Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Asylum ❯ The Gathering ( Chapter 21 )

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Asylum
Supernatural, AU
Dean/Sam

Summary: For the past few years, Dean Winchester has been a resident of various mental health facilities and has gained quite a reputation since being forcibly admitted. Abandoned by his father who had previously been a patient himself, the only thing keeping him going is the thought of his brother.

*Disclaimer* I do not own anything. Except maybe the occasional OC. Supernatural is property of Eric Kripke and others.

A/N: For those of you out there who have given this fic reviews, THANK YOU! I love you. :) Oh, and sorry for the goofy sporadicness of the update schedule. I was trying for doing weeklies, but RL was offering interference. :S

I can’t wait for season 7 to come out on dvd so I can watch all of it! Gah. September. (Can’t... wait...) BTW, I’m starting a movement - anyone that loves SPN, or namely, Jared and Jensen (‘shipped as a couple or even not), put a vinyl “J2” sticker on your car! :D I went to a sign shop and had them do me a custom decal of a red heart with a J2 in it, and ordered a few spares for friends. LOL. The guy probably thought I was nuts. The decal was cheap, like 8 bucks or so, and cheaper the more of them you get. Join the revolution!! (Thanks to Misha for coining “J2”. He’s so freaking awesome/adorable. It almost prompts me to doing a Misha!Rocks! decal or something and further label myself a freak for loving this show and the actors SO MUCH. Feh, it’s a slight addiction. I’ve come to terms. And maybe one day I’ll head up the local chapter of SA - Supernaturalics Anonymous.)

((That last statement is a total lie.))
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Ch. 21: The Gathering

“Psst, Dean.”

Dean slanted his eyes to the left, as he walked out of the cafeteria, in the direction of the voice. He saw Sam leaning up against the wall, partially hidden behind the fin of a structural pillar, acting nonchalant and like he was lost in thought. Briefly though, Dean caught the flicked gaze of one intense grey eye.

Jared and Garth were with him, just a step behind, so he said nothing to his brother and pretended not to see him.

“I’ll meet you in about an hour,” Dean said to Jared.

“Sounds good,” the body builder replied. “Hope you’re ready, with all the time off you’ve taken.”

“Yeah, yeah, cry me a river.” Dean waved his hand dismissively and headed for his room. Once there, he flopped down onto his bed to pass the time as lazily as possible.

About 15 minutes later, the room’s door opened and closed softly.

“What took you so long?” Dean said to his brother, not needing to open his eyes to confirm who it was.

“I had to keep from being obvious, smartass. Anyway, aren’t you the one who’s always harping on about that?”

“Yeah, I guess I am.” Dean shrugged. “But acting like we still aren’t even speaking to each other is kind of a pain in the ass.”

“Again, your idea. You said Garnet was too close to figuring it out.”

Dean sighed and sat up, running a hand through his hair. “Well, he is.”

“Maybe you should let him draw his conclusions.” Sam grabbed a small wooden chair, which seemed to be a new addition to the room, and sat on it while draping his arms across its back.  “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Ugh,” Dean groaned. “You do not want to go there, trust me. In this place, it would be a field day. You thought you got into fights before? You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

“Fine, whatever,” Sam said, brushing that aside. “Look, that isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Dean quirked a brow and waited for him to continue.

“It’s about Dad.”

Dean cursed under his breath. “What now? Jesus, if he gets to pretend I don’t exist, why can’t I do the same?”

“I think something happened to him.”

Dean was feeling less and less amiable as this conversation went on. It used to be that the loyalty he felt towards his father was absolute, but lately, just a mere mention of the man was like having railroad spikes driven into his nerves. “Why?” he asked in a surly tone.

“You knew I was meeting with him pretty regularly the last week...”

“Yeah.” How could he forget something like that which had been bugging the ever-loving hell out of him since he first heard about it?

“Well, it was pretty much at the same time every day. Only yesterday, we were all pulled into that group therapy session... and I haven’t heard from him at all after that.”

“Did you ask Bobby about it?”

“I haven’t had the chance; he’s been too busy.”

Dean laughed humorlessly. “Maybe Dad finally got sick of hanging around and just took off.”

“He would have said something,” Sam insisted.

“Would he?” Dean countered with annoyance. “Does that sound like something the father we had would do?”

“But--”

“Wasn’t he more the type to go missing for days at a time?” Dean interrupted sharply. “Check your memory, Sammy. He did it all the time, without glancing back. He did it while you were there and he did it well after you and mom left.”

Sam glared daggers at his brother. “Why do you always have to bring up the separation like it was my choice? I was 10! There was nothing I could do about it. If anything, you’re the one that had a choice, and you made the one you did. But you don’t see me raking you over the coals for it.”

“Choice?” Dean said sharply. “You call that a choice? There was nothing I could do! You didn’t see the way mom was looking at me. She didn’t want me, Sam. She wanted to get away from dad, and me too. She told me how I was just like him. She looked at me and the only thing in her head was protecting you.”

“That’s not...” Sam trailed, head sinking to his crossed forearms with a frown on his face.

Dean lay back down on the bed, looking pointedly at the ceiling. “It’s the truth.”

Sam didn’t know what to say. Dean’s words mirrored what their dad had told him. But he’d never imagined that his brother already knew. “I never understood why she only took me,” he said quietly.

“She was afraid,” Dean said, just as subdued, but still pissed off. “She couldn’t deal with Dad’s apparent insanity and she was afraid I had it, too.” He rolled his head to look at his brother in challenge. “Just like you are.”

Dean contemplated stricken grey eyes and couldn't decide how he felt in response. Just as strongly as he wanted to see this kind of hurt response to his hurt, he also wanted to erase it, to tell Sam it was okay, that he’d get over it eventually and they’d be fine. But he said nothing.

Sam looked away, sullenly, then changed the subject. “Are you going to help me find out what happened to dad, or not?”

“When have I ever refused you?”

---

“Boys,” a harried Dr. Singer said, as they’d finally cornered him in his office a few hours later, “I don’t know what to tell you. I haven’t seen him.”

“Are you sure?” Sam said urgently. “Not since the last time I met with him?”

“No, dammit, not since then!” the older man said, losing his patience. “What, do you think I’m going senile?”

“No, sir,” Sam said cordially, beating a hasty verbal retreat.

“Now quit bothering me with stuff like this,” the psychiatrist said shortly. “Can’t you see I’m up to my eyeballs in alligators here?” He shook his head as he left his office, muttering, “never seen so many patients going haywire like this all at the same damn time.”

---

“Dean,” Sam said later, after returning to Dean’s assigned room. “Even Bobby thinks all the patients freaking out is strange. It can’t be coincidence.”

“Maybe,” Dean replied, still not entirely sold on the idea.

“It’s more plausible than your talk of ghosts in the basement.”

“What?!” Dean protested. “You think conspiracy theories make more sense than the supernatural? You’re nuts.”

“Fine, whatever. Just back me up in this, and I’ll back you up on your monster hunts or whatever.”

“Bitch,” Dean muttered. “Fine. What now, fearless leader?”

“Dad’s here somewhere, I’m sure of it.”

“You think he was abducted?” Dean raised a brow. “Why?”

“He said something to me about a doctor he had while he was in the state hospital, that he thought the guy might be working here. It sounded like the man was unhinged.”

“Pfft. That could be anyone here, except Singer and maybe Dimitri. Don’t you know it’s mostly crazy people who go into psychiatry? Normal people don’t usually pay much attention to it.”

“Come on, Dean,” Sam said shortly. “Just be serious and help me out.”

“I am being serious,” he protested, then muttered, “you obviously haven’t been here long enough.” He shook his head as if trying to dispel his irritation. “Look, was there anything else he said? Like a name? Or did he give a description?”

“Nothing comes to mind. He was pretty cryptic about it.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Dean laughed sarcastically.

“How is it,” Sam said in clipped tones, “that in less than one week you seem to hate him more than I ever did in my entire life? I’m the one that should be sarcastic about his being a font of information. He never told me anything that was going on. You both kept me in the dark every chance you got. I should be the one saying ‘he probably just said “Piss on it” and went back home.’ You’re supposed to be the one telling me to shut up and to just help you find the bastard. Why aren’t you?”

“Maybe I’m tired of playing peacemaker,” Dean said, face betraying no emotion at all as he lay on the bed like he was lounging at the beach, eyes closed. “Our family seems good at tearing itself apart. Who am I to stop it?”

A sharp backhand across Dean’s face had him jumping up and angry in an instant. “Dammit, Sam, what the hell was that for??” he shouted as he held a hand to his blazing cheek.

Sam was staring back at him with a singularly disgusted look. “Just shut up, okay? You still have me, and you still have Dad. Or, you would if you would get off your ass and help me.”

“I have to meet up with Jared first,” Dean muttered crossly, still holding his throbbing cheek. “If that’s okay with you, Imperial Ruler of Everything?”

“I’m going with you.”

“What for?” Dean really wanted to pay his brother back for that unexpected strike, as it had startled the crap out of him and it had been unwarranted. His hands were twitching to start a fight. It would be better if he could just cool his temper by lifting some weights. Without his brother. But sometimes it seemed that Sam just needed to be beaten back in line. Who was he to start spouting off about the integrity of family all of a sudden?

“To work out,” Sam said stubbornly. “Plus, I have a standing invite from your friend.”

“So we’re just going to ditch the ‘not talking in public’ thing? We’re suddenly going to be play the best-friends-we-never-were card again?”

“Yeah,” Sam said angrily, likely responding to his sarcastic tone. “Or maybe we’ll just go ahead and make it obvious we’re involved. Fuck them. No one knows our history. And if they figure it out, maybe I’m ready to deal with the fights. I’m sick of skulking around.”

Dean leaned back on his hands, regarding his brother critically. “You know, you’re kind of sexy when you’re pissed off.”

Sam groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. “Dean, I was being serious,” he said with tired exasperation.

“I know.”

He got up off the bed and stole a quick kiss, furthering Sam’s frustration while also deflating his anger. “Look, just let me go work out with the meathead, and I promise to help you look for dad afterwards, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.” Sam didn’t look happy, but at least he wasn’t pissed off anymore and looking like he was going to do something stupid.

---

‘Waiting’ and ‘boredom’ were two things Sam was never very good at dealing with, so while Dean was wasting time making himself look pretty, he had a plan to do something productive.

Dean left the room first, as it was almost time for him to meet his gym buddy, and Sam waited, as agreed, so he could leave a few minutes later. Luckily for him, Dean left his jacket behind.

Sam picked up the leather garment, palpating and searching it thoroughly. He was looking for something very specific. This, he’d decided, was the only logical place for it to be. Dean was crafty and resourceful. He’d keep important tools close at hand, hidden, but ready when needed. Sam wasn’t sure why the staff here let him wear the jacket in the first place, but they probably supposed there wasn’t much harm in it. Especially if his brother had made a big enough deal out of it that they would rather give in, so as not to be bothered.

Originally, he’d thought Dean had been carrying the lock picks in his pocket, brought along specially for the trip to the basement. But he’d already searched the room, finding nothing, before he realized the obvious.

“Aha, there you are,” he said to himself as he discovered the picks hidden in the lining of the jacket. He remembered the type of lock he’d be needing these for and took only the picks he deemed useful. It had been years, of course, since their dad had shown them how to lock pick, but he hoped it would be much like riding a bicycle and that it would all come back to him.

He grabbed one of the small salt shakers that was hidden in the dresser drawers, mostly to shut up the Dean in his head.

“Pfft. Ghosts.” It was ridiculous. Insane, really. Yeah, I said it. Insane. He could say it in his head at least. Because he certainly wouldn’t be voicing that particular thought aloud any more, not with the pained, betrayed look Dean would be shooting his way. Not to mention the fight that would likely ensue. He’d rather avoid more landmines like that, thank you.

He stowed his spoils in the pockets of his pants. He would just have to hope no one stopped him or patted him down. Ideally, he would have had some way to conceal such items... really, Dean’s jacket was perfect, only it would gain too much attention. He hadn’t seen anyone else wearing anything like it. If he were to suddenly walk around wearing it, it would scream suspicious. Not to mention making people wonder why he was wearing Dean’s jacket, and why Dean was allowing him to. He had the feeling that anyone trying to do such a thing without Dean’s ‘okay’ would be looking like they needed a stretcher and more than a bottle of pain killers to fix them up again.

Sam stealthily made his way down to the basement, on guard, surprisingly not encountering any orderlies or much of anyone. It was almost too easy. It put him more on edge than if he’d turned a corner and had to explain to a staff member just where in the hell he was going. Hadn’t it been their father who’d taught them that when everything looked like it is going well, to expect the worst?

Dad... I hope you’re okay.

He still had mixed feelings over their father. He couldn’t reconcile the love mixed with frustration and anger he’d had as a child with the confusion, panic and fear he’d had just a few short months ago at the time of the accident. He didn’t know what was what. Meeting with his father now... he didn’t seem malicious or capable of the atrocity that occurred that day. But he was still a stubborn, militant man who rubbed him the wrong way and he still seemed to be keeping secrets. How much of his negative feelings were the same old things he was used to, and how much were related to the memory of his father’s face at the scene of the crime? How much did he trust the man? How much should he?

It was odd then, wasn’t it? That Dean’s reluctance and animosity for their father was fueling his own determination to find him? The more Dean fought him on it, the more he felt it was the right thing to do.

The basement was cold and dank.

It was also dark. He would have to pick the lock by feel. The flashlight he was coming to retrieve was on the other side of this door, and he didn’t have another. Besides, there were windows on the other side, and it was still broad daylight out, so he’d be able to see well enough to find it.

The lock in his hands was cold as well, if not moreso than the room. It was a simple padlock, one of the first types he’d been taught to pick. He should be able to remember how to do this without too much trouble.

The hair raised on the back of his neck as he worked. He looked up into the darkness, but he could see nothing. Even with his eyes almost adjusted now to the lack of light, the edges and corners of the basement were ink black. He renewed his focus on the lock, banishing the ridiculous urge to shake some salt out in an arc behind him, covering his flank. There was nothing down here. It was just the atmosphere of the place tweaking his imagination.

Besides, Dean hadn’t seemed too concerned about this area being haunted or whatever. Or was that merely because they’d been fighting at the time?

Thankfully, he won the battle with the lock before his mind went into overdrive and started assuring him that he was also hearing whispers just behind the back of his head.

Creepy.

It was almost like how he felt about the infirmary. He really didn’t like that place.

He carefully removed the chain from the door and laid it aside, pocketing the lock so that no one could accidentally lock him inside.

Taking a deep breath, he swung one of the doors open and went in.

A feeling of misgiving swept through him as he made his way through the low-ceilinged tunnel. Last time, he’d been so intent on following his brother and seeing what he was up to, that he hadn’t had time to really appreciate the freakish ambiance of this place with its white dingy walls, the claustrophobic nature of the glass block ‘windows’, and the smell of rodent excrement. The large pipes running the length of the corridor up at the ceiling contributed to homey feel.

What had possessed Dean to come down here in the first place? he wondered with irritation. If this had been a horror flick, it would have been the classic lamb to the slaughter scenario. So Dean was convinced that there were ghosts down here that needed purging. Great. And what else might be down here? And why in God’s name had Dean dropped the goddamn flashlight? Maybe he was convinced that no one would come down here and find it, but Sam didn’t like to take the chance. In his short stay here, it looked like many of the staff took any chance they could to punish Winchesters, even for minute infractions. Finding a flashlight, said to belong to one Dean Winchester, in an off-limits area that even had a lock to protect it? It didn’t bode well.

Even though I’m known here as Campbell, it certainly seems like someone must know I’m a Winchester and is affording me the same treatment.

He and Dean seemed to be given the blame more often than the benefit of the doubt, even when other instigators were clear.

Sam stopped suddenly, sighting the salt line his brother had drawn from one side of the hallway to the other. It was dim, but it looked like the line was disturbed. He crouched down for a closer look. Two furrows marred it, drawn diagonally through the salt like the casual pass of fingers testing the substance.

Someone had been here.

The knowledge chilled him for some reason.

Sam looked deeper down the corridor, wondering what the rank darkness and its rooms had in store. Real danger? Manufactured fear? He had the urge to fix the salt line, but if whomever had been here before returned... his presence here would be noted. He would be leaving them a sign.

He rose, and looked to the gaping black doorway on the left.

‘Did you see it?’he could remember the quality of Dean’s rushed voice, the urgency that had infused it after his brother had supposedly encountered a ghost. ‘We need to get out of here. Now.’

Standing here just now... he could almost feel the sinister energy in the air. The malcontent.

So, was it all in Dean’s head? Or was it real? If he were to walk into that room, would he see what Dean saw? Or would he see nothing, because it didn’t exist? Perhaps even his brain might fabricate something to freak him out, by sight or sound, but that wouldn’t make it authentic. It wouldn’t mean the supernatural existed. It would just validate the fact that humans are highly suggestible creatures.

His jaw set with determination, he stepped over the salt line. Dean would be barking mad at him for this.

Was he really taking his life in his hands? Was he?

I need to know if it’s real.

I have to know.

If Dean was right, somehow...

If their father was right...

Well, that would change everything, wouldn’t it?

He turned to the room and with militant strides, entered its confines. Immediately, he could feel the hair raise upon his arms. Broken whispers seemed to slither around him like dry leaves.

It’s not proof.

The room was a mess of junk. On the other end was a wooden chair that looked disturbingly like an electric chair. He moved closer and smelled lighter fluid. The chair was charred, like it had been burned, but was still intact. Had Dean done this?

He made his way back out of the room, and yet he did not encounter what his brother seemed to have seen last time.

Walking just outside the room, he stood still, getting his bearings. He frowned. This wasn’t right. He and Dean had moved down the hall several paces before the salt line had been drawn, which meant...

“That wasn’t the room,” he said softly, looking to his left where another door lay gaping wide not that far away.

The feeling of foreboding intensified greatly.

He turned and stared hard, contemplating his options. He wasn’t one to work himself up over nothing. Was there really something here that he was reacting to? He actually felt a visceral aversion to entering that room. One that was surprisingly strong.

What had Dean seen? He’d never said.

And if I were to see the same thing... if Dean confirmed it, without me saying a word to describe it... I would know, then, wouldn’t I?

He started walking towards the room and he could practically hear Dean cursing him out for his recklessness. Shut up. I have the salt, if you’re right. Indeed, his hand was fisted about the salt shaker in his pocket. He brought it out into the open. There, happy? he thought at him.

When he’d encountered Dean down here in those first moments, his brother had jumped a mile high at his presence and then had been barking out instructions like a general. He’d seemed somewhat mad, high on adrenaline. He would have said that Dean might have been scared, but honestly, his brother didn’t seem to have a properly scared mode.

What did you see?

If it was all in his head, it had to have been a damn good hallucination to elicit such a response. Dean was practically unflappable.

He stood at the doorway to the room. Everything in him was telling him to let it be, to not go in. Everything except the skeptic in him and the yen he had for knowing the truth.

---

“Hey, Garnet, you seen Sam around?” Dean asked his friend, finding him holed up in the library by himself. He was reading a magazine. Dean didn’t bother to see what kind.

The dark-haired youth’s eyes slanted at him. “Maybe. Why?”

It had been at least an hour after he’d finished his training session with Jared and Sam was nowhere to be found. He’d even taken a long shower, killing some time waiting for him to turn up somewhere, but there was no sign of his little brother.

“You gonna tell me?” Dean asked. “Or are you hoping for some kind of trade?”

Garnet crossed his arms in a surly fashion and tilted back in his chair. He was still pissed at Dean for hiding ‘something’ from him, although it seemed that he hadn’t figured out what that something was. Dean didn’t plan on enlightening him. “What do you have that I could possibly want?”

“My abundant charm?”

“Feh,” Garnet almost laughed. “Useless.”

“Okay,” Dean said, grabbing a chair for himself and resting his elbows heavily upon the table. “What will it take for you to stop being pissed at me?”

“Who says I’m pissed?” Garnet said flatly, raising the magazine back up, dark eyes once more skimming its contents. “That would imply I gave a fuck.”

“I hate to break your little soap bubble, but it’s obvious you do give a fuck or you wouldn’t be acting like such a little prick.”

Garnet turned a page and gave the impression of raising an eyebrow, although his expression didn’t much change. “So now you’re implying I’m of inadequate stature? Or were you being more figurative?”

Dean could see that this was going nowhere. “You’re pissed about something involving Sam, right?”

Garnet turned another page. “What was your first clue?”

“I thought you were cool with him?”

Garnet gave him a scathing look. “If you aren’t going to say anything useful, stop wasting my time.”

Dean let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Alright.” He really had wanted to avoid this, but... “You’re right, we’re involved. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“Well, good for you. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Dammit, Garnet, what? What is it that you want me to say?”

Garnet closed his magazine with a sour expression and regarded Dean with blank eyes. “You’re not stupid. In fact, you’re quite observant. I think you already know, and you’re hoping to see with how much you can get away with by playing dumb.”

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. “Why are you such a pain in the ass?”

“Intelligence is the curse I must bear. It comes with a price.”

Dean leaned across the table and said in a lowered voice, “Okay, listen. I know you’re mad because you think I’ve been lying about things and keeping secrets. I wouldn’t, but there is something going on in this place. There’s something Sam’s caught wind of, and I see it too. We’re trying to lay low and not attract attention.” He wasn’t sure if feeding his Native American friend this sort of information, this other truth would tame the beast of his feeling slighted. “The more people that know Sam and I are involved, the more of a liability it is. You do realize that the number of times I’ve been taken to Solitary since he got here is unprecedented? Someone is dishing out special treatment. I just don’t know why.”

Garnet looked at him long and hard. “It’s something else that you don’t want to tell me, isn’t it?”

Dean just stared back at him, showing nothing.

Garnet sighed. “But it’s something you aren’t going to tell anyone of your own volition.” He regarded Dean with a bland expression. “Well, I suppose I’ll let you slide with what you’ve said already. We all have secrets we’d rather take to the grave.”

Dean stuck out his hand. “Back to normal?”

Garnet regarded his hand and tossed his head in mock aversion. “How do I know where on Campbell that’s been?”

“Nowhere you didn’t just imagine. Now let’s shake on this.”

Garnet clasped his hand. “Just curious, but am I being held to secrecy on anything I just heard?”

“I’m sure all of you know about Sam and discussed it at length. But I’m not openly admitting anything. Plausible deniability.”

“Coward,” Garnet challenged with a leer.

Dean clasped his hand harder, in a crushing grip. “You wanna say that to my face?” he drawled.

Garnet leaned close. “You keep holding my hand like this, and folks are gonna talk,” he taunted.

“Wouldn’t you just love to be one of my conquests?” he bantered back with a taunting smile. “It would do wonders for your reputation.”

“Please,” Garnet scoffed gracefully, leaning back and releasing his hand. “I don’t do crazies.”

At that moment, a small group of residents entered the library, within hearing range. They were talking amongst themselves, not paying the two of them much attention. Once they’d passed, Garnet said, “I saw him heading below, like he was going to the basement. He knows it’s locked, right? What would he go down there for?”

Dean shrugged and lightly smacked the side of Garnet’s cheek playfully. “Thanks a million.”

He took his time leaving the library, not wanting to look like he was in a rush, but the same question Garnet had asked was rattling around in his own head. What would Sam go down there for?

---
TBC

A/N: Chapter title is from the song “The Gathering” by Infected Mushroom. It was what I found myself listening to almost on repeat as Sam was in the basement area and further on.

(I also think of the title as a kind of joke - Sam had been set on his self-assigned mission for ‘gathering’ the flashlight Dean had left behind down there. :P)