse for not seeing it, for not knowing exactly what had happened.
Dean was silent a moment. “Dad wouldn't make a mistake,” he said flatly, a strange quality to his voice. “But what you're saying is something else, though, isn't it? You're asking if he'd lost his grip. Or if he never had a grip to begin with.” His hand fell from Sam's shoulder like a wounded dove. “You're asking me if he could have been dangerously insane. You're wondering if I'm the same.”
“Tell me I'm wrong.”
“Oh, you could be,” Dean said in a voice that sounded distant, cold and angry. “I could tell you that he might have been hunting the thing that did it, and was just too late to stop it. But you won't believe that will you? You'll just think to yourself that the old man was crazy and that I am, too.”
“Dean,” Sam pleaded. He wasn't trying to start a fight, nor was he feeling very stable at the moment. Yet here they were and Dean, his support system, was falling back. He'd never heard his brother sound so inaccessible and remote. It pained him more than he could have thought possible. It was like a switch had flipped and Dean was no longer present, like part of him had shut off, maybe for good.
Dean slid off of the bed, his motions tight and sharp, conveying his anger. “I asked Bobby to change our rooms earlier,” he tossed out almost passive aggressively as he went to his own bed and laid down upon it with his back to Sam. “He agreed.”
Sam turned his back on Dean as well, the words resonating in him and playing havoc with everything else already going on in his head. He curled in on himself, feeling tears burn at his eyes. He hated fighting with Dean. But this time felt more permanent, more irrevocable and damaging and he didn't know what to do.
---
“All right, Garnet,” Jared said as they sat in the cafeteria around noontime, “pay up.”
“What?” the long-haired boy complained. “Are they still not talking to each other?”
“See for yourself.” Jared nodded towards the doorway where Dean was making his entrance. He was walking past the table Sam was sitting at by himself without so much as a flickering glance, beyond his initial marking of Sam's location in the room.
They watched Sam's face as he registered Dean's presence, saw his jaw set in place as he was pointedly ignored, given nothing but Dean's back as he walked right past him to the lunch line.
“Aw, man,” Garnet complained again. “What the hell are they doing? Look, Campbell's not even eating anything. It's like he's brooding or something.” He wiped his hand over his mouth in exasperation. “Can't they have the decency to shag each other senseless when I've got good money riding on this?? What is this teenage angst bullshit?”
“Told you they were both stubborn,” Jared said, mocking him as he bit into his sandwich. “Too bad this lasted past your deadline.”
Garnet cursed. “I didn't expect them to have a fight. That throws everything out of whack.”
“This is why I gave it a week,” Jared nodded sagely. “Account for the unknown.”
“Dick. I hope they're stubborn enough to keep this going all week, then you and your shit-eating grin can fork over to Garth.”
“You're such a sore loser,” the bodybuilder said pleasantly.
“Bite me.”
“Hey, guys,” Dean said briefly as he sat down with his tray of food. He did not look particularly sociable, nor did he look like he cared for a response.
“Hey, Dean,” Garnet greeted, curbing the urge to steal some fries off of his plate while Dean took a bite out of his cheeseburger. He was pretty sure Winchester was not in a mood anyone should fuck around with. It was kind of amusing that it was probably all due to Campbell. Only it was kind of not funny at all... between the two of them, it looked like Armageddon had begun. It was a pretty heavy atmosphere. “How's things?” he asked, ignoring the look from Jared that was warning him not to try to sway anything into his favor with the bet.
“Peachy,” Dean said around his burger. “Couldn't be better.”
He sucked at lying sometimes, but Garnet supposed he wasn't too concerned with being authentic at the moment. “So, how's the new roommate working out? I heard they put you back in with Ed. You trying to punish yourself or what?”
The look Dean leveled him over the burger was exceedingly unfriendly. “You think I requested Ed? Do I look like a masochist to you?”
Garnet's eyes flicked between Winchester and Campbell, and he thought, Yeah. Instead of voicing such (he wasn't suicidal), he said, “I'm gonna go grab something. Unless you don't mind parting with some fries?”
Dean growled at him, as expected, and he got up to get in line. Waiting was such a pain. It was so much easier to just snag bits of other people's food. But for now, this was fine. Maybe he'd detour to Campbell's table after and see if he could get any info out of him. He was kind of surprised that Dean was leaving him adrift like this, alone, when they'd been so tight before. It had to be one doozy of a fight.
“You've been hitting the gym a lot lately, Dean,” Jared said casually. “Something bugging you?”
“Nope,” Dean said with a nonchalant lifting of his brows, and took a bite of his burger.
“You're full of shit,” the weightlifter said as he regarded the tomato slice that was slipping from his sandwich. He poked it back into place. “Just so we're clear on that.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Dean grabbed some fries and bit the ends off of them. “Look, if you're going to go all Dear Abby on me, I'd just steer clear, man.”
“Moi? And ruin the perfectly wretched personality that's developed on my recently gung-ho gym partner? Why would I do that, you lunatic?” He took an enthusiastic bite out of his sandwich just to be obnoxious.
---
Sam broodingly drank his coffee, not caring that most people didn't have coffee for lunch. Or only coffee for lunch. He wished it was something stronger, but java was all he had access to.
Dean had been giving him the cold shoulder for two days now and it was wearing him ragged. It made his temper flare to be walked past like he didn't exist, just as much as it made him feel sort of depressed.
They were in separate rooms again and it didn't seem like there was anything that was going to break this stalemate. Meals were mainly the only time he laid eyes on Dean, the only time they could maybe set down and work this out, but his brother seemed perfectly content to act like he'd fallen off the planet.
Seeing him with his buddies only intensified Sam's anger, despair and jealousy to a dagger's point. He seethed with frustration over this. Maybe in a few days he'd finally snap and just walk up to Dean and punch him in his pretty face. It'd be hard to ignore someone who was acquainting you with their fist.
“Heya, Campbell,” a deadpan voice greeted, breaking into his thoughts and making him look up. It took Sam a moment, but he recognized one of his brother's buddies, Garnet. Today his long hair was pulled back into a long ponytail that was bound with a dozen small hair-ties all the way down his back. It looked like an OCD art project.
“What do you want?” he said in a level voice, sipping at his coffee moodily.
“Huh,” the guy said, sitting down as if he'd been invited. “And you're supposed to be the friendly one.”
“Says who?”
“Well, it sure as hell isn't Dean, I'll tell you that.”
Sam tensed at the use of his brother's name. He'd figured this was going to be an exercise in fishing for information, but knowing that didn't make it any easier to put up with. “Would you mind? I'd rather be left alone.”
“Yeah, I know,” Garnet said as he buttered a piece of bread, unconcerned with Sam's tone. “Just like I know you're waiting for me to ask some probing question or other about what's going on between you and Dean.”
“There's nothing going on.”
“Shut it,” Garnet said shortly. “I hate liars.” His gaze was sharp as his eyes flicked to Sam's. “You practically flinch each time I say his name. It's disgraceful to lie about something so obvious.” He held the buttered chunk of French bread to Sam. “Eat something. You're making yourself look like a besotted teenage girl by refusing food.”
Sam took the bread with a scowl on his face. “And how would you know what that looks like?”
Garnet shrugged, setting about buttering his other piece of bread. “I have sisters.”
Sam took a bite out of it and chewed without really tasting anything. He glanced over at Dean's table as a sort of unconscious conditioning, and was surprised to find green eyes averting, caught staring. His brows drew together and he focused on the bread. So Dean wasn't completely pretending he didn't exist, only to his face. What the hell? What's he trying to prove?
Garnet was sharp and didn't miss the exchange. “What, you thought he suddenly didn't give a rat's ass? He's not that good an actor.” He twined some spaghetti onto his fork. “This is bugging him, too. He's a general bitch to be around right now.”
“So?” Sam said shortly. “What do I care?” Sam failed to see what purpose Dean's supposed friend had in talking to him like this, acting all buddy-like to him. Was he trying to ferret out an apology? Or was this just a way to see how screwed up all of this was making him? Well, he wasn't sorry - he hadn't done anything to warrant this kind of treatment and he sure as hell wasn't spilling his guts to a stranger, especially not one who had his brother's ear.
“Man, you're being even bitchier than he is.” Garnet took a bite of spaghetti and regarded him with a perplexed look as he chewed. “And you seem to have major trust issues, dude.”
Sam leaned forward, looking the dark-haired guy in the eyes with an aggressive, disbelieving smile. “You think I should trust you? Based on what?”
Garnet gave him an unimpressed look, though he seemed vaguely agitated. “Bad choice of words. I should have said that you're paranoid.”
“Suits me just fine. I don't care what you think.”
“Yeah? Well you care what Winchester thinks, and right now you are wasting a prime opportunity to make him jealous.”
Sam leaned back, frowning at him.
Garnet took a drink from his glass. “I know him pretty well, Campbell, and right now he's jealous as hell just having someone else talking to you.”
“If you know him so well, can you tell me why he has such a stick up his ass right now?”
Garnet smiled. “I could speculate... but he is my friend, so that wouldn't be fair to him.”
“What if we were both your friends?” Sam said speculatively.
“I smell a bargain on the horizon.”
“You're lazy and don't like getting your own food,” Sam stated.
“You offering to be my food bitch?”
“Only if you don't call it that.”
“Done. Besides, I like you, Campbell. If I didn't, I wouldn't be sitting my ass down over here trying to help you patch things with Winchester. Because then you'd be back at our table where I'd have to suffer you daily.” Garnet ate for a minute or two, looking like he was mulling something over. He nodded to himself and said, “Here, take this,” holding out a meatball to Sam on his fork.
“Uh...”
Garnet shook his head impatiently, “Hold out your bread, and I'll slap it down on there for you.”
“I'm not really hungry,” Sam said, even as he did as instructed.
“Yeah, well Winchester doesn't need to know that. Besides, food's really personal with him, and sharing it like this is bound to piss him off.”
“He seems plenty pissed off as it is.”
“Nah, it's something else. Can't tell if it's a wounded pride thing, or if he just feels like he should keep his distance. I don't suppose you could tell me what the fight was about?”
“No.”
“Well, whatever.” Garnet motioned to the meatball with a small nod. “Eat up, Sammy.”
Sam threw him an annoyed look and dutifully started to eat. Why did everyone like to call him `Sammy' when they were being condescending? Did they think they were being cute or what?
“Oh, and make sure you don't look over to the other table at all,” his companion added. “You need to act utterly focused on being where you're at. That'll knock him down a peg - he won't feel so in control of things then.”
“So you're saying that this is easier for him because he's the one doing the ignoring?”
“Precisely. So if you act like you don't give a fuck, and make him jealous, he won't be able to stand it. He'll be seeking you out in no time.”
Sam made a face. Dean was pretty stubborn. That could take a while. He also thought Garnet was overestimating his brother by thinking he wouldn't be completely pissed off and looking for a fight instead of a resolution. “Yeah, I guess.” Then again, depending on Dean's exact reason for ignoring him, ignoring him back might just drive him further away.
“Seems like just talking would be easier, doesn't it?” Garnet mused.
“Seems like,” he agreed.
“Your old roommate is a stubborn bastard though. So that makes things complicated.” He broke off a piece of his bread and popped it into his mouth. “So who'd they stick you with when your room changed?”
“Bernice again.”
“Mm,” his companion said noncommittally. “Big fucker, isn't he?”
“Yeah.”
“Didn't you room with him one time before?”
“Briefly.”
“Wonder why they keep jacking your room assignments. Seems weird, doesn't it?”
Sam shrugged.
Motion caught his eye and he looked up as a small, nervous looking man came up to their table. He nodded at both of them, but spoke only to Garnet. “H-Hey, G. Uh, Dean said he wanted t-to talk to you. Um. Now.”
“Sure, be right over,” Garnet said, waving him off. He turned to Sam. “Oh yeah, Winchester's pissed. Took less time than I thought.” He continued eating.
“Aren't you going to go over there?”
“Sure, when I'm ready,” Garnet said, unconcerned. “Think I'll let him stew for a bit first. `sides, I'm hungry.”
Sam wondered if he had a death wish. Dean could be horribly impatient, especially when he was already torqued off about something. This just seemed like playing the odds in a very fatalistic way.
“By the way,” Garnet added. “If he tries to kick my ass, you owe me. More than food duty. Anything I say.”
“You're the one antagonizing him, not me.”
“And if it gets the job done?” the dark haired guy prompted, giving him a raised eyebrow.
“Well, sure, I guess.”
“Good, because he's headed over here right now.”
Sam twitched, and forced himself not to look, but tension ran through him like a mean streak. Part of it was anxiety that Dean would start a fistfight with his friend, also, Sam had no idea what the Native American looking guy would ask him for when he came to collect.
“Blowing me off, Garnet?” Dean asked casually, ignoring Sam completely. His body looked tight like it was holding in a very volatile temper.
“Naw, man, I'm just eating.” Garnet sounded just as casual, but he didn't look nearly as relaxed as before. “I'm hungry.”
“And you just thought you'd set up shop over here?”
“Sure. Making new friends and all. It's good from time to time.”
“Back off,” Dean warned him. “You're barking up the wrong tree.”
Garnet pushed his tray back and looked up at Dean with a quizzical tilt to his head. “Just because you're not talking to him doesn't mean no one else can. Or do you have a monopoly on Campbell here?”
Sam desperately wanted to chime in, but he knew he couldn't.
“Go back to the other table,” Dean suggested in a low, unfriendly voice.
“Sorry, man, you don't rule me.” Garnet said, staring him down. “I like it over here. Sam's fairer company than you are these days anyhow.”
It sounded like a taunt. Sam jumped up reflexively, grabbing Dean's arm, knowing instinctively that he was about to strike his friend. Muscles corded beneath his hand, tight with tension as it pulled against his grip. “Let go of me, Sam.” It wasn't a request.
“No.”
Hard green eyes flashed at him. There were many things contained in that gaze but the foremost was anger. “Protecting your new friend?” he sneered, his expression becoming condescending.
“No,” Sam said pointedly, “protecting yours.”
They stared at each other in a clashing of wills. Sam hadn't meant his words to imply that Dean could lose it and seriously injure his friend, but that's just how it came out sounding. The accusing light in Dean's eyes cemented that misconception.
“So, now you're protecting people from me?” Dean said in a low voice, which would be a little difficult for anyone to overhear.
Sam got the feeling that this whole falling out was over just that - Dean was taking offense that he could be perceived as dangerous or unstable or even mentally unsound. But just now, he could also see that Dean was jealous.
“I shouldn't have to,” Sam said, willing him to see what he was really trying to say; that he trusted Dean, beyond all else, but that Dean needed to exercise restraint and control his impulses, like he used to.
“You know,” Dean said to him arrogantly, restrained arm turning so he could catch Sam's shirt roughly in his fist. “This was all so much easier to deal with before you came here.”
The words were like a strike to the face, Dean's cold green eyes backing them, telling Sam it'd be better if he was gone - if Dean never had to lay eyes on him again. Hurt snaked through him, and before he knew it, he was punching his brother in the face. The feeling of abandonment and desperation crushing his chest drove him forward and he struck Dean again causing his brother's hold on his shirt to loosen. You say that to me now? He was beyond words. They echoed in his head, but with no outlet. How could you say something like that to me at all?! It was like Dean was trying to cut him out of his life completely. Cutting him off from the only thing that held any meaning to him anymore.
And Dean wasn't even properly fighting back. He was blocking now, sure, but Sam was getting blows past his defenses that he shouldn't have been able to land. Dean's body bowed as Sam drove his knee into his brother's midsection and when those eyes met his, he could nearly hear the words they held. `Do this and get out of my sight. I never want to see you again.'
Sam's breath shuddered in his chest and his eyes stung.
Was this it? He'd lost his brother completely? Lost the person who'd cared so much about him, being left only with this animosity? Was he really supposed to just turn his back and leave him in this place forever?
Rough arms looped through his, dragging him back and making him struggle. “That's enough, Campbell,” an orderly said. “We're done here.”
“Dean,” Sam said through clenched teeth, making his brother look up at him. “Even if you turn your back on me,” he said tightly, tears ghosting his vision and touching his voice, “I will not abandon you.”
Green eyes flickered, a war going on inside them.
It was the last thing Sam saw as he was dragged away.
--
TBC
A/N: Chapter title from:
Infected Mushroom - “Change the Formality”
I try to chaAange the for-mal-ity
and everything about it..
People killing people for a reaaason..
You make mistakes,
you don't regret..
So make a conclusionnnn.
[x6]
A/N2: And the B-side to this chapter is the following song, which I see as being sort of from Dean's p.o.v.:
“Showdown” - Pendulum
Well it's been such a long time coming
I thought you'd understand
That's over
Ahead of the lines
You'll be joining in the sand
Is it simple?
You were wrong
You must have known that we live down below
I know you thought I'd sold my soul
But you never told me to my face
I just had to leave you go
Blow this shit away!
Here we go again...
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.
______________________
Ch. 16: Change the Formality
“Sorry,” Dean said some time later as they lay there, bodies sprawled next to one another.
“What for?” Sam replied tiredly, thinking he already knew what he was going to say.
“For... well,” Dean ran a hand over his hair. “I didn't mean to jump you like that.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “I didn't exactly stop you,” he pointed out, a little aggravated. Dean was trying to make this about laying blame, and was taking the fault upon himself.
“Yeah, but...”
“But what, Dean?” he said with an edge. “I was aware of what we were doing. I'm not a little kid anymore, so you can stop treating me like one.”
Dean flopped onto his back, letting out a noise of irritation. “I'm not treating you like a kid.”
Sam sat up and stared down at him. “Yeah, you kinda are. You keep acting like anything that happens is your fault, and that you have to take all the responsibility on your own.”
Dean shook his head, a surly expression on his face. “Look, you've got some weird shit riding in your veins, and this was the last thing you needed.” His tone was self-deprecating. “Besides, you're the one who said we should talk about this before anything more happened.”
“Well, too late for that now,” Sam said sarcastically.
“Damnit, Sam,” Dean said with frustration, “I'm sorry.”
“Maybe there's nothing to talk about, anyway.”
“What do you mean?” Dean said, his voice wary.
Sam shrugged and laid back on the bed. “Seems like I'm not sorry it happened. Guess I don't have a problem with this after all.”
“That's just nuts,” Dean said with aggravation, sitting up again. “How can you not have a problem with it? You're supposed to have a problem with it.”
“I didn't say it wasn't weird as hell,” he tossed back, reacting to his brother's increasingly acerbic tone. “I'm just saying that this will probably happen again and I don't think I'll be trying to stop it.” He looked up at Dean. “You obviously have a problem with it - though not a big enough one to keep you from jumping my bones. What's the difference?”
“Because,” Dean stressed in a pissed off fashion, “what the hell are you going to do when you get out of here then? How are you supposed to have a normal life?”
“I already told you I'm not leaving here without you,” Sam said angrily. “God, I can't believe we're having a fight about me not having a problem with this. You realize that's mental, right?”
“You may not be a kid anymore,” Dean said, “but I'm still supposed to be looking out for you.” He made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded like a growl as he ran his hand angrily over the top of his head, scrubbing at his hair in agitation. “Maybe I'm in here because my self-control is complete shit at times, but I don't want that to drag you down. And I sure as hell don't want you stuck in here, wasting away the rest of your life.”
“Do I get a say in this?” Sam asked shortly. “Or are you just going to make up your mind and tell me to `deal' with it?”
“That's what I should do,” Dean muttered. “Only I know you're too fucking stubborn to listen.” He glared at Sam. “Don't you see how dangerous this is? How dangerous this place is? You cannot stay here. You need to get out the first chance you get and not look back.”
Sam shook his head, refusing to back down. He could see that Dean was just trying to push him away and it was beyond frustrating. “And what is there for me out there, huh? You're all I've got.”
“I don't know,” Dean said with exasperation. “Some nice chick you could hook up with, marry, and do the white-picket fence kinda life with? You could have a dog, 2.5 kids, and a minivan to cart the little bastards around in. You'd love it. You'd be happy.”
“Where in the hell do you get this stuff, Dean? I never wanted kids or any of that. Is that the kind of life you wanted?”
“It's what everyone wants, right?” Dean said scathingly, ignoring Sam's question. “It's normal.”
“Is it really what you want?” He asked again, stressing the `you'. He tried to pick his brother apart with his eyes, and see what was really going on inside that head of his. Could he really picture Dean secretly coveting that normal sort of life? Or was it just the sort of thing he thought he should want?
“It doesn't matter what I want,” Dean snapped. “Not here, anyway, and I don't even know if I'll ever be able to leave. So don't fucking ask me something like that.”
“I'd pick you over normal any day,” Sam said bluntly. “And I'd rather be here than anywhere else because of it.”
“Damnit, Sammy,” Dean exhaled. “But they've already started in on you. You don't need to be medicated; someone's just fucking with your head.”
“I can't say I'm thrilled with that,” Sam admitted dismissively, trying to get back to the real issue, “but that's besides the point.”
“Don't you remember anything about it?” Dean asked him, diverting the subject before he could persist in it. “Where you might have been, or who you saw?”
“Not really.” The dream came to mind, but even that had become fuzzy and dissonant. He was mostly left with the impression that he'd been strapped down and interrogated. There was also something about needles; but he could do without dwelling on that.
“Sometimes they give you stuff that makes you forget,” Dean mused under his breath.
Sam was struck with a lurching sense of déjà vu. “What was that?” He'd heard this before. From Dean, he was sure. Only he was also sure that this had never really come up before. Could he have dreamed it?
Dean's eyes slanted at him. “The doctors. Or whoever. I think that sometimes they give us things that make us forget. Things that mess with our heads and our memories. I can't prove it though. It isn't anything they should be doing, so it would be hard to expose, them being more thorough about hiding it and all.”
“Do you think that happened to you in Solitary?”
“Maybe.”
“Just maybe?”
“Well,” Dean relented, looking a little twitchy, “Bobby swore he came down there to see me and I don't remember it at all. I think I saw someone else. So either my memory is jacked up or I was hallucinating.”
“Can medication make you hallucinate?”
“Dunno. I'm not a doctor. But I imagine it could.”
Sam started to look even more focused and animated than before. “So this could even be like the Rosenhan experiment,” he said with hushed excitement.
“Come again?”
“You know, the famous study a psychologist ran which he called “On being Sane in Insane Places”?”
Dean shook his head. “Not following.”
“He had assistants fake mental illness,” Sam settled into his explanation, convinced that anyone would have heard about this and that it was just a matter of mentioning the right details to jog the memory. “Like hearing voices, for example, so that they would be admitted into the hospitals. By the end, in order to leave, they had to admit to having a mental illness and agree to taking anti psychotics as a condition for their release.”
“Ok, firstly?” Dean said with an incredulous look, “Where in the hell do you hear about this kind of stuff?”
“Uh, books? The internet?”
Dean shook his head. “I know who I'm calling if I'm ever on a trivia show and am given a lifeline.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Man, if all I have to do to get out of here is admit some kind of mental malfunction, sign me up. Stupid me, I was set on proving I was sane.”
“I don't think it will be that simple. You're already taking medication in general, aren't you?”
Dean nodded. “Not much choice there. They watch you take it, and if you don't, they make you take it. No flushing it down the can in this place.”
“So they have already identified you as having a problem.”
“Sure, they just don't know what it is. And they are either unwilling or unable to believe there's nothing wrong with me.”
Sam still wasn't certain if there was anything wrong with his brother or not, but he didn't believe that it was anything that warranted living in this place indefinitely. Even if he was seeing things or was delusional about monsters, it wasn't like he was hurting anyone, right?
He felt a sudden dissonance at the thought, a sort of disagreement to that notion, down to his core. `...you could be right, in that the things he hunts are real. But what if you're wrong?'
A frown creased Sam's brow as disembodied words flowed into his mind like water. He couldn't place them. Not where he'd heard them, or who had spoken them. 'What if... it was those very delusions that your mother and your girlfriend died for?'
“Sam?” Dean said as Sam put a hand to his suddenly throbbing head. The pulses of fear were returning with the thoughts of his mother and her death. So were the impressions of blood. His stomach churned and it was hard to breathe.
“Sam, what is it?” Dean asked urgently. “What's wrong?”
“N-Nothing,” he said faintly, pushing aside his brother's bracing hand. “I'm okay.”
But he wasn't okay. He was seeing his mother's face again, the useless movement of her mouth and the grim visage of his father. Was it possible that he'd really been there when it happened? Was it.... Was it possible that his father had been the one to attack, thinking there was some monster lurking there?
“You're not okay,” Dean argued, grabbing his chin and tilting his face up. “You look like you're freaking out. Talk to me, Sammy.”
“Dad...” Sam forced out, “he was there when it happened.”
Understanding struck Dean's eyes. “When Mom...?”
“Yes. What if he--” Sam broke off, having excessive difficulty voicing his fear. “What if he did it?” His voice fell to a rasping whisper. “What if he killed Mom?”
“Impossible.” Dean was adamant. “He wouldn't, Sam, there's no way.”
“What if he mistook them for something else and thought he was saving me?” He persisted. He had to. He needed to hear Dean discount it and maybe even get pissed at him, tell him it was crazy. The alternative was too much for him to deal with. He could feel that he was shaking with fine tremors as that bloody scene played out in the back of his head where it was still hidden from his eyes. It was worse for not seeing it, for not knowing exactly what had happened.
Dean was silent a moment. “Dad wouldn't make a mistake,” he said flatly, a strange quality to his voice. “But what you're saying is something else, though, isn't it? You're asking if he'd lost his grip. Or if he never had a grip to begin with.” His hand fell from Sam's shoulder like a wounded dove. “You're asking me if he could have been dangerously insane. You're wondering if I'm the same.”
“Tell me I'm wrong.”
“Oh, you could be,” Dean said in a voice that sounded distant, cold and angry. “I could tell you that he might have been hunting the thing that did it, and was just too late to stop it. But you won't believe that will you? You'll just think to yourself that the old man was crazy and that I am, too.”
“Dean,” Sam pleaded. He wasn't trying to start a fight, nor was he feeling very stable at the moment. Yet here they were and Dean, his support system, was falling back. He'd never heard his brother sound so inaccessible and remote. It pained him more than he could have thought possible. It was like a switch had flipped and Dean was no longer present, like part of him had shut off, maybe for good.
Dean slid off of the bed, his motions tight and sharp, conveying his anger. “I asked Bobby to change our rooms earlier,” he tossed out almost passive aggressively as he went to his own bed and laid down upon it with his back to Sam. “He agreed.”
Sam turned his back on Dean as well, the words resonating in him and playing havoc with everything else already going on in his head. He curled in on himself, feeling tears burn at his eyes. He hated fighting with Dean. But this time felt more permanent, more irrevocable and damaging and he didn't know what to do.
---
“All right, Garnet,” Jared said as they sat in the cafeteria around noontime, “pay up.”
“What?” the long-haired boy complained. “Are they still not talking to each other?”
“See for yourself.” Jared nodded towards the doorway where Dean was making his entrance. He was walking past the table Sam was sitting at by himself without so much as a flickering glance, beyond his initial marking of Sam's location in the room.
They watched Sam's face as he registered Dean's presence, saw his jaw set in place as he was pointedly ignored, given nothing but Dean's back as he walked right past him to the lunch line.
“Aw, man,” Garnet complained again. “What the hell are they doing? Look, Campbell's not even eating anything. It's like he's brooding or something.” He wiped his hand over his mouth in exasperation. “Can't they have the decency to shag each other senseless when I've got good money riding on this?? What is this teenage angst bullshit?”
“Told you they were both stubborn,” Jared said, mocking him as he bit into his sandwich. “Too bad this lasted past your deadline.”
Garnet cursed. “I didn't expect them to have a fight. That throws everything out of whack.”
“This is why I gave it a week,” Jared nodded sagely. “Account for the unknown.”
“Dick. I hope they're stubborn enough to keep this going all week, then you and your shit-eating grin can fork over to Garth.”
“You're such a sore loser,” the bodybuilder said pleasantly.
“Bite me.”
“Hey, guys,” Dean said briefly as he sat down with his tray of food. He did not look particularly sociable, nor did he look like he cared for a response.
“Hey, Dean,” Garnet greeted, curbing the urge to steal some fries off of his plate while Dean took a bite out of his cheeseburger. He was pretty sure Winchester was not in a mood anyone should fuck around with. It was kind of amusing that it was probably all due to Campbell. Only it was kind of not funny at all... between the two of them, it looked like Armageddon had begun. It was a pretty heavy atmosphere. “How's things?” he asked, ignoring the look from Jared that was warning him not to try to sway anything into his favor with the bet.
“Peachy,” Dean said around his burger. “Couldn't be better.”
He sucked at lying sometimes, but Garnet supposed he wasn't too concerned with being authentic at the moment. “So, how's the new roommate working out? I heard they put you back in with Ed. You trying to punish yourself or what?”
The look Dean leveled him over the burger was exceedingly unfriendly. “You think I requested Ed? Do I look like a masochist to you?”
Garnet's eyes flicked between Winchester and Campbell, and he thought, Yeah. Instead of voicing such (he wasn't suicidal), he said, “I'm gonna go grab something. Unless you don't mind parting with some fries?”
Dean growled at him, as expected, and he got up to get in line. Waiting was such a pain. It was so much easier to just snag bits of other people's food. But for now, this was fine. Maybe he'd detour to Campbell's table after and see if he could get any info out of him. He was kind of surprised that Dean was leaving him adrift like this, alone, when they'd been so tight before. It had to be one doozy of a fight.
“You've been hitting the gym a lot lately, Dean,” Jared said casually. “Something bugging you?”
“Nope,” Dean said with a nonchalant lifting of his brows, and took a bite of his burger.
“You're full of shit,” the weightlifter said as he regarded the tomato slice that was slipping from his sandwich. He poked it back into place. “Just so we're clear on that.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Dean grabbed some fries and bit the ends off of them. “Look, if you're going to go all Dear Abby on me, I'd just steer clear, man.”
“Moi? And ruin the perfectly wretched personality that's developed on my recently gung-ho gym partner? Why would I do that, you lunatic?” He took an enthusiastic bite out of his sandwich just to be obnoxious.
---
Sam broodingly drank his coffee, not caring that most people didn't have coffee for lunch. Or only coffee for lunch. He wished it was something stronger, but java was all he had access to.
Dean had been giving him the cold shoulder for two days now and it was wearing him ragged. It made his temper flare to be walked past like he didn't exist, just as much as it made him feel sort of depressed.
They were in separate rooms again and it didn't seem like there was anything that was going to break this stalemate. Meals were mainly the only time he laid eyes on Dean, the only time they could maybe set down and work this out, but his brother seemed perfectly content to act like he'd fallen off the planet.
Seeing him with his buddies only intensified Sam's anger, despair and jealousy to a dagger's point. He seethed with frustration over this. Maybe in a few days he'd finally snap and just walk up to Dean and punch him in his pretty face. It'd be hard to ignore someone who was acquainting you with their fist.
“Heya, Campbell,” a deadpan voice greeted, breaking into his thoughts and making him look up. It took Sam a moment, but he recognized one of his brother's buddies, Garnet. Today his long hair was pulled back into a long ponytail that was bound with a dozen small hair-ties all the way down his back. It looked like an OCD art project.
“What do you want?” he said in a level voice, sipping at his coffee moodily.
“Huh,” the guy said, sitting down as if he'd been invited. “And you're supposed to be the friendly one.”
“Says who?”
“Well, it sure as hell isn't Dean, I'll tell you that.”
Sam tensed at the use of his brother's name. He'd figured this was going to be an exercise in fishing for information, but knowing that didn't make it any easier to put up with. “Would you mind? I'd rather be left alone.”
“Yeah, I know,” Garnet said as he buttered a piece of bread, unconcerned with Sam's tone. “Just like I know you're waiting for me to ask some probing question or other about what's going on between you and Dean.”
“There's nothing going on.”
“Shut it,” Garnet said shortly. “I hate liars.” His gaze was sharp as his eyes flicked to Sam's. “You practically flinch each time I say his name. It's disgraceful to lie about something so obvious.” He held the buttered chunk of French bread to Sam. “Eat something. You're making yourself look like a besotted teenage girl by refusing food.”
Sam took the bread with a scowl on his face. “And how would you know what that looks like?”
Garnet shrugged, setting about buttering his other piece of bread. “I have sisters.”
Sam took a bite out of it and chewed without really tasting anything. He glanced over at Dean's table as a sort of unconscious conditioning, and was surprised to find green eyes averting, caught staring. His brows drew together and he focused on the bread. So Dean wasn't completely pretending he didn't exist, only to his face. What the hell? What's he trying to prove?
Garnet was sharp and didn't miss the exchange. “What, you thought he suddenly didn't give a rat's ass? He's not that good an actor.” He twined some spaghetti onto his fork. “This is bugging him, too. He's a general bitch to be around right now.”
“So?” Sam said shortly. “What do I care?” Sam failed to see what purpose Dean's supposed friend had in talking to him like this, acting all buddy-like to him. Was he trying to ferret out an apology? Or was this just a way to see how screwed up all of this was making him? Well, he wasn't sorry - he hadn't done anything to warrant this kind of treatment and he sure as hell wasn't spilling his guts to a stranger, especially not one who had his brother's ear.
“Man, you're being even bitchier than he is.” Garnet took a bite of spaghetti and regarded him with a perplexed look as he chewed. “And you seem to have major trust issues, dude.”
Sam leaned forward, looking the dark-haired guy in the eyes with an aggressive, disbelieving smile. “You think I should trust you? Based on what?”
Garnet gave him an unimpressed look, though he seemed vaguely agitated. “Bad choice of words. I should have said that you're paranoid.”
“Suits me just fine. I don't care what you think.”
“Yeah? Well you care what Winchester thinks, and right now you are wasting a prime opportunity to make him jealous.”
Sam leaned back, frowning at him.
Garnet took a drink from his glass. “I know him pretty well, Campbell, and right now he's jealous as hell just having someone else talking to you.”
“If you know him so well, can you tell me why he has such a stick up his ass right now?”
Garnet smiled. “I could speculate... but he is my friend, so that wouldn't be fair to him.”
“What if we were both your friends?” Sam said speculatively.
“I smell a bargain on the horizon.”
“You're lazy and don't like getting your own food,” Sam stated.
“You offering to be my food bitch?”
“Only if you don't call it that.”
“Done. Besides, I like you, Campbell. If I didn't, I wouldn't be sitting my ass down over here trying to help you patch things with Winchester. Because then you'd be back at our table where I'd have to suffer you daily.” Garnet ate for a minute or two, looking like he was mulling something over. He nodded to himself and said, “Here, take this,” holding out a meatball to Sam on his fork.
“Uh...”
Garnet shook his head impatiently, “Hold out your bread, and I'll slap it down on there for you.”
“I'm not really hungry,” Sam said, even as he did as instructed.
“Yeah, well Winchester doesn't need to know that. Besides, food's really personal with him, and sharing it like this is bound to piss him off.”
“He seems plenty pissed off as it is.”
“Nah, it's something else. Can't tell if it's a wounded pride thing, or if he just feels like he should keep his distance. I don't suppose you could tell me what the fight was about?”
“No.”
“Well, whatever.” Garnet motioned to the meatball with a small nod. “Eat up, Sammy.”
Sam threw him an annoyed look and dutifully started to eat. Why did everyone like to call him `Sammy' when they were being condescending? Did they think they were being cute or what?
“Oh, and make sure you don't look over to the other table at all,” his companion added. “You need to act utterly focused on being where you're at. That'll knock him down a peg - he won't feel so in control of things then.”
“So you're saying that this is easier for him because he's the one doing the ignoring?”
“Precisely. So if you act like you don't give a fuck, and make him jealous, he won't be able to stand it. He'll be seeking you out in no time.”
Sam made a face. Dean was pretty stubborn. That could take a while. He also thought Garnet was overestimating his brother by thinking he wouldn't be completely pissed off and looking for a fight instead of a resolution. “Yeah, I guess.” Then again, depending on Dean's exact reason for ignoring him, ignoring him back might just drive him further away.
“Seems like just talking would be easier, doesn't it?” Garnet mused.
“Seems like,” he agreed.
“Your old roommate is a stubborn bastard though. So that makes things complicated.” He broke off a piece of his bread and popped it into his mouth. “So who'd they stick you with when your room changed?”
“Bernice again.”
“Mm,” his companion said noncommittally. “Big fucker, isn't he?”
“Yeah.”
“Didn't you room with him one time before?”
“Briefly.”
“Wonder why they keep jacking your room assignments. Seems weird, doesn't it?”
Sam shrugged.
Motion caught his eye and he looked up as a small, nervous looking man came up to their table. He nodded at both of them, but spoke only to Garnet. “H-Hey, G. Uh, Dean said he wanted t-to talk to you. Um. Now.”
“Sure, be right over,” Garnet said, waving him off. He turned to Sam. “Oh yeah, Winchester's pissed. Took less time than I thought.” He continued eating.
“Aren't you going to go over there?”
“Sure, when I'm ready,” Garnet said, unconcerned. “Think I'll let him stew for a bit first. `sides, I'm hungry.”
Sam wondered if he had a death wish. Dean could be horribly impatient, especially when he was already torqued off about something. This just seemed like playing the odds in a very fatalistic way.
“By the way,” Garnet added. “If he tries to kick my ass, you owe me. More than food duty. Anything I say.”
“You're the one antagonizing him, not me.”
“And if it gets the job done?” the dark haired guy prompted, giving him a raised eyebrow.
“Well, sure, I guess.”
“Good, because he's headed over here right now.”
Sam twitched, and forced himself not to look, but tension ran through him like a mean streak. Part of it was anxiety that Dean would start a fistfight with his friend, also, Sam had no idea what the Native American looking guy would ask him for when he came to collect.
“Blowing me off, Garnet?” Dean asked casually, ignoring Sam completely. His body looked tight like it was holding in a very volatile temper.
“Naw, man, I'm just eating.” Garnet sounded just as casual, but he didn't look nearly as relaxed as before. “I'm hungry.”
“And you just thought you'd set up shop over here?”
“Sure. Making new friends and all. It's good from time to time.”
“Back off,” Dean warned him. “You're barking up the wrong tree.”
Garnet pushed his tray back and looked up at Dean with a quizzical tilt to his head. “Just because you're not talking to him doesn't mean no one else can. Or do you have a monopoly on Campbell here?”
Sam desperately wanted to chime in, but he knew he couldn't.
“Go back to the other table,” Dean suggested in a low, unfriendly voice.
“Sorry, man, you don't rule me.” Garnet said, staring him down. “I like it over here. Sam's fairer company than you are these days anyhow.”
It sounded like a taunt. Sam jumped up reflexively, grabbing Dean's arm, knowing instinctively that he was about to strike his friend. Muscles corded beneath his hand, tight with tension as it pulled against his grip. “Let go of me, Sam.” It wasn't a request.
“No.”
Hard green eyes flashed at him. There were many things contained in that gaze but the foremost was anger. “Protecting your new friend?” he sneered, his expression becoming condescending.
“No,” Sam said pointedly, “protecting yours.”
They stared at each other in a clashing of wills. Sam hadn't meant his words to imply that Dean could lose it and seriously injure his friend, but that's just how it came out sounding. The accusing light in Dean's eyes cemented that misconception.
“So, now you're protecting people from me?” Dean said in a low voice, which would be a little difficult for anyone to overhear.
Sam got the feeling that this whole falling out was over just that - Dean was taking offense that he could be perceived as dangerous or unstable or even mentally unsound. But just now, he could also see that Dean was jealous.
“I shouldn't have to,” Sam said, willing him to see what he was really trying to say; that he trusted Dean, beyond all else, but that Dean needed to exercise restraint and control his impulses, like he used to.
“You know,” Dean said to him arrogantly, restrained arm turning so he could catch Sam's shirt roughly in his fist. “This was all so much easier to deal with before you came here.”
The words were like a strike to the face, Dean's cold green eyes backing them, telling Sam it'd be better if he was gone - if Dean never had to lay eyes on him again. Hurt snaked through him, and before he knew it, he was punching his brother in the face. The feeling of abandonment and desperation crushing his chest drove him forward and he struck Dean again causing his brother's hold on his shirt to loosen. You say that to me now? He was beyond words. They echoed in his head, but with no outlet. How could you say something like that to me at all?! It was like Dean was trying to cut him out of his life completely. Cutting him off from the only thing that held any meaning to him anymore.
And Dean wasn't even properly fighting back. He was blocking now, sure, but Sam was getting blows past his defenses that he shouldn't have been able to land. Dean's body bowed as Sam drove his knee into his brother's midsection and when those eyes met his, he could nearly hear the words they held. `Do this and get out of my sight. I never want to see you again.'
Sam's breath shuddered in his chest and his eyes stung.
Was this it? He'd lost his brother completely? Lost the person who'd cared so much about him, being left only with this animosity? Was he really supposed to just turn his back and leave him in this place forever?
Rough arms looped through his, dragging him back and making him struggle. “That's enough, Campbell,” an orderly said. “We're done here.”
“Dean,” Sam said through clenched teeth, making his brother look up at him. “Even if you turn your back on me,” he said tightly, tears ghosting his vision and touching his voice, “I will not abandon you.”
Green eyes flickered, a war going on inside them.
It was the last thing Sam saw as he was dragged away.
--
TBC
A/N: Chapter title from:
Infected Mushroom - “Change the Formality”
I try to chaAange the for-mal-ity
and everything about it..
People killing people for a reaaason..
You make mistakes,
you don't regret..
So make a conclusionnnn.
[x6]
A/N2: And the B-side to this chapter is the following song, which I see as being sort of from Dean's p.o.v.:
“Showdown” - Pendulum
Well it's been such a long time coming
I thought you'd understand
That's over
Ahead of the lines
You'll be joining in the sand
Is it simple?
You were wrong
You must have known that we live down below
I know you thought I'd sold my soul
But you never told me to my face
I just had to leave you go
Blow this shit away!
Here we go again...