Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Asylum ❯ Nothing Comes Easy ( Chapter 17 )
[ 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: 04.22.2012 | Pages: 2 | Words: 6.1K | Visits: 155 | Status: Work In Progress
Non Anime: Supernatural Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Suspense | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 04.22.2012 | Pages: 2 | Words: 6.1K | Visits: 155 | 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. 17: Nothing Comes Easy
“Oh, Samuel,” Dr. Walter's pleasant voice said ruefully, “you'd think you wanted to see me, what with the trouble you keep tumbling into so easily.”
Sam cursed his luck that he was taken to the infirmary to see Dr. Creep-factor. He couldn't put his finger on it but Dr. Walter gave him a bad feeling and he did not fancy spending time in his presence. Not to mention this place, and its tendency to be frigid. “Eat me,” he said tersely. Antagonism was rising to the surface even though the bearded man had yet to say anything truly deserving. It was weird.
He was sitting in a chair, the doctor walking around him in a slow, assessing circuit. “So rude, today,” he mused, not looking offended at all. At least, his trademark pleasantry was unaffected. “And starting fights?” He tsked. “That's disappointing behavior.”
“You can skip the lecture.”
“Then would you rather hold out your arm for me?” He patted his pocket threateningly, and Sam knew somehow that a syringe lay inside. His jaw clenched. “I thought so,” the doctor continued. “Your charming little fear seems to be beyond your control.” He smiled. “There are only two options, Samuel: talk therapy or medication. I'd prefer the former, but the decision, ultimately, is yours.”
Sam thought that sounded like crap. This guy seemed to have an over-fondness for medication.
“Now,” Dr. Walter continued, eyes glittering ominously behind his professional facade, “I'd like you to tell me about your brother.”
---
Dean couldn't get it of his head, the expression Sam had made before he'd been hauled out of the cafeteria... it was crushing. Not to mention the words he'd uttered.
He put a hand over his face, fighting off the wash of self-deprecation and worthlessness which was overtaking his pride. He knew he was hurting Sam by ignoring him, and by everything else, but he just couldn't reconcile things to his satisfaction. That Sam could have such doubts about their father... and about him! They were dangerous? Unstable? Insane? Such judgments ripped out his sense of self and invalidated who he'd been for almost his whole life. He felt like he suddenly couldn't rely on his own mind anymore, if Sam was maybe right about this.
And if his brother was right... it was all the more reason Sam needed to be gone from here, away from him.
But he just couldn't entirely trust such an assessment. He didn't feel crazy. He was just here on a string of bad luck. But regardless, if Sam saw him as mentally unstable, he just couldn't stand that. It made him feel betrayed.
“Are you going to make a move or are we going to sit here all damn day?” Garnet said, prompting Dean to play a card.
Dean threw one down without acknowledging him. He didn't even feel like being here right now, but it was preferable to being pestered by Ed in his room.
“Is he ignoring me now?” the biker asked Garth, who was sitting next to him. “Really?”
“Looks that way,” the older man said under his breath, seeming like he didn't want to get involved or make things worse.
Pokey was a silent, nervous wreck. He was usually Dean's first choice for aggressive stress relief. He wasn't going to be caught making a peep.
“You were the one starting shit with his girlfriend,” Jared said to Garnet admonishingly, devoid of his usual cheer.
Dean looked up at him with a sharp glare.
Jared gave him a hard, unrepentant stare back. “You gonna pick a fight with me, Winchester?” the weightlifter asked in a hostile tone. “I'm all for it, but you won't be any less pissed off, just more broken.”
“Not any more than you would be.”
“That may be true.” Jared tossed a card down like he was swatting a fly. “But you'll still be pissed and still be having the same damn issue with Sam. It wouldn't change anything.”
“I know,” he said sharply. He knew that better than anyone. Still, hearing Sam jokingly referred to as his girlfriend was getting under his skin. It was because of the drama going on between them. It was just making light of it, trying to break a bit of tension, that much was obvious... but it was too close to other landmines, such as how he and Sam had been steadily taking things too far and becoming too involved.
“You think they took him to Solitary?” Garth asked.
“For a first offense?” Jared said with raised brows.
“Second,” Garnet corrected. “He was in trouble for that other fight in the cafeteria, even though he didn't start it.”
“But I saw them taking him the other way,” Pokey said uncertainly, still afraid to speak up. “To the infirmary.”
Something in Dean froze up and dread lapped at the edges of his mind. Why there? Sam hadn't been injured. He didn't have a scratch. “Lewis,” Dean said carefully, eyes boring holes through the pile of cards on the table, “are you sure that's where he was taken?” He couldn't shake this sudden anxiety.
“Pretty sure,” the small man said. “There's nothing else that way, and I saw them with my own eyes.”
“I forfeit,” Dean said, placing his cards on the table and rising to his feet. “I'll settle up later.”
“Where are you going?” Jared asked.
Dean didn't hear him as he left the library. He couldn't shake the feeling that Sam was in some sort of trouble. Was he wrong for trying to push him away and encourage him to leave this place? Was he only causing more trouble?
Because of him, Sam was in trouble for fighting. Again. It wasn't the kind of thing they could afford if Sam was going to be getting out of here. They might start medicating him, aggressively, even. And some of those drugs did things to your brain, could alter who you were. He didn't want them to start working on his brother, `fixing' him. Sam needed to remain as he was.
Fight or no, he wasn't going to let anything happen to his little brother, not while he still drew breath.
He made it to the infirmary in record time, flinging the door open like he was going to break the hinges. His eyes scanned the room in a harsh, broad sweep and, at first, the entire place looked abandoned.
“Looking for your brother, Dean?” a pleasant voice inquired.
Dean's eyes narrowed as he placed Dr. Walter in the back of the room, sitting at the computer desk, tapping a pencil against his lip thoughtfully.
“I'm looking for Sam Campbell,” Dean said. “Where is he?”
The doctor looked at him with a smug, assessing gaze. “Why do you refuse to call him what he is, Dean? Is it so hard to admit that he's family?” He smiled and added, “A Winchester?”
“What would you know about it?” Dean said hostilely.
“Quite a lot, actually.” The bearded man swiveled slightly in his chair as Dean approached. His eyes looked like they contained secrets.
“That so?” Dean was feeling highly unfriendly.
“Sammy responds well to therapy. You'd almost say that with the right impetus, he could become quite a different person.”
“What did you do?”
“Dean, Dean, Dean,” the doctor chided softly with a knowing smile. “You know that a professional cannot discuss the intimates of treatment with an outsider.”
I'm not an outsider, I'm his brother, he wanted to say. He bit his tongue. This was what the prick wanted him to say, what he wanted him to admit. “Where is he?”
“In his room. Resting.” Dr. Walter rose from his seat slowly, like a hulking Leviathan. Menace lurked beyond the pleasant facade. He was like a puppet, motored by something more sinister than human hands. “He said an interesting thing to me before our time was up.”
“Yeah? What's that?” Dean sneered.
“He's under the impression that your father is coming. Soon.”
“You can't possibly believe he'd know something like that.” He scoffed but he was feeling uneasy. What kind of pressure had this guy applied to Sam to make him begin to crack?
The doctor's smile was nearly as beatific as it was condescending. “Why shouldn't I? He wasn't lying. And there were so many interesting things he had to tell me. Poor thing, they must have been so bottled up inside of him.”
Dean ground his teeth, itching to do something to this asshole. He held back, however, knowing how such an affront might go. He couldn't afford Solitary or the psychiatric medication equivalent to an enema to flush his brain. He needed to be present and see what the hell was going on with Sam.
“I especially look forward to meeting John again. It's been an age.”
“Sam's in his room?” Dean interrupted. This situation was becoming too surreal.
“Of course. Though I'm not sure he'll be wanting to see you.” The bearded man sounded contrite, though it was like he was laughing on the inside. “What use does he have for someone unstable like you? You're just going to drag him down, Dean. Just like your father dragged both of you down. You'll infect him with your sickness and trap him here.”
“Shut up,” Dean spat. “You don't know anything.”
A smug smile greeted him in response. “Think what you like, if it makes you feel better.”
“Dick,” Dean said, turning on his heel and stalking out of the room, the clinical smell clinging to his nostrils.
He beelined for Sam's room and tried the door. It was unlocked. He swung it open and saw his brother lying upon his bed, curled up and facing the wall.
“Sam,” he said, sitting on the bed and reaching out to shake his shoulder. Sam's eyes were open, but glassy. He didn't look right. “Sam.” His grey eyes stared sightlessly, fixed upon only something he could see. He shrunk from Dean's touch, though his expression didn't change, and his lips moved in a silent approximation of speech.
Worry shot through Dean and he levered Sam up into a sitting position, bracing him against his chest so he could better assess things. His brother's body was shaking slightly. His hands were cold.
“I'm sorry,” Sam's voice finally manifested faintly.
Dean chewed the inside of his lip. He didn't know what was wrong or what he could do. It seemed like every time he turned around, he was unable to do anything for Sam, like he couldn't keep him safe. How many times was he going to see his brother like this, his mind suppressed by whatever cocktail he'd been given at someone's whim? “What are you apologizing for?”
Dean ran a hand over Sam's smooth cheek. His head lolled alarmingly, and a tear loosed itself from the corner of one of his eyes.
“I'm sorry,” Sam repeated in an anguished whisper as his eyes squeezed shut. “Don't leave me.”
Was he this upset over our fight? Or was it something else? Or maybe it was just the drugs talking?
“Nobody is leaving you,” Dean reassured him. He wasn't certain, but he got the feeling that Sam wasn't even hearing him. Like they weren't even in the same dimension.
“I didn't mean for you to die,” Sam words nearly overlapped his, “Mom, Jess. I didn't know.”
It startled Dean a moment, that Sam was talking about something so different than he'd thought. He'd sort of assumed Sam had been stuck on the fight between them, not on the accident. There was an instant spark of jealousy and self-deprecation that flashed through him at the realization. On its heels was guilt.
“Sammy, look at me,” Dean said sharply. This was too painful, seeing Sam so out of alignment like this, hearing his voice sound so tormented. He couldn't take it. “Look at me.” Unfocused grey eyes, drifted slowly to meet his. Whatever medication they'd given him was strong. “It wasn't your fault, okay? You weren't the one who did this and you couldn't have known enough to prevent it.”
Why can I never protect him? Everything I do is futile.
“Dad was there. No one else. It had to be him.” Sam rambled murkily. “It's all my fault. They died because of me.” His eyes grew sharper, finally really seeing Dean again, and became all the more anguished for it. “Why do you always defend him?” his voice carried a tone of disbelief. “Can't you see what he did? And what he did to you?”
The last words shot through Dean's chest like a lance. `Can't you see what he did to you?'
“He didn't do anything, Sam. Nothing.” It felt like a lie. He could still feel the kick of a gun in his hands as a child and the misgiving that chased nearly every kill shot. He could feel again the tremors that had wracked his body the first time hot blood had sprayed him. The only thing that had kept him together was the thought that they were saving people. That and in the back of his mind, he was grateful that Sammy was not involved to this extent. Not yet, at least. Secretly, he'd wondered what it would do to his brother.
“You aren't supposed to be in here,” a deep voice said from behind him.
Dean turned around to see the epically super-sized man that was Sam's roommate looking down on him. The shaved-headed man looked more than a little unfriendly and marked their close contact with a critical gaze.
“Mom said you're just like him,” Sam was saying, and Dean felt dread fill his veins. Sam knew better than to mention their connection aloud. What the hell was he on that he would throw caution to the wind like this?
“Winchester,” Bernice threatened in his gravelly voice. “OUT.”
Dean didn't want to leave Sam, especially when he was like this, but it didn't seem like he had a choice. His adversary was huge and he didn't see a way to avoid having his spine ripped out if he were to engage in a one-on-one with him.
“Alright, alright, Nancy-boy,” he drawled, giving himself an extra second or two, “I'm goin'.” He lay Sam back down on the bed and watched him curl up like a pillbug, sheets to his chest. “Sam, I'll come check on you later.” Right about now, he was really regretting having the rooming assignments changed. It seemed like every time they did that, though it seemed the best option at the time, it ended up being damn inconvenient. It was ironic in a way that was really fucking annoying.
“Please don't,” Sam said in a muffled voice.
“What?” He frowned in confusion. “Why the hell not?”
“Just leave me alone.”
Dean's frown deepened. Was it just him, or was Sam sounding more clear and coherent as he was telling him to fuck off? “I'll be back later,” he reiterated. It could be that Sam was remembering their fight now. But why the change in attitude? He'd seemed like he wanted to make up before, even when Sam was driving a knee into his stomach with righteous indignation. What had Dr. Walter done to his head? Keeping his distance had seemed like a good idea to Dean before, a way to force his brother out of this place and save him, but now? Sam was on the fast track to becoming a permanent resident whether Dean was with him or not. If that was the case, sticking close would be the only way to minimize the damage.
A rough hand at the back of Dean's neck reminded him that he was supposed to be making himself scarce.
“Hey,” he said harshly, trying to shrug off the large man's grip. “Hands off.” He was ignored and shoveled right out the door. It closed behind him with finality, and the whole thing irritated Dean greatly. Shrugging his shoulders as if ridding himself of the lingering feel of Sam's bouncer, he set off down the hall, shoving his hands into his pockets.
I'll just have to talk to Bobby, he thought.
He'd get the rooms switched back, and by god, Dean knew better now than to bother with getting them separated. He wouldn't make the mistake again. This place was just waiting to eat Sam alive, he didn't need to offer it his assistance.
---
Gaining Bobby's ear was harder than he thought.
For one, Dr. Singer had become a hard one to pin down. Seemed he was having emergencies with patients every other minute for the next several days. Two, even when Dean had gotten within range, Bobby looked less than happy to see him, and even less so when he got a word out about changing their rooms back.
“Boy, what do you take me for?” the psychiatrist said gruffly as he shrugged into his white coat, getting ready to see one of his patients that had spontaneously started freaking out. “You think I have nothing better to do than play `Trading Places' and pull strings for you every damn minute?”
“I swear I won't ask you to do it again.” Dean tried to give a credible smile as he blocked the doctor's path to his office door.
“Out of my way,” Bobby said shortly, “I have something important to attend to.”
“What is it this time? Someone suffering from uncontrollable dancing leading to life-threatening dehydration?”
“No, you idiot, parapsychotic delusions which have turned violent.”
“Just say `yes',” Dean bargained, “and I'll get out of your way.”
Dr. Singer gave him a sharp look that was akin to the slicing of a scalpel. “We're done here.” He pushed past Dean and said, “Don't come into my office again unless you are called for.”
Not used to such abrasiveness from Bobby, Dean gave way. It was disconcerting to see him act so differently. The older man was practically his only ally here. He hated getting on his bad side, but he'd been getting desperate. He'd had zero access to his brother between Sam's infrequent ventures outside his room the last few days and Bernice's looming form guarding him like a wild bear. Even when he'd caught sight of Sam in the cafeteria at odd times of day, he'd been blocked from getting close, and Sam wasn't deigning to acknowledge his existence.
“Damn it,” he swore, running a hand through his hair in frustration as a scowl marred his face.
---
“Sam,” an orderly said at the doorway to his room.
“Yeah?” Sam looked up from where he was laying upon his bed listlessly. He hadn't felt like doing much the last several days, let alone thinking, but that's just what he'd been doing the most of. There was, after all, a lot to think about.
“Come with me, please.”
“Where to?” Sam said in a bored tone, staring at the ceiling with his hands beneath his head. He didn't feel like getting up, and he definitely didn't feel like being herded around like a piece of beef on two legs.
“Mr. Campbell, maybe it would be better if you would just cooperate.”
“Maybe you can just bite me,” he offered unhelpfully. Sam supposed he was feeling less than cooperative these days.
“What's the problem?” Someone asked from just outside of the room.
The orderly turned to the person who was not yet visible, and said something back that Sam couldn't quite make out.
“I'll take care of it,” the more strident voice said and the orderly moved to make way for another orderly whom Sam had seen before. He had dark, curly hair pulled back into a low ponytail and piercing blue eyes. He also had a look about him that just about screamed `I'd love to break your arms, or all the bones in your body.' “Campbell,” he said sharply. “Singer's office. Now. You have a visitor.”
If Sam hadn't felt more compelled to listen to the new, more brawny orderly by threatening looks alone, he might have gone just out of sheer curiosity. “A visitor?”
“You heard me, buttercup,” the man all but growled. “Now get your ass in gear.”
“Sure,” Sam said shortly.
Who the hell would be visiting me? Nobody even knows I'm here.
He scraped himself off the bed, the surly orderly practically tapping his foot with impatience. The two of them led the way and the combined width of their shoulders was almost freakishly impressive. He recognized the dark-haired one now. He'd made Dean look downright small as he'd carried him in from solitary, nearly unconscious, and dumped him onto his bed like a downed buck. The other one, Sam still didn't know. He was an older guy with shortish sandy-colored hair. Looked a little like an aged Luke Skywalker.
Sam's jaw set as he thought of Dean, and he resolved to put his brother out of his head.
The walk through the halls was not overly long, but it felt like it as more people than usual seemed to be staring at him.
He was starting to get quite a reputation here. First, he came in as a vegetable, asleep for the first part of his stay here. Then he was getting into fights beside Dean (who was infamous in his own right) and then into fights with Dean. If they had been anyone else, maybe they wouldn't have been watched so closely, but the other patients seemed to like keeping tabs on his brother and so now that had extended to him. He was sure it looked odd that they had been seen going practically everywhere together, really seeming to get along, and then all of a sudden they were having a shit-storm of dramatic bullcrap between them.
They reached Dr. Singer's office and the acerbic, blue-eyed orderly ushered him inside and shut the door behind him.
“Bobby?” Sam said, seeing the occupied chair at his desk. When it turned so that it was facing him, however, the person in it was not Bobby at all.
“Heya, Sammy,” the dark-haired man greeted with a crooked half smile.
Shock coursed through Sam as he regarded the familiar stranger. He couldn't be sure, but....
“Dad?” he said uncertainly.
---
TBC
A/N: Chapter title from the song “Nothing Comes Easy” by Infected Mushroom. On the flip side, here is another song that I find to be fitting - “Self vs Self” by Pendulum (love them). The band In Flames has some awesomeness too. My favorite song of theirs (besides this one) is the remix of Cloud Connected, called “Club Connected”. Wow. (It's on youtube, so you have no excuse not to check it out!)
“Self vs Self” - Pendulum
(feat. In Flames)
If I struggle a lifetime
What would my body be?
An empty shell
On what a demon fed!
Could be a heavy burden
To stay true to your words!
Speak up!
I wanna silence everything!
If I got no plan
Doesn't mean that I get what I want for free.
If I got no meaning,
Would you force me to a place where I make sense,
'Cause nothing lasts forever...
How do I get home?
Everything revolves around me!
If I can't find myself?
It's so completely fake!
How do I get home?
Everything revolves around me!
If even you can't help?
Dark nights on my soul!
I deny failure!
I ignite!
Woe is on my misery,
She wins all their eyes!
Realize what defies our fate!
This is not me, this is me!
So if I struggle a lifetime
What good would that do?
If I got a plan
Doesn't have to stop the feeling inside.
If I do make sense,
Would you drag me down,
'Cause nothing lasts forever...
How do I get home?
Everything revolves around me!
If I can't find myself?
It's so completely fake!
How do I get home?
Everything revolves around me!
If even you can't help?
Dark nights on my soul!
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. 17: Nothing Comes Easy
“Oh, Samuel,” Dr. Walter's pleasant voice said ruefully, “you'd think you wanted to see me, what with the trouble you keep tumbling into so easily.”
Sam cursed his luck that he was taken to the infirmary to see Dr. Creep-factor. He couldn't put his finger on it but Dr. Walter gave him a bad feeling and he did not fancy spending time in his presence. Not to mention this place, and its tendency to be frigid. “Eat me,” he said tersely. Antagonism was rising to the surface even though the bearded man had yet to say anything truly deserving. It was weird.
He was sitting in a chair, the doctor walking around him in a slow, assessing circuit. “So rude, today,” he mused, not looking offended at all. At least, his trademark pleasantry was unaffected. “And starting fights?” He tsked. “That's disappointing behavior.”
“You can skip the lecture.”
“Then would you rather hold out your arm for me?” He patted his pocket threateningly, and Sam knew somehow that a syringe lay inside. His jaw clenched. “I thought so,” the doctor continued. “Your charming little fear seems to be beyond your control.” He smiled. “There are only two options, Samuel: talk therapy or medication. I'd prefer the former, but the decision, ultimately, is yours.”
Sam thought that sounded like crap. This guy seemed to have an over-fondness for medication.
“Now,” Dr. Walter continued, eyes glittering ominously behind his professional facade, “I'd like you to tell me about your brother.”
---
Dean couldn't get it of his head, the expression Sam had made before he'd been hauled out of the cafeteria... it was crushing. Not to mention the words he'd uttered.
He put a hand over his face, fighting off the wash of self-deprecation and worthlessness which was overtaking his pride. He knew he was hurting Sam by ignoring him, and by everything else, but he just couldn't reconcile things to his satisfaction. That Sam could have such doubts about their father... and about him! They were dangerous? Unstable? Insane? Such judgments ripped out his sense of self and invalidated who he'd been for almost his whole life. He felt like he suddenly couldn't rely on his own mind anymore, if Sam was maybe right about this.
And if his brother was right... it was all the more reason Sam needed to be gone from here, away from him.
But he just couldn't entirely trust such an assessment. He didn't feel crazy. He was just here on a string of bad luck. But regardless, if Sam saw him as mentally unstable, he just couldn't stand that. It made him feel betrayed.
“Are you going to make a move or are we going to sit here all damn day?” Garnet said, prompting Dean to play a card.
Dean threw one down without acknowledging him. He didn't even feel like being here right now, but it was preferable to being pestered by Ed in his room.
“Is he ignoring me now?” the biker asked Garth, who was sitting next to him. “Really?”
“Looks that way,” the older man said under his breath, seeming like he didn't want to get involved or make things worse.
Pokey was a silent, nervous wreck. He was usually Dean's first choice for aggressive stress relief. He wasn't going to be caught making a peep.
“You were the one starting shit with his girlfriend,” Jared said to Garnet admonishingly, devoid of his usual cheer.
Dean looked up at him with a sharp glare.
Jared gave him a hard, unrepentant stare back. “You gonna pick a fight with me, Winchester?” the weightlifter asked in a hostile tone. “I'm all for it, but you won't be any less pissed off, just more broken.”
“Not any more than you would be.”
“That may be true.” Jared tossed a card down like he was swatting a fly. “But you'll still be pissed and still be having the same damn issue with Sam. It wouldn't change anything.”
“I know,” he said sharply. He knew that better than anyone. Still, hearing Sam jokingly referred to as his girlfriend was getting under his skin. It was because of the drama going on between them. It was just making light of it, trying to break a bit of tension, that much was obvious... but it was too close to other landmines, such as how he and Sam had been steadily taking things too far and becoming too involved.
“You think they took him to Solitary?” Garth asked.
“For a first offense?” Jared said with raised brows.
“Second,” Garnet corrected. “He was in trouble for that other fight in the cafeteria, even though he didn't start it.”
“But I saw them taking him the other way,” Pokey said uncertainly, still afraid to speak up. “To the infirmary.”
Something in Dean froze up and dread lapped at the edges of his mind. Why there? Sam hadn't been injured. He didn't have a scratch. “Lewis,” Dean said carefully, eyes boring holes through the pile of cards on the table, “are you sure that's where he was taken?” He couldn't shake this sudden anxiety.
“Pretty sure,” the small man said. “There's nothing else that way, and I saw them with my own eyes.”
“I forfeit,” Dean said, placing his cards on the table and rising to his feet. “I'll settle up later.”
“Where are you going?” Jared asked.
Dean didn't hear him as he left the library. He couldn't shake the feeling that Sam was in some sort of trouble. Was he wrong for trying to push him away and encourage him to leave this place? Was he only causing more trouble?
Because of him, Sam was in trouble for fighting. Again. It wasn't the kind of thing they could afford if Sam was going to be getting out of here. They might start medicating him, aggressively, even. And some of those drugs did things to your brain, could alter who you were. He didn't want them to start working on his brother, `fixing' him. Sam needed to remain as he was.
Fight or no, he wasn't going to let anything happen to his little brother, not while he still drew breath.
He made it to the infirmary in record time, flinging the door open like he was going to break the hinges. His eyes scanned the room in a harsh, broad sweep and, at first, the entire place looked abandoned.
“Looking for your brother, Dean?” a pleasant voice inquired.
Dean's eyes narrowed as he placed Dr. Walter in the back of the room, sitting at the computer desk, tapping a pencil against his lip thoughtfully.
“I'm looking for Sam Campbell,” Dean said. “Where is he?”
The doctor looked at him with a smug, assessing gaze. “Why do you refuse to call him what he is, Dean? Is it so hard to admit that he's family?” He smiled and added, “A Winchester?”
“What would you know about it?” Dean said hostilely.
“Quite a lot, actually.” The bearded man swiveled slightly in his chair as Dean approached. His eyes looked like they contained secrets.
“That so?” Dean was feeling highly unfriendly.
“Sammy responds well to therapy. You'd almost say that with the right impetus, he could become quite a different person.”
“What did you do?”
“Dean, Dean, Dean,” the doctor chided softly with a knowing smile. “You know that a professional cannot discuss the intimates of treatment with an outsider.”
I'm not an outsider, I'm his brother, he wanted to say. He bit his tongue. This was what the prick wanted him to say, what he wanted him to admit. “Where is he?”
“In his room. Resting.” Dr. Walter rose from his seat slowly, like a hulking Leviathan. Menace lurked beyond the pleasant facade. He was like a puppet, motored by something more sinister than human hands. “He said an interesting thing to me before our time was up.”
“Yeah? What's that?” Dean sneered.
“He's under the impression that your father is coming. Soon.”
“You can't possibly believe he'd know something like that.” He scoffed but he was feeling uneasy. What kind of pressure had this guy applied to Sam to make him begin to crack?
The doctor's smile was nearly as beatific as it was condescending. “Why shouldn't I? He wasn't lying. And there were so many interesting things he had to tell me. Poor thing, they must have been so bottled up inside of him.”
Dean ground his teeth, itching to do something to this asshole. He held back, however, knowing how such an affront might go. He couldn't afford Solitary or the psychiatric medication equivalent to an enema to flush his brain. He needed to be present and see what the hell was going on with Sam.
“I especially look forward to meeting John again. It's been an age.”
“Sam's in his room?” Dean interrupted. This situation was becoming too surreal.
“Of course. Though I'm not sure he'll be wanting to see you.” The bearded man sounded contrite, though it was like he was laughing on the inside. “What use does he have for someone unstable like you? You're just going to drag him down, Dean. Just like your father dragged both of you down. You'll infect him with your sickness and trap him here.”
“Shut up,” Dean spat. “You don't know anything.”
A smug smile greeted him in response. “Think what you like, if it makes you feel better.”
“Dick,” Dean said, turning on his heel and stalking out of the room, the clinical smell clinging to his nostrils.
He beelined for Sam's room and tried the door. It was unlocked. He swung it open and saw his brother lying upon his bed, curled up and facing the wall.
“Sam,” he said, sitting on the bed and reaching out to shake his shoulder. Sam's eyes were open, but glassy. He didn't look right. “Sam.” His grey eyes stared sightlessly, fixed upon only something he could see. He shrunk from Dean's touch, though his expression didn't change, and his lips moved in a silent approximation of speech.
Worry shot through Dean and he levered Sam up into a sitting position, bracing him against his chest so he could better assess things. His brother's body was shaking slightly. His hands were cold.
“I'm sorry,” Sam's voice finally manifested faintly.
Dean chewed the inside of his lip. He didn't know what was wrong or what he could do. It seemed like every time he turned around, he was unable to do anything for Sam, like he couldn't keep him safe. How many times was he going to see his brother like this, his mind suppressed by whatever cocktail he'd been given at someone's whim? “What are you apologizing for?”
Dean ran a hand over Sam's smooth cheek. His head lolled alarmingly, and a tear loosed itself from the corner of one of his eyes.
“I'm sorry,” Sam repeated in an anguished whisper as his eyes squeezed shut. “Don't leave me.”
Was he this upset over our fight? Or was it something else? Or maybe it was just the drugs talking?
“Nobody is leaving you,” Dean reassured him. He wasn't certain, but he got the feeling that Sam wasn't even hearing him. Like they weren't even in the same dimension.
“I didn't mean for you to die,” Sam words nearly overlapped his, “Mom, Jess. I didn't know.”
It startled Dean a moment, that Sam was talking about something so different than he'd thought. He'd sort of assumed Sam had been stuck on the fight between them, not on the accident. There was an instant spark of jealousy and self-deprecation that flashed through him at the realization. On its heels was guilt.
“Sammy, look at me,” Dean said sharply. This was too painful, seeing Sam so out of alignment like this, hearing his voice sound so tormented. He couldn't take it. “Look at me.” Unfocused grey eyes, drifted slowly to meet his. Whatever medication they'd given him was strong. “It wasn't your fault, okay? You weren't the one who did this and you couldn't have known enough to prevent it.”
Why can I never protect him? Everything I do is futile.
“Dad was there. No one else. It had to be him.” Sam rambled murkily. “It's all my fault. They died because of me.” His eyes grew sharper, finally really seeing Dean again, and became all the more anguished for it. “Why do you always defend him?” his voice carried a tone of disbelief. “Can't you see what he did? And what he did to you?”
The last words shot through Dean's chest like a lance. `Can't you see what he did to you?'
“He didn't do anything, Sam. Nothing.” It felt like a lie. He could still feel the kick of a gun in his hands as a child and the misgiving that chased nearly every kill shot. He could feel again the tremors that had wracked his body the first time hot blood had sprayed him. The only thing that had kept him together was the thought that they were saving people. That and in the back of his mind, he was grateful that Sammy was not involved to this extent. Not yet, at least. Secretly, he'd wondered what it would do to his brother.
“You aren't supposed to be in here,” a deep voice said from behind him.
Dean turned around to see the epically super-sized man that was Sam's roommate looking down on him. The shaved-headed man looked more than a little unfriendly and marked their close contact with a critical gaze.
“Mom said you're just like him,” Sam was saying, and Dean felt dread fill his veins. Sam knew better than to mention their connection aloud. What the hell was he on that he would throw caution to the wind like this?
“Winchester,” Bernice threatened in his gravelly voice. “OUT.”
Dean didn't want to leave Sam, especially when he was like this, but it didn't seem like he had a choice. His adversary was huge and he didn't see a way to avoid having his spine ripped out if he were to engage in a one-on-one with him.
“Alright, alright, Nancy-boy,” he drawled, giving himself an extra second or two, “I'm goin'.” He lay Sam back down on the bed and watched him curl up like a pillbug, sheets to his chest. “Sam, I'll come check on you later.” Right about now, he was really regretting having the rooming assignments changed. It seemed like every time they did that, though it seemed the best option at the time, it ended up being damn inconvenient. It was ironic in a way that was really fucking annoying.
“Please don't,” Sam said in a muffled voice.
“What?” He frowned in confusion. “Why the hell not?”
“Just leave me alone.”
Dean's frown deepened. Was it just him, or was Sam sounding more clear and coherent as he was telling him to fuck off? “I'll be back later,” he reiterated. It could be that Sam was remembering their fight now. But why the change in attitude? He'd seemed like he wanted to make up before, even when Sam was driving a knee into his stomach with righteous indignation. What had Dr. Walter done to his head? Keeping his distance had seemed like a good idea to Dean before, a way to force his brother out of this place and save him, but now? Sam was on the fast track to becoming a permanent resident whether Dean was with him or not. If that was the case, sticking close would be the only way to minimize the damage.
A rough hand at the back of Dean's neck reminded him that he was supposed to be making himself scarce.
“Hey,” he said harshly, trying to shrug off the large man's grip. “Hands off.” He was ignored and shoveled right out the door. It closed behind him with finality, and the whole thing irritated Dean greatly. Shrugging his shoulders as if ridding himself of the lingering feel of Sam's bouncer, he set off down the hall, shoving his hands into his pockets.
I'll just have to talk to Bobby, he thought.
He'd get the rooms switched back, and by god, Dean knew better now than to bother with getting them separated. He wouldn't make the mistake again. This place was just waiting to eat Sam alive, he didn't need to offer it his assistance.
---
Gaining Bobby's ear was harder than he thought.
For one, Dr. Singer had become a hard one to pin down. Seemed he was having emergencies with patients every other minute for the next several days. Two, even when Dean had gotten within range, Bobby looked less than happy to see him, and even less so when he got a word out about changing their rooms back.
“Boy, what do you take me for?” the psychiatrist said gruffly as he shrugged into his white coat, getting ready to see one of his patients that had spontaneously started freaking out. “You think I have nothing better to do than play `Trading Places' and pull strings for you every damn minute?”
“I swear I won't ask you to do it again.” Dean tried to give a credible smile as he blocked the doctor's path to his office door.
“Out of my way,” Bobby said shortly, “I have something important to attend to.”
“What is it this time? Someone suffering from uncontrollable dancing leading to life-threatening dehydration?”
“No, you idiot, parapsychotic delusions which have turned violent.”
“Just say `yes',” Dean bargained, “and I'll get out of your way.”
Dr. Singer gave him a sharp look that was akin to the slicing of a scalpel. “We're done here.” He pushed past Dean and said, “Don't come into my office again unless you are called for.”
Not used to such abrasiveness from Bobby, Dean gave way. It was disconcerting to see him act so differently. The older man was practically his only ally here. He hated getting on his bad side, but he'd been getting desperate. He'd had zero access to his brother between Sam's infrequent ventures outside his room the last few days and Bernice's looming form guarding him like a wild bear. Even when he'd caught sight of Sam in the cafeteria at odd times of day, he'd been blocked from getting close, and Sam wasn't deigning to acknowledge his existence.
“Damn it,” he swore, running a hand through his hair in frustration as a scowl marred his face.
---
“Sam,” an orderly said at the doorway to his room.
“Yeah?” Sam looked up from where he was laying upon his bed listlessly. He hadn't felt like doing much the last several days, let alone thinking, but that's just what he'd been doing the most of. There was, after all, a lot to think about.
“Come with me, please.”
“Where to?” Sam said in a bored tone, staring at the ceiling with his hands beneath his head. He didn't feel like getting up, and he definitely didn't feel like being herded around like a piece of beef on two legs.
“Mr. Campbell, maybe it would be better if you would just cooperate.”
“Maybe you can just bite me,” he offered unhelpfully. Sam supposed he was feeling less than cooperative these days.
“What's the problem?” Someone asked from just outside of the room.
The orderly turned to the person who was not yet visible, and said something back that Sam couldn't quite make out.
“I'll take care of it,” the more strident voice said and the orderly moved to make way for another orderly whom Sam had seen before. He had dark, curly hair pulled back into a low ponytail and piercing blue eyes. He also had a look about him that just about screamed `I'd love to break your arms, or all the bones in your body.' “Campbell,” he said sharply. “Singer's office. Now. You have a visitor.”
If Sam hadn't felt more compelled to listen to the new, more brawny orderly by threatening looks alone, he might have gone just out of sheer curiosity. “A visitor?”
“You heard me, buttercup,” the man all but growled. “Now get your ass in gear.”
“Sure,” Sam said shortly.
Who the hell would be visiting me? Nobody even knows I'm here.
He scraped himself off the bed, the surly orderly practically tapping his foot with impatience. The two of them led the way and the combined width of their shoulders was almost freakishly impressive. He recognized the dark-haired one now. He'd made Dean look downright small as he'd carried him in from solitary, nearly unconscious, and dumped him onto his bed like a downed buck. The other one, Sam still didn't know. He was an older guy with shortish sandy-colored hair. Looked a little like an aged Luke Skywalker.
Sam's jaw set as he thought of Dean, and he resolved to put his brother out of his head.
The walk through the halls was not overly long, but it felt like it as more people than usual seemed to be staring at him.
He was starting to get quite a reputation here. First, he came in as a vegetable, asleep for the first part of his stay here. Then he was getting into fights beside Dean (who was infamous in his own right) and then into fights with Dean. If they had been anyone else, maybe they wouldn't have been watched so closely, but the other patients seemed to like keeping tabs on his brother and so now that had extended to him. He was sure it looked odd that they had been seen going practically everywhere together, really seeming to get along, and then all of a sudden they were having a shit-storm of dramatic bullcrap between them.
They reached Dr. Singer's office and the acerbic, blue-eyed orderly ushered him inside and shut the door behind him.
“Bobby?” Sam said, seeing the occupied chair at his desk. When it turned so that it was facing him, however, the person in it was not Bobby at all.
“Heya, Sammy,” the dark-haired man greeted with a crooked half smile.
Shock coursed through Sam as he regarded the familiar stranger. He couldn't be sure, but....
“Dad?” he said uncertainly.
---
TBC
A/N: Chapter title from the song “Nothing Comes Easy” by Infected Mushroom. On the flip side, here is another song that I find to be fitting - “Self vs Self” by Pendulum (love them). The band In Flames has some awesomeness too. My favorite song of theirs (besides this one) is the remix of Cloud Connected, called “Club Connected”. Wow. (It's on youtube, so you have no excuse not to check it out!)
“Self vs Self” - Pendulum
(feat. In Flames)
If I struggle a lifetime
What would my body be?
An empty shell
On what a demon fed!
Could be a heavy burden
To stay true to your words!
Speak up!
I wanna silence everything!
If I got no plan
Doesn't mean that I get what I want for free.
If I got no meaning,
Would you force me to a place where I make sense,
'Cause nothing lasts forever...
How do I get home?
Everything revolves around me!
If I can't find myself?
It's so completely fake!
How do I get home?
Everything revolves around me!
If even you can't help?
Dark nights on my soul!
I deny failure!
I ignite!
Woe is on my misery,
She wins all their eyes!
Realize what defies our fate!
This is not me, this is me!
So if I struggle a lifetime
What good would that do?
If I got a plan
Doesn't have to stop the feeling inside.
If I do make sense,
Would you drag me down,
'Cause nothing lasts forever...
How do I get home?
Everything revolves around me!
If I can't find myself?
It's so completely fake!
How do I get home?
Everything revolves around me!
If even you can't help?
Dark nights on my soul!