Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Asylum ❯ Before ( Chapter 18 )
[ 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: 04.29.2012 | Pages: 3 | Words: 9.9K | Visits: 187 | Status: Work In Progress
Non Anime: Supernatural Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Suspense | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 04.29.2012 | Pages: 3 | Words: 9.9K | Visits: 187 | Status: Work In Progress
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Asylum
Supernatural, AU
Dean/Sam
Summary: For the past few years, Dean Winchester has been a resident of various mental health facilities and has gained quite a reputation since being forcibly admitted. Abandoned by his father who had previously been a patient himself, the only thing keeping him going is the thought of his brother.
*Disclaimer* I do not own anything. Except maybe the occasional OC. Supernatural is property of Eric Kripke and others.
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Ch. 18: Before
“Dad?” Sam asked, not able to quite believe it.
“In the flesh,” the man responded in an off-handedly joking way that reminded him a little of Dean.
“What are you doing here?” Sam said abruptly. “Where's Dr. Singer?” He couldn't help that seeing his father was not exactly inspiring warm fuzzies. He felt on guard. Suspicious. He couldn't forget the sight of his father's face the day of the accident. He looked just the same today, aside from a different expression; the same slightly greying hair, the same creases about the eyes and corners of his mouth that in most people usually indicate the person was, or had been a smiler. So his dad had to have been there - it couldn't all be in his head, he hadn't even seen him in over 10 years; how would he have been able to anticipate exactly what he would look like?
His father put his hands upon the desk with a sigh and stood up. “Dr. Singer thought it best that we meet alone so that we could really talk.”
“Right,” Sam said, not sure if he believed it. Weren't shrinks supposed to be all about listening in on people's private thoughts and conversations so they could figure those people out? See what made them tick? Would Bobby really have just vacated the premises out of consideration? “What did you want to talk about?” Sam said, his voice sounding kind of confrontational.
His father frowned at him. “I wanted to know how you were doing.”
Sam gestured to the building around him. “I'm just great. Thanks for holing me up in a mental hospital.” His lips twisted into a sardonic smile as he regarded his father. “Really makes a guy feel the paternal love.”
“This was a miscalculation,” John Winchester said with regret.
“Come again?” Sam asked incredulously. His father stepped out from behind the desk and began to pace. What the hell kind of miscalculation could he possibly pass this off on so calmly?
“The note I left in your pocket?” John prompted in his gruff voice. “They tell you about that?”
“Sure.”
“I gave you that so you could find your brother,” the older man said. “I'd suspected you would have wanted to before, but Mary was against it..” (...while she was alive.) He shook his head and frowned. “I never meant for you to get stuck in here.”
`Before'? Sam pushed the other thoughts aside, except for that one, which were crowding up on him with nearly every word his father uttered. “You make it sound like you'd been talking to her after you'd split up.”
“Yeah, we'd spoken a few times afterwards. Mostly about you boys. She was very protective of you. And she liked to keep tabs on Dean - see how he was, what he was up to, even where he was, so she could keep you from looking him up.”
“Why would she do that?” Sam's brows were drawn together so hard it almost hurt. “Why was she so against it?”
“You know why, Sam,” John sighed and his stern, dark gaze averted. He covered it by picking up and inspecting a paperweight off of the psychologist's desk. “She was afraid of him being a bad influence on you.”
“So she thought I should spend the rest of my life acting like I didn't have a brother?” Sam said angrily. “That's screwed up!”
“I'm sorry.” John's delivery was abbreviated and he sounded sort of distant. Flat. “I didn't agree with it, but I had to respect her wishes while she was alive.”
The same words that had lain unspoken before, now cast a pall upon the air. At another time, it might have inspired only sadness, but just now it was anger that steeled Sam's resolve to uncover what his father wasn't telling him.
“Yeah, about that,” Sam said harshly. John could be as emotionally detached and distant as he liked, but now that he was here, Sam wanted some answers. He had to know how his mom and girlfriend had died. “What in the hell happened out there? Why were you there?”
John's face became closed and he said simply, “Don't you worry about that.” He paused a moment before adding, ”It's enough that I was able to bring you back safe.”
The elder Winchester was being about as emotional as a brick wall. With spikes. He was pacing again, his hands clasped behind his back.
“How am I supposed to not worry about it?” Sam pressed with frustration. This couldn't be the end of it, there had to be more - he had to know more. What was his father not telling him? “I dream about it all the time, yet I still don't know what happened. I just see blood, mom, Jess.... and you.”
“I said don't worry about it,” John said sharply. “End of discussion.”
“Whatever,” Sam said scathingly. He turned on his heel and stalked towards the door.
“I'll be in town for a few days,” John said after him before Sam slammed the door in his face.
---
Sam was pissed as he stalked out of Dr. Singer's office. How dare his father just show up here, acting like he cared, then spouting nothing but the same kind of evasive bullshit he always did! You would think that by now, his father might see him as an adult, someone who could be leveled with, but instead it was just like it was back when he was 10, or even younger.
`Don't you worry about that.'
God, that man pissed him off!
Did he really think that I would be able to let this go? I practically saw mom and Jess murdered in front of me!
All he could think about as his thoughts raced was that maybe the reason John wouldn't level with him is because he'd had a hand in it. And, if that was the case, Sam wasn't sure what he would do. It was his own father, but... the rage that surged up in response to that scenario was violent, territorial, vindictive.
His first instinct was to seek out his brother. He'd want to know that their father was here. But more than that... Sam wanted to lay this all out, see what Dean thought of it. Vent. Hear his level, steady words that were like the voice of reason. Maybe Dean'd see through all this anger and be able to tell him why he had it all wrong. He'd find a way to dismantle it.
Sam expelled a breath, his insides churning as he remembered their fight and how things weren't right between them.
It was a stupid reason to go talk to Dean, anyway. They weren't exactly on the best of terms right now. What would be the point of finding him, baring his soul, and then having to deal with the smack in the face he'd get when Dean acted like he didn't give a fuck? He couldn't stand the thought of seeing his face being closed off and impassive again, so different from how expressive it normally was. He hated seeing those green eyes of his being as cold as chips of glass.
He'd been mulling it over, and he still wasn't sure what was going on with his brother.
Actually, he'd been trying not to think of it, but he'd been impressively unsuccessful. Dean was acting like he could drop dead for all he cared. Yet, it was inconsistent. Why would Dean keep an eye on me when he thought I wasn't looking, then? Like in the cafeteria before their fight. And why would he show up in my room, after I'd been freaking out on the medication I'd been given?
Sam ground his teeth together. It seemed like every time they dosed him, it fucked with his head, making him remember the `accident'. On top of that it was swirling those nightmare images together with feelings of fear and memories of his strange upbringing. It was like everything got scrambled and he couldn't keep track of timelines, events, or how he felt about what. Several times now, thoughts of his own family had been accompanied by dread and terror. Dean's face had inspired panic.
But given time, those things faded away, more familiar thought processes resumed, and he was left with nothing but bewilderment as to why he'd acted strangely or had thought the things he had at the time.
Was that really just the medicine? And what was its purpose? Because it certainly didn't do anything to calm him down or to feel less agitated or aggressive. It didn't do anything to help him feel better. It was more like suffering from a fit of vertigo in a small, pitch black room with water rising up to your knees and higher. Claustrophobic panic while his head was floating off of his shoulders, and the only thing keeping him grounded was visceral fear.
He sort of vaguely remembered being in the infirmary and sitting in a chair. He'd been talking to a doctor...
Ugh, the details were hazy. Like a mirror under inches of disturbed water, his memories had small bits of clarity between the ripples, but the rest was elusive. He had a sense of things having happened but just couldn't say what.
Think, Sam. He tried to clear his mind, and to stop trying so hard to see it. The dreams he'd had lately often featured the same face, the same doctor. A friendly, deceptive face clothed in a beard, twinkling eyes.... He chewed lightly at the inside of his lip. He'd met the man before... in the infirmary, just as he was starting to hack the computer in the back of the room. Yeah, he could almost see the nametag as a blast of cool air had raised the hair on his arms. Dr. Wal... something.
In his dreams, the doctor practically interrogated him. He'd seemed oddly interested in the Winchesters. And Sam found it strange that even the first time he'd seen the doctor, the man had known that Campbell was not his true name. Somehow he'd known that Sam was a Winchester, and that Dean was his brother.
Dr. Walter.
It came to him suddenly. That was the doctor's name. He wondered briefly if Dean knew anything about him. He couldn't remember his brother mentioning the man, but then Dean was not exactly talkative about things like that. And if Dean had ever been a patient of his, he probably wouldn't be forthcoming about it. Still, if they ever got to speaking again soon, he'd have to ask him about it. He didn't trust everything his dreams showed him or what they seemed to indicate, but he didn't rule them out either. He took them with a grain of salt and tried to see what the real world had to show him about those things. So far, he'd been batting 1,000 when it came to Dean. Yet, his dreams said nothing about their current predicament. They were mostly centered on Dean's past, Dean's time here, and only a little bit regarding the two of them.
He sighed in agitation. If he ever was trying to stay committed, he could always mention “psychic dreams” to the doctors. That was probably a sure thing to ensure his extended stay here. That could easily be what Dean meant by `give them one little thing to poke at'. Hell, he hadn't even come close to mentioning anything like that and he was already being medicated. `Course, he was seeing a correlation between getting into physical confrontations and having them pump meds into his system... he should probably try really hard not to get into any more fights.
Thinking on that last fight with Dean still bothered him. So many emotions had been hurtling through him, making his head spin. There was the white hot anger as his fist connected with Dean's cheekbone, as he tried to reason with him in the only way that was left. Then there was the sickness as he hit him again, and drove a knee into his abdomen, the frustration. And finally, as Dean regarded him with dismissive eyes, there was the coldness and anxiety and the sense of having overstepped his bounds by a mile - the sense that he'd taken it for granted that Dean wanted him around. The weight of it was crushing. He chose to shove it aside, to try and get through to Dean one last time. `I'll never abandon you,' he'd said. And he meant it. But how painful a thing that was, to never abandon someone yet receiving nothing but their turned back and disregard.
But again, that didn't match up with his brother's behavior at all times. When he was drugged up this last time, Dean had been with him, concerned. Sam could still feel his strong arm across his back as he'd been held upright, and the way his soothing voice belied how rattled he was.
In the end, he couldn't take it. Dean was a contradiction he couldn't wrap his head around in that state. Positive feelings warred with negative ones, and the synthetic fear that danced in his veins was confusing things further. Dean's caring just then was all the more painful for how different he'd been during their fight, so disdainful and cold. What was real? What wasn't?
Ultimately, it didn't matter. Even if they never spoke again, or if his brother really had abandoned him... He gritted his teeth. He'd made a promise and he would get Dean out of here if it was the last thing he did. No matter what he had to do, he would do that at least.
---
That night, after dinner and watching Sam with his bodyguard by his side the entire time, Dean finally got his chance.
He followed his brother through the halls at a distance and the behemoth parted from him as they passed the room they shared. Sam went inside, and the hulking mass of his roommate continued down the hall. Dean waited a little while, then turned the knob. It was unlocked. Lucky him.
“Forget something?” Sam asked, not looking up at first and mistaking him for his roommate.
“Nope,” Dean replied as he skulked into the room, shutting the door behind him.
Sam dropped the book he was reading, in surprise. His eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”
“For starters, you can drop the attitude,” he said crossly.
“Kind of hypocritical of you, don't you think?”
Dean shook his head in an angry jerk. “Why are you avoiding me?”
“That should be overwhelmingly obvious.” Disdain colored Sam's voice like a rainbow. “Get out.”
“No.”
Sam was starting to look like he was ready to brawl. That jaw of his was setting stubbornly and his lips compressed angrily into what always tended to look like a childish pout.
Dean stood over him as he sat on the bed, glaring. “I heard you had a visitor.”
“So?”
“Who was it?”
“It's not important,” his brother said dismissively.
“It was dad, wasn't it?”
Sam let out a humorless laugh. “What makes you so sure?”
“The way you look like you're chewing nails just thinking about it.” Dean took a chance and sat down on the bed. “I remember that expression of yours coming out when you and dad were in disagreement. You hated that you could never win with him, no matter what you did.”
“Sometimes it really irritates me that you know things like that.”
“Tough.”
Sam looked like he wanted to kick him off of the bed, literally. “He won't tell me what happened,” his brother said stiffly. “He was there, Dean. He as good as confirmed it.”
Dean wasn't sure what to say. He was certain his father had his reasons, but it seemed kind of cruel to keep Sam in the dark like this. He'd ask Dad himself, if he got a chance. He was rather curious as well, not to mention slightly suspicious. What if Sam had a point with thinking their dad was still round the bend? God, it was so hard to make a call on this one. And what if the `accident' actually was an accident only one where their father had played an active role? Sam wouldn't be able to forgive him.
“I don't trust him,” Sam muttered under his breath.
“What else did he say?” Dean couldn't help asking. It had been eating at him a little that his father had never once tried to contact him in any way the last few years. But now that he was here, maybe he'd said something? At least to his brother. “Anything about me?”
Sam didn't answer right away. In truth, he was debating what he would tell Dean, if anything. He was still pissed at him, and Dean obviously still held a grudge as well, but he didn't feel right slamming his brother over the head with the nasty truth - that their mother had shunned him to such a degree and had been adamant about them never seeing each other again. He felt weird enough about it, while being the `protected' one. He couldn't imagine how Dean would feel, finding out he was the `threat' their mother perceived. “No. Nothing.”
Dean felt his stomach drop. Nothing? Not a damn thing?? After all this time, his father couldn't even utter a single `How's Dean doing?' or `Say hi for me'?? “I see.” But what the hell was I expecting? He realized belatedly that he had, in fact, had his hopes up. It made him feel weak, and that would have made him angry if he hadn't felt so damn empty.
Sam bit the inside of his lip hard as he saw all traces of expression fall from his brother's face, and his chest felt compressed. He'd seen this song and dance before - this was hitting Dean hard. Had he made the wrong call? “I was in there barely 10 minutes. He didn't really get a chance to say much of anything.”
“Stop it,” Dean said, rising to his feet like a wounded man. “I don't need you trying to make me feel better,” he lashed out. “It's pathetic.”
Okay, maybe it was more like a wounded animal than a man.
“Suit yourself,” Sam said in a surly tone, taking offense. “No one's twisting your arm to be here.” Why did his brother insist on throwing even small kindnesses back in his face like this? It really got under his skin.
“I know,” Dean said shortly before letting himself out.
---
“Sam,” Bobby said later the next day, leaning back into his chair and leveling Sam with a piercing gaze. “I think you know why I called you into my office.”
Sam nodded, irritation etched upon his face.
“I think it would be in your best interest to speak to your father. He's come a long way to see you.”
“We talked,” Sam said shortly. “I'm good.”
“Boy,” Bobby grated, “I didn't even have enough time to get a cup of coffee and you were already gone.” He sounded about as aggravated as Sam felt. “The least you could do is listen to him for more than 5 minutes.”
“Listen to him??” Sam's eyes whipped up. “I spent the first half of my life doing nothing but listening to him! Only that's pretty ironic, considering he never actually tells me anything.”
“And just what is it that you think he should be telling you?” The psychiatrist's voice regained a calm professional tone as he raised his brow.
All of a sudden, Sam was aware again of Bobby's status and the dynamic at work here. He was Dr. Robert Singer and Sam was technically a patient; not one that had given him much reason to treat him, but a patient nonetheless. And the doctor was on guard now, seeing if there was something to be sussed out, to be `poked' at (as Dean had described it). His professionalism had slid over him like a mask. He was now in the mode of doing his job, seeing if there was, in fact, something inside of Sam that needed treated.
Sam hesitated. Now was the time that he could lay out that bit about the dreams, if he felt that was the right hand to play, and he could mention something about his dad's `hunting', and let that ousting stick in his craw. He could. It might very well get both himself and his father stuck here for a time. It seemed fitting, somehow.
Yet... that wouldn't do anything to get Dean out of here, or himself for that matter.
What did he really wish to accomplish? That was the question. Did he need to give the doctors something to treat in order to remain here? Or would that be signing his life away? And what was his father trying to accomplish? How could he act without knowing what his old man was planning?
“Sammy,” his father's voice came seemingly out of nowhere, and then John was stepping into the room from behind a sectioned off area with books. “I want you to hear me out.”
It surprised the hell out of Sam and he scowled. “Well, we can't always have what we want, can we?” he said darkly.
Had this man done it? Caused his world to spin off of its axis? First, with the deaths of the two people closest to him. Then, with reuniting him with his brother - only to make him struggle with a twisted relationship he never could have even imagined before coming here. If he and Dean had met on the outside, wouldn't they be doing something normal like having a beer together while they caught up on each other's lives? Wouldn't illicit passion and damning kisses have been off the menu?
If Jessica had still been alive and with him, would it ever have even crossed his mind?
“Sam,” Bobby said sharply. “Quit being difficult.”
Sam's jaw clenched and the muscles in his cheeks worked as he bit down. Difficult? Bobby didn't know the half of what was going on. But how could he?
“I understand that you and your brother have been at each other's throats lately,” John said.
“Something like that,” Sam muttered. It was none of his father's damn business.
“What's going on between you two?”
Sam felt his hackles raise. He wasn't telling his father shit. “We've been fighting.” His tone turned mocking, “I guess this place wears on a person's nerves after a while.”
“You and Dean never fight.”
Sam kicked his head back and laughed. “What, we aren't allowed to? It's normal sibling stuff, isn't it? I'd say we were long overdue.”
John Winchester stared his son down, his keen eyes dissecting everything. “It's normal for other people, maybe, but not you two. You were too tightly knit.”
“Well, it seems we may have grown apart in the last 10 years or so,” Sam said sardonically. He really resented that time. He wanted to hate his mother for it, but it felt wrong with her being dead and all, so he lay some blame upon his father. Sam failed to see why John had caved to his ex-wife's wishes at the expense of his children's well-being anyhow.
“Maybe so,” John relented, “but I know how important he is to you.”
“No. You don't.”
His father's face got a sort of stubborn look to it and his eyes narrowed. He switched tacts, “You don't belong here, Sam. That's why I've come. To get you out.”
Sam was taken aback. Who in their right mind would voice their master plan right in front of the authorities? He glanced at Dr. Singer, expecting to see some sort of reaction to what his father was saying, but there was none.
He looked back to the elder Winchester. “What about Dean? You're not concerned with him?” John stared back at him, stoic as hell. Sam's stomach dropped out as his father said nothing. “You're just going to leave him here?” It was unthinkable. Horrifying, really, that something like this was not hitting his dad's give-a-crap radar. Was there something wrong with him? Like, seriously, more than `just a little cuckoo' wrong? He looked to Bobby for backup. Surely he would be in agreement that this was messed up.
“I agree with your father, Sam,” Dr. Singer said, discretely tapping a pencil upon the edge of his desk. “You don't really need to be at Oak Grove or anywhere like it.”
“Says who?” They thought he was mentally sound? That seemed like a joke. A really bad one. Especially lately.
“Says the psychiatrist,” Bobby said sarcastically. “There's nothing wrong with you, boy. Nothing more is going on inside your noggin than any normal person's. I'm sorry, but you're just not certifiable.” He paused, likely feeling the irony of apologizing to someone for breaking the news to them that they were sane, and added, “This is a good thing. A lot of people would give their right arm to hear me telling this to them.”
“I'd like to take you home,” his father said. “Let you get your feet back under you after all that's happened.”
“But Dean-”
“Your brother will be fine,” John interrupted. “He's been here a while. He's used to it.”
“No, he won't be,” Sam argued. “The longer he stays here, the worse he's going to get. I've seen it even in the time I've been here. This place is making him crazy.”
“Sam,” Dr. Singer broke in. “If that was indeed the case, how would your staying here help him? From a professional standpoint, he's gotten worse since you came here.”
Me? Sam's breath caught in his throat and his heart started pounding in his head.
“His behavior has become erratic at best, and at times he's quite antisocial and violent,” Dr. Singer said. “It could be that your presence here is actually impeding his recovery.”
“You're saying it's my fault?”
“It does appear that way.” The psychiatrist looked mildly apologetic.
“Listen, Sam,” John said. “It looks like the best option is to get you a clean bill of health--”
“So says the previous nutcase,” Sam cut in unkindly.
“--and work on Dean after that,” John finished determinedly, his face set into a stony mask. His eyes flicked to Dr. Singer as if assessing his reaction to Sam's comment. “It's not like you'd be abandoning him. You can always visit, like I'm doing now.”
“Right.” Sam was feeling exceedingly hostile and agitated at the moment. “So I suppose that this isn't the first time you've been here, then? That you've come to see Dean quite a lot over the years?” He knew this wasn't the case. He'd seen it in Dean's reaction before. He doubted his father had ever visited his eldest son the entire time he'd been committed.
John Winchester frowned and looked like he wanted to escalate this into a verbal sparring match. He still seemed to think that he could bully him around like he was a little kid. He wouldn't though, not with the shrink keeping watch on the sidelines, cataloguing everything like a damn supercomputer. “That doesn't have any relevance to what I'm telling you.”
Sam rolled his eyes and made sure his father saw it. “Why, because I'm not you, and I can actually choose to make it a priority to visit Dean, unlike you?”
“Watch your tone,” John warned, ignoring the bigger issue of what he'd actually said.
“I am watching my tone,” he responded snottily, glaring at him point-blank.
This nearly made his father lose his cool in front of the doctor. Nearly. “What you always failed to see, Sammy,” he said tightly, “is the bigger picture. To you, nothing exists unless you have seen it, verified it with your own senses.” His eyes bored holes into his son. “And it isn't just the issue you have with authority, or with taking orders, it's this dismissive stance you take on anything you have to take on faith.”
His dad was talking about their upbringing. He'd always been one to question orders and directives, whereas Dean had simply done as he was told. He knew it infuriated his father at times. He also knew it was a product of his curiosity, intelligence, and... well... stubbornness.
He also got the feeling that his father was referring to hunting, because hadn't Dean said something similar to him? He'd never seen the monsters, so they didn't really seem real to him. It was all too easy to write his brother and father off as being a bit touched in the head. It made more sense to him from where he was standing. This was one of the things Dean had been so pissed over, and probably still was.
Sam frowned, mulling that over. Was that a big part of their last fight? Dean resented him for his acceptance in the event that Dean was a little crazy. He didn't want acceptance, though, did he...? He wanted Sam to believe, no, to know that he was sane.
“Sam?” Dr. Singer prompted gently, nudging him out of his reverie.
“Sorry,” he said distractedly. “I was just thinking.”
As much as it irked him to even consider this... maybe his father had a point. Maybe. At least where Dean was concerned. It was possible that he'd been causing his brother pain all this time with his ignorant acceptance. Here he'd thought that he'd been taking all of this well, and that he was being mature and loyal in taking Dean as-is, when really he'd been feeding into the same things many of the doctors here did - dismissing someone as mental without thoroughly assessing them.
So did Bobby have a point as well? Was his presence here a detriment to his brother's clean bill of health? Had he derailed everything just by being brought here? It was a sobering thought. One he didn't much like.
“Uh, dad,” he said awkwardly, his voice sounding gutted, so much softer and reconciliatory it was than before. It almost dropped out and he had to clear his throat a little. “What exactly did you have in mind?”
John's body language eased, becoming less like a taut bow string. “I think that is something we should talk about,” he said, the subtle evasions rising up like red flags to his son. Sam looked up at him with a schooled expression and verified with a brief look into his eyes that the evasions were not for him, but for the doctor. “Such as a timeline, living arrangements, your schooling,” he said. It was all mundane, trivial, and was all for Bobby's benefit. These were not the things they would be discussing at all, if they were given the chance to meet in private.
“Bobby,” Sam said reluctantly, “do you mind if I uh... take you up on that offer of talking to my dad in private? I let my temper get to me before and I wasn't appreciating what you were trying to do.” He paused, averting his eyes to stare at the floor. “I'm, uh... sorry.”
“Alright,” Dr. Singer said with a heavy sigh, sounding like he'd just weathered a battle. “Can I trust you two to maintain civility and not kill each other?”
“Sure,” Sam said in a cowed tone.
John nodded his own agreement.
After Dr. Singer left the office, Sam said, “Do you really think that it will help Dean get out of here faster if I leave?”
“It seems that way,” the elder Winchester said. “I've been keeping track of things and it seems he had been improving since being put in Dr. Singer's care. He's a respectable man. It's a surprise to find one of those in psychiatry, in my experience.”
“Dad, why haven't you come to see Dean?” Sam asked, hoping beyond hope that his father might level with him this time.
“It's complicated.”
Sam felt the irritation surge instantly, the moment he was denied. He tried to reign it in and keep his voice level. “Surely there is something you can tell me? Anything at all?”
John looked about as tight-lipped as ever. “There are things that are just better left unknown,” he maintained.
Sam felt like he was going to blow a gasket. The spirit of cooperation was crumbling almost as fast as it had been formed.
“However,” John said, “I can tell you that there may be someone here that is out to make our lives as difficult as he can.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I have reason to believe there's a doctor here, one that I encountered while I was in the state hospital--”
“You mean, while you were committed?”
“Yes,” John said, and it seemed that admitting it directly was a hit to his pride. “He was the reason I was there for so long, I'm certain.”
“Elaborate?”
“Well,” John said, his face squinting into a frown, “I don't know his true motive, but this was one strange man; he took an intense interest in `hunting' and he also seemed fond of liberal applications of medication. He'd asked me about the hunting several times, probably having read Mary's written statement about me. I didn't talk about it though. When he became my doctor, I suddenly found myself getting dosed a lot and my memory went to hell. In that time, he was questioning me, applying drugs to make my tongue loosen, and drugs to make me forget. It's mostly bits and pieces but I guess that it took some time for him to refine his craft... but I know he discovered a lot about what hunters do, what we hunt, and even a lot about our family.”
“That's... highly disturbing.” Sam felt something in him twitch in recognition. He'd undergone something like that, hadn't he? It was what he'd dreamed about.... and what he couldn't quite remember. “If he had you on lock-down, how did you ever get out?”
“The family genes have blessed me with a cunning mind.” He flashed Sam a low-watt, shady smile.
Sam rolled his eyes, and scoffed in amusement despite himself. That sounded like something Dean would say. Over the last many years, father and son seemed to have developed a co-morbid sense of humor.
“Ok,” John continued, “to make a long story short: I did what I had to, acted out, and got transferred under another specialist. Basically when they re-diagnosed me, I got out from under his thumb. Under another doctor's care, I played the sane game until I convinced them I was no longer worth keeping under observation.”
“So you acted like you didn't believe in any of the stuff you taught me and Dean about as we were growing up?”
“Exactly. For what isn't real to them, makes you insane by default.”
“I'm not convinced you're sane,” Sam tossed out.
“Yes, well, you were living with your mother after all.” He smiled lightly and a small wink flickered at his eye.
“That isn't funny.”
“It's a little funny,” John said, the corner of his mouth quirking upward again, half-heartedly. “Besides, it's true. She had over 10 years to mold you to her liking. You're just as headstrong and closed-minded as she was.”
“Gee, thanks, dad,” Sam said drolly.
The humor left his father's face, replaced by the stern, immobile expression Sam was more familiar with. “You wanted me to take off the kid gloves, to treat you like an adult and level with you. Don't bitch about it now just because you don't like something you hear.”
“You know,” Sam said pointedly, bristling at his father's suddenly hard-as-nails tone, “tact isn't exclusively a childlike trait.” It wouldn't hurt for him to employ a little of it while talking to him `on an adult level'.
“Screw tact, it's practically all lies anyway,” John said dismissively. He fixed Sam with an assessing look which said he was cutting to the chase, “Listen, Sam, have you been receiving medication of any kind while you've been here?”
“Well, I hadn't been,” Sam said slowly, startled into answering without contest, “but recently... uh... sort of, yes.”
“Dammit,” John cursed distractedly. “It's always harder to get out once they've started a regimen.”
“No, it isn't like that. It's been more like isolated incidents.”
“Come again?” John gave him the evil eye. “What did you do?”
“There were some fights,” he admitted reluctantly, reminded suddenly of when he was 12 and had to break the news to his aghast mother that he'd been suspended for fighting. He'd still been having issues over his parents splitting, and of missing his brother terribly when the bullying had escalated. He'd finally snapped and given them a reason to leave him alone. She grounded him for 3 weeks, with no TV., no time outside, and had made him clean parts of the house in any spare time he had when he wasn't studying. It had royally sucked. But if he had the chance to do it over, he would have done the same. Some things couldn't be settled peacefully. His mother didn't seem to understand that.
“Dammit, son, you can not draw attention to yourself here! These places are like Chinese finger traps - easy to get into and a pain in the ass to get back out of. Plus, if that doctor is here, you'll be making yourself an easy target. You're protected somewhat by the name Campbell, but honestly, he might have gotten Mary's maiden name from me and he might even remember it.”
“And what about Dean? He doesn't have any protection at all.”
“Part of why I never visited. Look, if that doctor ever got Dean under his thumb, he'd have access to all sorts of information, including anything he and I discussed. He's a real bastard - sneaky, too. I have no doubt he'd look for a way to try and entrap me here.”
“That sounds paranoid.”
“It does, doesn't it?”
“Dean hasn't mentioned any evil doctors. I don't think you have to worry.”
“You're assuming he'd talk about it? Or even remember it?”
Sam shrugged.
“Oh,” John sighed. “Well, you haven't been here long, you wouldn't understand.” He shook his head dismissively. “Our time is probably about up. Listen, just try to stay out of trouble and keep from getting things put on your record. No fighting. And keep some distance between you and your brother so things can settle out.”
“Sure, I'll try.”
---
TBC
A/N: As an aside, the good doctor seems to be fond of something like Roofies! LOL. I just saw the movie The Hangover on TV and the memory loss was reminiscent. Haha. (That movie was pretty funny, btw. Crazy too.)
A/N 2: Chapter title from the song “Before” by Infected Mushroom. Companion song is “Propane Nightmares” by Pendulum, another great band.
I was debating switching titles to be from Pendulum, instead of just Inf Mush, but... consistency can be a good thing. Plus, the Mushroom music really feels like background music you would hear while watching a show if the show was this fic. To me, anyway. And I mostly write to Inf Mush so it seems more fitting to use titles of songs that were a part of chapter construction.
But Pendulum has played a part as well... so I have to show them some love.
“Propane Nightmares” - Pendulum
Something's tearing me down
And I can't help but feel it's coming from you
She's a gunshot bride
With a trigger cries
I just wonder what we've gotten ourselves into
In a trail of fire I know we will be free again
In the end we will be one
In a trail of fire I'll burn before you bury me
Set your sights for the sun
Mind is willing
Soul remains
This woman cannot be saved
From the drawn into the fire
Mind is willing
Soul remains
This woman cannot be saved
From the drawn into the fire
Anything to
Bring it on home
Bring it on home
Bring it on home
Bring it on home
Much too weak to jump yourself
Heal the wounds or crack the shell
Lift yourself from once below
Much too weak to jump yourself
Heal the wounds or crack the shell
Lift yourself from once below
Praise the anger
Bring it on home
Bring it on home
Bring it on home
Bring it on home
In a trail of fire I know we will be free again
In the end we will be one
In a trail of fire I'll burn before you bury me
Set your sights for the sun
Bring it on home
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. 18: Before
“Dad?” Sam asked, not able to quite believe it.
“In the flesh,” the man responded in an off-handedly joking way that reminded him a little of Dean.
“What are you doing here?” Sam said abruptly. “Where's Dr. Singer?” He couldn't help that seeing his father was not exactly inspiring warm fuzzies. He felt on guard. Suspicious. He couldn't forget the sight of his father's face the day of the accident. He looked just the same today, aside from a different expression; the same slightly greying hair, the same creases about the eyes and corners of his mouth that in most people usually indicate the person was, or had been a smiler. So his dad had to have been there - it couldn't all be in his head, he hadn't even seen him in over 10 years; how would he have been able to anticipate exactly what he would look like?
His father put his hands upon the desk with a sigh and stood up. “Dr. Singer thought it best that we meet alone so that we could really talk.”
“Right,” Sam said, not sure if he believed it. Weren't shrinks supposed to be all about listening in on people's private thoughts and conversations so they could figure those people out? See what made them tick? Would Bobby really have just vacated the premises out of consideration? “What did you want to talk about?” Sam said, his voice sounding kind of confrontational.
His father frowned at him. “I wanted to know how you were doing.”
Sam gestured to the building around him. “I'm just great. Thanks for holing me up in a mental hospital.” His lips twisted into a sardonic smile as he regarded his father. “Really makes a guy feel the paternal love.”
“This was a miscalculation,” John Winchester said with regret.
“Come again?” Sam asked incredulously. His father stepped out from behind the desk and began to pace. What the hell kind of miscalculation could he possibly pass this off on so calmly?
“The note I left in your pocket?” John prompted in his gruff voice. “They tell you about that?”
“Sure.”
“I gave you that so you could find your brother,” the older man said. “I'd suspected you would have wanted to before, but Mary was against it..” (...while she was alive.) He shook his head and frowned. “I never meant for you to get stuck in here.”
`Before'? Sam pushed the other thoughts aside, except for that one, which were crowding up on him with nearly every word his father uttered. “You make it sound like you'd been talking to her after you'd split up.”
“Yeah, we'd spoken a few times afterwards. Mostly about you boys. She was very protective of you. And she liked to keep tabs on Dean - see how he was, what he was up to, even where he was, so she could keep you from looking him up.”
“Why would she do that?” Sam's brows were drawn together so hard it almost hurt. “Why was she so against it?”
“You know why, Sam,” John sighed and his stern, dark gaze averted. He covered it by picking up and inspecting a paperweight off of the psychologist's desk. “She was afraid of him being a bad influence on you.”
“So she thought I should spend the rest of my life acting like I didn't have a brother?” Sam said angrily. “That's screwed up!”
“I'm sorry.” John's delivery was abbreviated and he sounded sort of distant. Flat. “I didn't agree with it, but I had to respect her wishes while she was alive.”
The same words that had lain unspoken before, now cast a pall upon the air. At another time, it might have inspired only sadness, but just now it was anger that steeled Sam's resolve to uncover what his father wasn't telling him.
“Yeah, about that,” Sam said harshly. John could be as emotionally detached and distant as he liked, but now that he was here, Sam wanted some answers. He had to know how his mom and girlfriend had died. “What in the hell happened out there? Why were you there?”
John's face became closed and he said simply, “Don't you worry about that.” He paused a moment before adding, ”It's enough that I was able to bring you back safe.”
The elder Winchester was being about as emotional as a brick wall. With spikes. He was pacing again, his hands clasped behind his back.
“How am I supposed to not worry about it?” Sam pressed with frustration. This couldn't be the end of it, there had to be more - he had to know more. What was his father not telling him? “I dream about it all the time, yet I still don't know what happened. I just see blood, mom, Jess.... and you.”
“I said don't worry about it,” John said sharply. “End of discussion.”
“Whatever,” Sam said scathingly. He turned on his heel and stalked towards the door.
“I'll be in town for a few days,” John said after him before Sam slammed the door in his face.
---
Sam was pissed as he stalked out of Dr. Singer's office. How dare his father just show up here, acting like he cared, then spouting nothing but the same kind of evasive bullshit he always did! You would think that by now, his father might see him as an adult, someone who could be leveled with, but instead it was just like it was back when he was 10, or even younger.
`Don't you worry about that.'
God, that man pissed him off!
Did he really think that I would be able to let this go? I practically saw mom and Jess murdered in front of me!
All he could think about as his thoughts raced was that maybe the reason John wouldn't level with him is because he'd had a hand in it. And, if that was the case, Sam wasn't sure what he would do. It was his own father, but... the rage that surged up in response to that scenario was violent, territorial, vindictive.
His first instinct was to seek out his brother. He'd want to know that their father was here. But more than that... Sam wanted to lay this all out, see what Dean thought of it. Vent. Hear his level, steady words that were like the voice of reason. Maybe Dean'd see through all this anger and be able to tell him why he had it all wrong. He'd find a way to dismantle it.
Sam expelled a breath, his insides churning as he remembered their fight and how things weren't right between them.
It was a stupid reason to go talk to Dean, anyway. They weren't exactly on the best of terms right now. What would be the point of finding him, baring his soul, and then having to deal with the smack in the face he'd get when Dean acted like he didn't give a fuck? He couldn't stand the thought of seeing his face being closed off and impassive again, so different from how expressive it normally was. He hated seeing those green eyes of his being as cold as chips of glass.
He'd been mulling it over, and he still wasn't sure what was going on with his brother.
Actually, he'd been trying not to think of it, but he'd been impressively unsuccessful. Dean was acting like he could drop dead for all he cared. Yet, it was inconsistent. Why would Dean keep an eye on me when he thought I wasn't looking, then? Like in the cafeteria before their fight. And why would he show up in my room, after I'd been freaking out on the medication I'd been given?
Sam ground his teeth together. It seemed like every time they dosed him, it fucked with his head, making him remember the `accident'. On top of that it was swirling those nightmare images together with feelings of fear and memories of his strange upbringing. It was like everything got scrambled and he couldn't keep track of timelines, events, or how he felt about what. Several times now, thoughts of his own family had been accompanied by dread and terror. Dean's face had inspired panic.
But given time, those things faded away, more familiar thought processes resumed, and he was left with nothing but bewilderment as to why he'd acted strangely or had thought the things he had at the time.
Was that really just the medicine? And what was its purpose? Because it certainly didn't do anything to calm him down or to feel less agitated or aggressive. It didn't do anything to help him feel better. It was more like suffering from a fit of vertigo in a small, pitch black room with water rising up to your knees and higher. Claustrophobic panic while his head was floating off of his shoulders, and the only thing keeping him grounded was visceral fear.
He sort of vaguely remembered being in the infirmary and sitting in a chair. He'd been talking to a doctor...
Ugh, the details were hazy. Like a mirror under inches of disturbed water, his memories had small bits of clarity between the ripples, but the rest was elusive. He had a sense of things having happened but just couldn't say what.
Think, Sam. He tried to clear his mind, and to stop trying so hard to see it. The dreams he'd had lately often featured the same face, the same doctor. A friendly, deceptive face clothed in a beard, twinkling eyes.... He chewed lightly at the inside of his lip. He'd met the man before... in the infirmary, just as he was starting to hack the computer in the back of the room. Yeah, he could almost see the nametag as a blast of cool air had raised the hair on his arms. Dr. Wal... something.
In his dreams, the doctor practically interrogated him. He'd seemed oddly interested in the Winchesters. And Sam found it strange that even the first time he'd seen the doctor, the man had known that Campbell was not his true name. Somehow he'd known that Sam was a Winchester, and that Dean was his brother.
Dr. Walter.
It came to him suddenly. That was the doctor's name. He wondered briefly if Dean knew anything about him. He couldn't remember his brother mentioning the man, but then Dean was not exactly talkative about things like that. And if Dean had ever been a patient of his, he probably wouldn't be forthcoming about it. Still, if they ever got to speaking again soon, he'd have to ask him about it. He didn't trust everything his dreams showed him or what they seemed to indicate, but he didn't rule them out either. He took them with a grain of salt and tried to see what the real world had to show him about those things. So far, he'd been batting 1,000 when it came to Dean. Yet, his dreams said nothing about their current predicament. They were mostly centered on Dean's past, Dean's time here, and only a little bit regarding the two of them.
He sighed in agitation. If he ever was trying to stay committed, he could always mention “psychic dreams” to the doctors. That was probably a sure thing to ensure his extended stay here. That could easily be what Dean meant by `give them one little thing to poke at'. Hell, he hadn't even come close to mentioning anything like that and he was already being medicated. `Course, he was seeing a correlation between getting into physical confrontations and having them pump meds into his system... he should probably try really hard not to get into any more fights.
Thinking on that last fight with Dean still bothered him. So many emotions had been hurtling through him, making his head spin. There was the white hot anger as his fist connected with Dean's cheekbone, as he tried to reason with him in the only way that was left. Then there was the sickness as he hit him again, and drove a knee into his abdomen, the frustration. And finally, as Dean regarded him with dismissive eyes, there was the coldness and anxiety and the sense of having overstepped his bounds by a mile - the sense that he'd taken it for granted that Dean wanted him around. The weight of it was crushing. He chose to shove it aside, to try and get through to Dean one last time. `I'll never abandon you,' he'd said. And he meant it. But how painful a thing that was, to never abandon someone yet receiving nothing but their turned back and disregard.
But again, that didn't match up with his brother's behavior at all times. When he was drugged up this last time, Dean had been with him, concerned. Sam could still feel his strong arm across his back as he'd been held upright, and the way his soothing voice belied how rattled he was.
In the end, he couldn't take it. Dean was a contradiction he couldn't wrap his head around in that state. Positive feelings warred with negative ones, and the synthetic fear that danced in his veins was confusing things further. Dean's caring just then was all the more painful for how different he'd been during their fight, so disdainful and cold. What was real? What wasn't?
Ultimately, it didn't matter. Even if they never spoke again, or if his brother really had abandoned him... He gritted his teeth. He'd made a promise and he would get Dean out of here if it was the last thing he did. No matter what he had to do, he would do that at least.
---
That night, after dinner and watching Sam with his bodyguard by his side the entire time, Dean finally got his chance.
He followed his brother through the halls at a distance and the behemoth parted from him as they passed the room they shared. Sam went inside, and the hulking mass of his roommate continued down the hall. Dean waited a little while, then turned the knob. It was unlocked. Lucky him.
“Forget something?” Sam asked, not looking up at first and mistaking him for his roommate.
“Nope,” Dean replied as he skulked into the room, shutting the door behind him.
Sam dropped the book he was reading, in surprise. His eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”
“For starters, you can drop the attitude,” he said crossly.
“Kind of hypocritical of you, don't you think?”
Dean shook his head in an angry jerk. “Why are you avoiding me?”
“That should be overwhelmingly obvious.” Disdain colored Sam's voice like a rainbow. “Get out.”
“No.”
Sam was starting to look like he was ready to brawl. That jaw of his was setting stubbornly and his lips compressed angrily into what always tended to look like a childish pout.
Dean stood over him as he sat on the bed, glaring. “I heard you had a visitor.”
“So?”
“Who was it?”
“It's not important,” his brother said dismissively.
“It was dad, wasn't it?”
Sam let out a humorless laugh. “What makes you so sure?”
“The way you look like you're chewing nails just thinking about it.” Dean took a chance and sat down on the bed. “I remember that expression of yours coming out when you and dad were in disagreement. You hated that you could never win with him, no matter what you did.”
“Sometimes it really irritates me that you know things like that.”
“Tough.”
Sam looked like he wanted to kick him off of the bed, literally. “He won't tell me what happened,” his brother said stiffly. “He was there, Dean. He as good as confirmed it.”
Dean wasn't sure what to say. He was certain his father had his reasons, but it seemed kind of cruel to keep Sam in the dark like this. He'd ask Dad himself, if he got a chance. He was rather curious as well, not to mention slightly suspicious. What if Sam had a point with thinking their dad was still round the bend? God, it was so hard to make a call on this one. And what if the `accident' actually was an accident only one where their father had played an active role? Sam wouldn't be able to forgive him.
“I don't trust him,” Sam muttered under his breath.
“What else did he say?” Dean couldn't help asking. It had been eating at him a little that his father had never once tried to contact him in any way the last few years. But now that he was here, maybe he'd said something? At least to his brother. “Anything about me?”
Sam didn't answer right away. In truth, he was debating what he would tell Dean, if anything. He was still pissed at him, and Dean obviously still held a grudge as well, but he didn't feel right slamming his brother over the head with the nasty truth - that their mother had shunned him to such a degree and had been adamant about them never seeing each other again. He felt weird enough about it, while being the `protected' one. He couldn't imagine how Dean would feel, finding out he was the `threat' their mother perceived. “No. Nothing.”
Dean felt his stomach drop. Nothing? Not a damn thing?? After all this time, his father couldn't even utter a single `How's Dean doing?' or `Say hi for me'?? “I see.” But what the hell was I expecting? He realized belatedly that he had, in fact, had his hopes up. It made him feel weak, and that would have made him angry if he hadn't felt so damn empty.
Sam bit the inside of his lip hard as he saw all traces of expression fall from his brother's face, and his chest felt compressed. He'd seen this song and dance before - this was hitting Dean hard. Had he made the wrong call? “I was in there barely 10 minutes. He didn't really get a chance to say much of anything.”
“Stop it,” Dean said, rising to his feet like a wounded man. “I don't need you trying to make me feel better,” he lashed out. “It's pathetic.”
Okay, maybe it was more like a wounded animal than a man.
“Suit yourself,” Sam said in a surly tone, taking offense. “No one's twisting your arm to be here.” Why did his brother insist on throwing even small kindnesses back in his face like this? It really got under his skin.
“I know,” Dean said shortly before letting himself out.
---
“Sam,” Bobby said later the next day, leaning back into his chair and leveling Sam with a piercing gaze. “I think you know why I called you into my office.”
Sam nodded, irritation etched upon his face.
“I think it would be in your best interest to speak to your father. He's come a long way to see you.”
“We talked,” Sam said shortly. “I'm good.”
“Boy,” Bobby grated, “I didn't even have enough time to get a cup of coffee and you were already gone.” He sounded about as aggravated as Sam felt. “The least you could do is listen to him for more than 5 minutes.”
“Listen to him??” Sam's eyes whipped up. “I spent the first half of my life doing nothing but listening to him! Only that's pretty ironic, considering he never actually tells me anything.”
“And just what is it that you think he should be telling you?” The psychiatrist's voice regained a calm professional tone as he raised his brow.
All of a sudden, Sam was aware again of Bobby's status and the dynamic at work here. He was Dr. Robert Singer and Sam was technically a patient; not one that had given him much reason to treat him, but a patient nonetheless. And the doctor was on guard now, seeing if there was something to be sussed out, to be `poked' at (as Dean had described it). His professionalism had slid over him like a mask. He was now in the mode of doing his job, seeing if there was, in fact, something inside of Sam that needed treated.
Sam hesitated. Now was the time that he could lay out that bit about the dreams, if he felt that was the right hand to play, and he could mention something about his dad's `hunting', and let that ousting stick in his craw. He could. It might very well get both himself and his father stuck here for a time. It seemed fitting, somehow.
Yet... that wouldn't do anything to get Dean out of here, or himself for that matter.
What did he really wish to accomplish? That was the question. Did he need to give the doctors something to treat in order to remain here? Or would that be signing his life away? And what was his father trying to accomplish? How could he act without knowing what his old man was planning?
“Sammy,” his father's voice came seemingly out of nowhere, and then John was stepping into the room from behind a sectioned off area with books. “I want you to hear me out.”
It surprised the hell out of Sam and he scowled. “Well, we can't always have what we want, can we?” he said darkly.
Had this man done it? Caused his world to spin off of its axis? First, with the deaths of the two people closest to him. Then, with reuniting him with his brother - only to make him struggle with a twisted relationship he never could have even imagined before coming here. If he and Dean had met on the outside, wouldn't they be doing something normal like having a beer together while they caught up on each other's lives? Wouldn't illicit passion and damning kisses have been off the menu?
If Jessica had still been alive and with him, would it ever have even crossed his mind?
“Sam,” Bobby said sharply. “Quit being difficult.”
Sam's jaw clenched and the muscles in his cheeks worked as he bit down. Difficult? Bobby didn't know the half of what was going on. But how could he?
“I understand that you and your brother have been at each other's throats lately,” John said.
“Something like that,” Sam muttered. It was none of his father's damn business.
“What's going on between you two?”
Sam felt his hackles raise. He wasn't telling his father shit. “We've been fighting.” His tone turned mocking, “I guess this place wears on a person's nerves after a while.”
“You and Dean never fight.”
Sam kicked his head back and laughed. “What, we aren't allowed to? It's normal sibling stuff, isn't it? I'd say we were long overdue.”
John Winchester stared his son down, his keen eyes dissecting everything. “It's normal for other people, maybe, but not you two. You were too tightly knit.”
“Well, it seems we may have grown apart in the last 10 years or so,” Sam said sardonically. He really resented that time. He wanted to hate his mother for it, but it felt wrong with her being dead and all, so he lay some blame upon his father. Sam failed to see why John had caved to his ex-wife's wishes at the expense of his children's well-being anyhow.
“Maybe so,” John relented, “but I know how important he is to you.”
“No. You don't.”
His father's face got a sort of stubborn look to it and his eyes narrowed. He switched tacts, “You don't belong here, Sam. That's why I've come. To get you out.”
Sam was taken aback. Who in their right mind would voice their master plan right in front of the authorities? He glanced at Dr. Singer, expecting to see some sort of reaction to what his father was saying, but there was none.
He looked back to the elder Winchester. “What about Dean? You're not concerned with him?” John stared back at him, stoic as hell. Sam's stomach dropped out as his father said nothing. “You're just going to leave him here?” It was unthinkable. Horrifying, really, that something like this was not hitting his dad's give-a-crap radar. Was there something wrong with him? Like, seriously, more than `just a little cuckoo' wrong? He looked to Bobby for backup. Surely he would be in agreement that this was messed up.
“I agree with your father, Sam,” Dr. Singer said, discretely tapping a pencil upon the edge of his desk. “You don't really need to be at Oak Grove or anywhere like it.”
“Says who?” They thought he was mentally sound? That seemed like a joke. A really bad one. Especially lately.
“Says the psychiatrist,” Bobby said sarcastically. “There's nothing wrong with you, boy. Nothing more is going on inside your noggin than any normal person's. I'm sorry, but you're just not certifiable.” He paused, likely feeling the irony of apologizing to someone for breaking the news to them that they were sane, and added, “This is a good thing. A lot of people would give their right arm to hear me telling this to them.”
“I'd like to take you home,” his father said. “Let you get your feet back under you after all that's happened.”
“But Dean-”
“Your brother will be fine,” John interrupted. “He's been here a while. He's used to it.”
“No, he won't be,” Sam argued. “The longer he stays here, the worse he's going to get. I've seen it even in the time I've been here. This place is making him crazy.”
“Sam,” Dr. Singer broke in. “If that was indeed the case, how would your staying here help him? From a professional standpoint, he's gotten worse since you came here.”
Me? Sam's breath caught in his throat and his heart started pounding in his head.
“His behavior has become erratic at best, and at times he's quite antisocial and violent,” Dr. Singer said. “It could be that your presence here is actually impeding his recovery.”
“You're saying it's my fault?”
“It does appear that way.” The psychiatrist looked mildly apologetic.
“Listen, Sam,” John said. “It looks like the best option is to get you a clean bill of health--”
“So says the previous nutcase,” Sam cut in unkindly.
“--and work on Dean after that,” John finished determinedly, his face set into a stony mask. His eyes flicked to Dr. Singer as if assessing his reaction to Sam's comment. “It's not like you'd be abandoning him. You can always visit, like I'm doing now.”
“Right.” Sam was feeling exceedingly hostile and agitated at the moment. “So I suppose that this isn't the first time you've been here, then? That you've come to see Dean quite a lot over the years?” He knew this wasn't the case. He'd seen it in Dean's reaction before. He doubted his father had ever visited his eldest son the entire time he'd been committed.
John Winchester frowned and looked like he wanted to escalate this into a verbal sparring match. He still seemed to think that he could bully him around like he was a little kid. He wouldn't though, not with the shrink keeping watch on the sidelines, cataloguing everything like a damn supercomputer. “That doesn't have any relevance to what I'm telling you.”
Sam rolled his eyes and made sure his father saw it. “Why, because I'm not you, and I can actually choose to make it a priority to visit Dean, unlike you?”
“Watch your tone,” John warned, ignoring the bigger issue of what he'd actually said.
“I am watching my tone,” he responded snottily, glaring at him point-blank.
This nearly made his father lose his cool in front of the doctor. Nearly. “What you always failed to see, Sammy,” he said tightly, “is the bigger picture. To you, nothing exists unless you have seen it, verified it with your own senses.” His eyes bored holes into his son. “And it isn't just the issue you have with authority, or with taking orders, it's this dismissive stance you take on anything you have to take on faith.”
His dad was talking about their upbringing. He'd always been one to question orders and directives, whereas Dean had simply done as he was told. He knew it infuriated his father at times. He also knew it was a product of his curiosity, intelligence, and... well... stubbornness.
He also got the feeling that his father was referring to hunting, because hadn't Dean said something similar to him? He'd never seen the monsters, so they didn't really seem real to him. It was all too easy to write his brother and father off as being a bit touched in the head. It made more sense to him from where he was standing. This was one of the things Dean had been so pissed over, and probably still was.
Sam frowned, mulling that over. Was that a big part of their last fight? Dean resented him for his acceptance in the event that Dean was a little crazy. He didn't want acceptance, though, did he...? He wanted Sam to believe, no, to know that he was sane.
“Sam?” Dr. Singer prompted gently, nudging him out of his reverie.
“Sorry,” he said distractedly. “I was just thinking.”
As much as it irked him to even consider this... maybe his father had a point. Maybe. At least where Dean was concerned. It was possible that he'd been causing his brother pain all this time with his ignorant acceptance. Here he'd thought that he'd been taking all of this well, and that he was being mature and loyal in taking Dean as-is, when really he'd been feeding into the same things many of the doctors here did - dismissing someone as mental without thoroughly assessing them.
So did Bobby have a point as well? Was his presence here a detriment to his brother's clean bill of health? Had he derailed everything just by being brought here? It was a sobering thought. One he didn't much like.
“Uh, dad,” he said awkwardly, his voice sounding gutted, so much softer and reconciliatory it was than before. It almost dropped out and he had to clear his throat a little. “What exactly did you have in mind?”
John's body language eased, becoming less like a taut bow string. “I think that is something we should talk about,” he said, the subtle evasions rising up like red flags to his son. Sam looked up at him with a schooled expression and verified with a brief look into his eyes that the evasions were not for him, but for the doctor. “Such as a timeline, living arrangements, your schooling,” he said. It was all mundane, trivial, and was all for Bobby's benefit. These were not the things they would be discussing at all, if they were given the chance to meet in private.
“Bobby,” Sam said reluctantly, “do you mind if I uh... take you up on that offer of talking to my dad in private? I let my temper get to me before and I wasn't appreciating what you were trying to do.” He paused, averting his eyes to stare at the floor. “I'm, uh... sorry.”
“Alright,” Dr. Singer said with a heavy sigh, sounding like he'd just weathered a battle. “Can I trust you two to maintain civility and not kill each other?”
“Sure,” Sam said in a cowed tone.
John nodded his own agreement.
After Dr. Singer left the office, Sam said, “Do you really think that it will help Dean get out of here faster if I leave?”
“It seems that way,” the elder Winchester said. “I've been keeping track of things and it seems he had been improving since being put in Dr. Singer's care. He's a respectable man. It's a surprise to find one of those in psychiatry, in my experience.”
“Dad, why haven't you come to see Dean?” Sam asked, hoping beyond hope that his father might level with him this time.
“It's complicated.”
Sam felt the irritation surge instantly, the moment he was denied. He tried to reign it in and keep his voice level. “Surely there is something you can tell me? Anything at all?”
John looked about as tight-lipped as ever. “There are things that are just better left unknown,” he maintained.
Sam felt like he was going to blow a gasket. The spirit of cooperation was crumbling almost as fast as it had been formed.
“However,” John said, “I can tell you that there may be someone here that is out to make our lives as difficult as he can.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I have reason to believe there's a doctor here, one that I encountered while I was in the state hospital--”
“You mean, while you were committed?”
“Yes,” John said, and it seemed that admitting it directly was a hit to his pride. “He was the reason I was there for so long, I'm certain.”
“Elaborate?”
“Well,” John said, his face squinting into a frown, “I don't know his true motive, but this was one strange man; he took an intense interest in `hunting' and he also seemed fond of liberal applications of medication. He'd asked me about the hunting several times, probably having read Mary's written statement about me. I didn't talk about it though. When he became my doctor, I suddenly found myself getting dosed a lot and my memory went to hell. In that time, he was questioning me, applying drugs to make my tongue loosen, and drugs to make me forget. It's mostly bits and pieces but I guess that it took some time for him to refine his craft... but I know he discovered a lot about what hunters do, what we hunt, and even a lot about our family.”
“That's... highly disturbing.” Sam felt something in him twitch in recognition. He'd undergone something like that, hadn't he? It was what he'd dreamed about.... and what he couldn't quite remember. “If he had you on lock-down, how did you ever get out?”
“The family genes have blessed me with a cunning mind.” He flashed Sam a low-watt, shady smile.
Sam rolled his eyes, and scoffed in amusement despite himself. That sounded like something Dean would say. Over the last many years, father and son seemed to have developed a co-morbid sense of humor.
“Ok,” John continued, “to make a long story short: I did what I had to, acted out, and got transferred under another specialist. Basically when they re-diagnosed me, I got out from under his thumb. Under another doctor's care, I played the sane game until I convinced them I was no longer worth keeping under observation.”
“So you acted like you didn't believe in any of the stuff you taught me and Dean about as we were growing up?”
“Exactly. For what isn't real to them, makes you insane by default.”
“I'm not convinced you're sane,” Sam tossed out.
“Yes, well, you were living with your mother after all.” He smiled lightly and a small wink flickered at his eye.
“That isn't funny.”
“It's a little funny,” John said, the corner of his mouth quirking upward again, half-heartedly. “Besides, it's true. She had over 10 years to mold you to her liking. You're just as headstrong and closed-minded as she was.”
“Gee, thanks, dad,” Sam said drolly.
The humor left his father's face, replaced by the stern, immobile expression Sam was more familiar with. “You wanted me to take off the kid gloves, to treat you like an adult and level with you. Don't bitch about it now just because you don't like something you hear.”
“You know,” Sam said pointedly, bristling at his father's suddenly hard-as-nails tone, “tact isn't exclusively a childlike trait.” It wouldn't hurt for him to employ a little of it while talking to him `on an adult level'.
“Screw tact, it's practically all lies anyway,” John said dismissively. He fixed Sam with an assessing look which said he was cutting to the chase, “Listen, Sam, have you been receiving medication of any kind while you've been here?”
“Well, I hadn't been,” Sam said slowly, startled into answering without contest, “but recently... uh... sort of, yes.”
“Dammit,” John cursed distractedly. “It's always harder to get out once they've started a regimen.”
“No, it isn't like that. It's been more like isolated incidents.”
“Come again?” John gave him the evil eye. “What did you do?”
“There were some fights,” he admitted reluctantly, reminded suddenly of when he was 12 and had to break the news to his aghast mother that he'd been suspended for fighting. He'd still been having issues over his parents splitting, and of missing his brother terribly when the bullying had escalated. He'd finally snapped and given them a reason to leave him alone. She grounded him for 3 weeks, with no TV., no time outside, and had made him clean parts of the house in any spare time he had when he wasn't studying. It had royally sucked. But if he had the chance to do it over, he would have done the same. Some things couldn't be settled peacefully. His mother didn't seem to understand that.
“Dammit, son, you can not draw attention to yourself here! These places are like Chinese finger traps - easy to get into and a pain in the ass to get back out of. Plus, if that doctor is here, you'll be making yourself an easy target. You're protected somewhat by the name Campbell, but honestly, he might have gotten Mary's maiden name from me and he might even remember it.”
“And what about Dean? He doesn't have any protection at all.”
“Part of why I never visited. Look, if that doctor ever got Dean under his thumb, he'd have access to all sorts of information, including anything he and I discussed. He's a real bastard - sneaky, too. I have no doubt he'd look for a way to try and entrap me here.”
“That sounds paranoid.”
“It does, doesn't it?”
“Dean hasn't mentioned any evil doctors. I don't think you have to worry.”
“You're assuming he'd talk about it? Or even remember it?”
Sam shrugged.
“Oh,” John sighed. “Well, you haven't been here long, you wouldn't understand.” He shook his head dismissively. “Our time is probably about up. Listen, just try to stay out of trouble and keep from getting things put on your record. No fighting. And keep some distance between you and your brother so things can settle out.”
“Sure, I'll try.”
---
TBC
A/N: As an aside, the good doctor seems to be fond of something like Roofies! LOL. I just saw the movie The Hangover on TV and the memory loss was reminiscent. Haha. (That movie was pretty funny, btw. Crazy too.)
A/N 2: Chapter title from the song “Before” by Infected Mushroom. Companion song is “Propane Nightmares” by Pendulum, another great band.
I was debating switching titles to be from Pendulum, instead of just Inf Mush, but... consistency can be a good thing. Plus, the Mushroom music really feels like background music you would hear while watching a show if the show was this fic. To me, anyway. And I mostly write to Inf Mush so it seems more fitting to use titles of songs that were a part of chapter construction.
But Pendulum has played a part as well... so I have to show them some love.
“Propane Nightmares” - Pendulum
Something's tearing me down
And I can't help but feel it's coming from you
She's a gunshot bride
With a trigger cries
I just wonder what we've gotten ourselves into
In a trail of fire I know we will be free again
In the end we will be one
In a trail of fire I'll burn before you bury me
Set your sights for the sun
Mind is willing
Soul remains
This woman cannot be saved
From the drawn into the fire
Mind is willing
Soul remains
This woman cannot be saved
From the drawn into the fire
Anything to
Bring it on home
Bring it on home
Bring it on home
Bring it on home
Much too weak to jump yourself
Heal the wounds or crack the shell
Lift yourself from once below
Much too weak to jump yourself
Heal the wounds or crack the shell
Lift yourself from once below
Praise the anger
Bring it on home
Bring it on home
Bring it on home
Bring it on home
In a trail of fire I know we will be free again
In the end we will be one
In a trail of fire I'll burn before you bury me
Set your sights for the sun
Bring it on home