Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Asylum ❯ Hush Mail ( Chapter 24 )

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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. 24: Hush Mail

Dean avoided Sam the next few days, deeming it necessary.

He began it in a respectable fashion. He left a note.

It contained some crap about laying low and playing along with their Dad’s plan to get them out and all, but the real reason was that something was brewing.

He knew Sam was aggravated with him over it, but it couldn’t be helped. Besides, he didn’t want Sam getting too close or he’d notice evidence of his fight with crazy Latino guy. He’d mis-anticipated a few things and had ended up taking a hit or two. His cheekbone had been grazed, catching the edge of a punch that he’d largely avoided, but the guy’s fist had connected enough that the flesh had swollen a bit. The kick to the ribs was the real kicker (no pun intended). It hadn’t even hurt that much at the time but his skin was coloring up like a freaking rainbow. There was no way Sam would miss that, and then he’d definitely be on the other end of an earful. ‘You shoulda seen the other guy,’ was not going to cut it.

Not that Sam would be wrong for chewing him out. He knew it was counterproductive to let his temper get the better of him, especially if he ever wanted out of here. But he didn’t need to hear other people telling him that he’d fucked up by giving in to impulse (and taking care of the problem directly).

Which brought him to his current situation. Dean heaved a sigh. “No, I have not been fighting,” he repeated at Garnet’s request of, ‘Tell me you haven’t been fighting.’

“I didn’t mean for you to lie,” the long-haired youth said with irritation. “I was hoping that you hadn’t been that stupid.”

Dean gave him a disapproving glare, lifting his head up from where he lay sprawled upon Garnet’s bed. “Your and my definitions of stupid seem to be at odds.”

“‘Stupid’,” Garnet deadpanned with a scowl, “doing things that attract the very kind of attention you are trying to avoid. Do you like Solitary? Or are you secretly fond of being the doctors’ pincushion?”

“I didn’t start any fights,” Dean maintained. “And you know, maybe there’s other stuff going on that you aren’t aware of while you make your all-knowing little assessments.”

“Like?” Garnet asked sharply.

Aw, shit. He wasn’t going to spell it out for him. He couldn’t get into details regarding him and Sam, even if he did mostly trust Garnet with anything. “Nothing.” He sat up and ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end.

“If you keep lying to me, I’m going to start hating you.”

Dean frowned. He knew his friend had issues with lying, and he didn’t exactly like doing it, but what was he supposed to say? “Alright, no need to get so serious.” He sighed again, noting that he’d been doing that a lot lately, and rubbed his hand briefly over his lower face. “It looks like it’s starting.”

“What is?”

“People are catching wind of me and Sam being involved,” he elaborated. “Though it’s weird that it seems to be causing such an issue. I mean, it’s to be expected to some extent, but still, it’s weird - like there’s something else to it. Something that isn’t going to just blow over.”

“Oh,” Garnet said simply, looking almost troubled for a second.

“That’s it? ‘Oh’?” Dean felt a frown form on his face. Garnet wasn’t exactly the poster-child for sharing and caring, but even for him it was a pretty lackluster response.

“Sorry, I just thought of something I need to do.” Garnet put on his jacket and gestured to the room. “Feel free to keep invading my space as you’ve been doing, hiding from Sam.”

Dean scoffed. “I’m not hiding.”

“No? Well, you should be. He does not seem to be that happy with you at the moment. He was properly pissed when I gave him that note of yours. Nice move, there, by the way. Very smooth.”

“Oh, shut up.” Dean flopped back onto the bed listlessly, wondering how he should even begin to start making up for that. Hiding things from Sam was a pain in the ass, he’d discovered.

“I’ll be back,” Garnet said.

Dean waved him off, wanting to be left alone to think anyway.

---

Garnet stalked down the halls, looking for one face in particular. He was pissed. The little bastard had to have said something after all, despite him. There was no other explanation for what Dean was saying; and if he thought a situation was gearing up to something volatile, most likely it was.

“Hey Garnet,” Garth greeted as he passed by him near the cafeteria.

“Busy,” Garnet said shortly.

He checked all over but was coming up empty handed. Cafeteria, halls, recreation area, library. Nothing. Almost on a whim, he checked the bathroom one more time.

“Hey, G,” Pokey said in a startled voice, after practically walking into him at the door.

“Lewis,” Garnet returned stonily.

“What’s up? You look kinda pissed.”

Garnet shoved him back inside the public restroom, making him stumble. “I thought I told you, expressly told you not to tell anyone?” he said harshly.

“Tell anyone?” the small man looked confused for a moment. “I didn’t say anything to anybody. Just calm down a minute.”

Garnet backed him sharply into the wall near the sinks, grabbing a fistful of the front of his shirt. “No? Then tell me why suddenly people seem to have an idea about what you overheard?”

Pokey turned a shade of pale. “I didn’t. I swear I didn’t.”

“You swear on your life?” Garnet eyes were sharp as a hawk’s.

“I-I didn’t, G. You know me.”

“You’re right, I do know you. So I’ll ask you one more time, did you just rat out our friend to the locals?”

“I swear I didn’t,” Pokey repeated with wide eyes, shaking his head. “But,” he ventured bravely, “I thought you said it wasn’t true?”

Garnet released him, cursing under his breath and smoothing a hand over the crown of his head in agitation. “Doesn’t matter if it is. The idea of it is enough. Shit.” He looked back over at his roommate. “Is there anyone else that could have overheard what you thought you heard that day?”

Pokey frowned. “I didn’t see anyone.”

“Fuck.”

“Did Dean get into a fight or something?”

“Yeah, and with that bonehead’s hair-trigger temper, things are likely to go from bad to worse, real quick.”

“It wasn’t me, Garnet.” Lewis said again, leaning against the wall with an anxious, petulant expression. “I know me and Dean don’t always see eye to eye, but I wouldn’t say anything, especially after you asked me not to.”

You came close a few times, he thought, but didn’t bother saying it. Pokey had loose lips a lot of the time, but it was mostly because he didn’t think much about things before he said them. He wasn’t vindictive, really. Just a little dumb. “But if you didn’t, who did?”

---
Sam pretended to skim the book titles on the shelf in the library, keeping a surreptitious eye upon his annoyingly elusive brother. He wanted to talk to him, but that had been impossible so far. For one thing, he always had people around him. The other thing was that he was stubborn.

Luckily for him, Dean had broken off from the general milling of people in the seating area, and was drifting towards one of his usual haunts, the mechanics section. He hadn’t seen Sam yet. He was just strolling aimlessly, looking vaguely bored as he looked at the shelves along the wall.

Once he was close enough, Sam’s arm shot out, pulling him behind a row of freestanding shelves he’d been waiting behind. “Dean--” Sam started in a hushed tone, registering the flicker of surprise upon his brother’s face. He paused, holding his hand up in a brief request for silence as he quickly peered out between the rows of books. He wanted to make sure no one had witnessed his disappearance before continuing. This was the first real chance he’d had in days, because of Dean’s self-imposed restriction. That stupid note chaffed him, but he’d mostly gone along with it until now. Besides, they were not too noticeable here. “Listen,” he quickly continued, before Dean could say something sarcastic to derail him. He’d tried one other time to talk to him and he’d been given the slip. He needed to get this out there. “The last few days... do you get the feeling that people are looking, I don’t know, different?”

“Well,” Dean considered aloud, keeping his voice pitched to a low drawl, “not all of them are known to be the best at grooming themselves, it’s true.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Sam said impatiently. He was in no mood for jokes. “It’s like they’re staring at us. You. Me. But especially at you.”

---

Dean rolled his eyes at his little brother. “I told you, Sammy, being around each other was going to attract attention.” So he said, but this was something else. He could feel it in his gut. Animosity. Malice. Eyes boring holes into the back of his head.

“Yeah, but even so, we’re still practically avoiding each other.”

“Like now?” Dean asked, quirking an eyebrow and smiling patronizingly at him.

Sam huffed, something which (Dean noted with amusement) he’d taken to doing with a roll of his eyes and a setting of his jaw which indicated he found whatever Dean had just said to be beside the point. He was also probably biting back a few choice words. Dean just happened to like instigating the response and seeing that haughty light instilled in his grey eyes when they turned his way once more.

---

“I have to talk to you some time,” Sam said with exasperation. “I’ll go crazy otherwise.” They couldn’t keep up this avoiding-each-other thing forever. There had to be some kind of middle ground on this. “It doesn’t mean I’m hitting on you,” he added, since Dean’s expression was more than heavily implying just that.

“No?” Dean said, slipping closer. Too close. He locked lazy green eyes with Sam’s. “Now that is a damn shame.”

It had been a while since they’d been in each other’s orbit like this. It was almost like he had to re-learn what it was like to have those catlike eyes slanting at him, as smug and full of promises as his solicitous voice. Sam’s throat worked a little and he wet his lips. “I certainly wouldn’t hit on you in a public place like this,” he defended himself hollowly. “That’s just asking for trouble.”  He missed being near Dean, and not having to worry about every little thing or who might be watching them. How long ago it seemed now that he’d merely been concerned over his own physical impulses, and being left alone with his ‘roommate’. Who knew that those times would now seem a luxury, especially with how he’d been going out of his head with confusion and tension.

“Hmn,” Dean said, letting a mischievous smile tilt his lips and watching the effect it had on Sam. “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t.” He leaned in to speak in Sam’s ear, warm breath teasing it as his lips brushed delicate flesh, “You‘re so prim and proper when you aren’t behind closed doors. It makes me want to see how far your stoicism lasts.” He was close enough that their bodies were touching and he could feel Sam’s body shudder slightly as he began nibbling at his ear and then his neck.  

“Stop it, Dean,” Sam uttered under his breath. His head was starting to spin, and he was losing hold of the thought that someone could always walk around that corner at any moment. If someone saw them, then what was the point of avoiding each other at all until now?

“Don’t want to.” Dean murmured then began to suck lightly at his throat.
He knew Sam was weak to that and could practically feel his knees buckle as he did it. “I want to hear you say my name,” he whispered, his own pulse starting to pick up within his veins, “in that choked up voice you have right before you come.”

Sam shuddered against him, but when Dean went to kiss him, he pushed him back with some difficulty. His face was flushed and angry. “Are you just fucking with me?” he whispered tersely. “Is this your idea of laying low?”

“Not really,” Dean admitted. “I missed you.” He was getting ahead of himself, he knew it. But teasing Sam like this and watching him react was becoming like second nature to him. He did it without thinking. And he should be thinking; he just wasn’t so good at it when just being near Sam like this was affording such a distraction.

This stupid place,he thought with irritation. These people. Even their father. Everything seemed set to keep them apart. And he still had no idea what would become of them if they successfully got out of the state’s mental health system. Was Sam being his was only a temporary situation? When they got out, if they got out, would Sam want to start dating again? Being ‘normal’? He didn’t think so now, but what if that changed with their circumstances?

A quick press of soft lips against his surprised him, pulling him back from his cloying thoughts. “What?” Dean said eloquently.

“You were getting that look.”

Dean’s brows drew together. “What look?”

“That intensely serious look that borders on ‘abandoned puppy’.”

“Oh, shut up,” he groused, prickling a little.

“You never come up with anything good when you’re like that.” Sam persisted, grey eyes searching his. Probing. Assessing. “More often than not, you are talking yourself into being extremely paranoid.”

“So you’re observant,” Dean tossed out defensively. “You want a freaking medal?” Sometimes he found that he had still not adjusted to having someone see through him so clearly. There was nowhere to hide - no way to save face. He didn’t need Sam to see this - his fear of the future.

“Dean, this isn’t temporary.”

“What isn’t?”

“Us,” Sam said definitively, seeing through him utterly, as if the words of his thoughts had been scrawled upon his very face. “Not for me it isn’t, or I wouldn’t have gotten involved.”

Dean regarded him with a critical eye, tracing the contours of his sincerity until he was back to thinking of nothing but wanting to kiss him again. “I believe you.” He believed in Sam’s conviction at this moment, anyway. The future, as he’d seen, and as his father had always taught him, was unpredictable at best.

Grey eyes dulled as they processed the whole of him. “No,” Sam said quietly, “you don’t.” His normally open face closed off, expression falling from its surface. All except for his gaze, full of hurt, anger, disappointment, which he averted swiftly as he brushed past Dean.  

“Sam,” Dean called after him in a hushed voice. “Sammy!” He was at a loss. “Come on, don’t be like this,” he muttered as he watched his brother’s long strides quickly take him out of the library. “Damn it,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. He knew Sam wanted him to trust him on this. He was trying to.

But if he completely believed in it, and then something changed... well, there wouldn’t be anything left of him to piece back together.

---

Sam stalked down the hall, anger clipping his strides. Stupid. Stupid. What did he have to do to get it through his brother’s thick skull that he wasn’t going anywhere?? What did he have to do to prove himself?

If Dean would just look at this from another angle, he’d realize that he wouldn’t just do something like this on a whim. He’d fought it as long as he could, but in the end, it was unavoidable.

This isn’t something that is just going to go away, you idiot. For better or worse, this is just the way things are.

And maybe they were always destined to end up here. Not here as in the hospital, but here, as in together.

Dean had spun him around and kept him off balance, even before he’d known who he really was. He’d reconfigured the way Sam thought about himself and made him reassess everything - his morals, his ideals, his feelings. Even from the beginning, he’d been too affected by those tilting green eyes and that sharp, mischievous smile.

It was bound to end up this way, no matter how he’d tried to deny it. He’d lost the race before he’d ever even heard the gun go off. Lost the war while he’d been busily trying to wrap his head around the battle he was having with himself. Now here he was, and that wasn’t going to change. He just needed to find a way to convey this in a way his thick-headed brother could understand.

“Winchester,” a voice called out to him while he stewed in his tumultuous thoughts. He looked up reflexively.

Mistake.

Of course it was a mistake, responding to ‘Winchester’, but the fact was driven home by the smug, scornful expressions on the three men who stood regarding him. Damn it, why had he answered to that name at all? He’d been answering to Campbell for over 10 years now. You’d think that would be enough to keep the name Winchester from being deeply ingrained enough for that old habit to come back.

“See?” one of the men said snidely, giving him the evil eye. “What did I tell you?”

Sam blanched. Had he seriously just blown their cover due to a little distraction? What the hell was wrong with him? Fucking stupid, he cursed himself. Was there any way to recover from this fumble?

If it were Dean, he’d probably just act pissed off and belligerent in response....

Well, it was worth a shot. Sam planted his feet in a hostile stance as he slowed to a stop. He tilted his head at them with an irritated gaze. “You assholes got a problem?”

“Not as big as the one you’ve got,” one of the other men said. “Screwing your own brother,” he spat.

Sam didn’t allow himself time to reel from that revelation or the surprising wash of guilt and self-deprecation that followed. How in the hell could they have even known? “Says who?” he asked, managing to sound royally pissed off. “I haven’t seen my brother in over 10 years. So how do you figure I’d be fucking him?”

The trio exchanged glances, looking a little uncertain now.

A few angry mutters and arguing words amongst them and then the man who seemed to be more or less the top dog of the group said, “You answered to Winchester, and sources say you and the other Winchester got something going on. I’d say that makes it pretty clear you’re a sick fuck.”

Sam felt his stomach drop but he forced out a laugh. “Dumbass,” he scoffed and started to walk away, shaking his head.

“What’d you say?” the leader said sharply.

Sam turned slightly, tossing a bland look over his shoulder. “I said you’re a dumbass. Anyone would look up if someone called out near them. But hey, if you think that makes me a Winchester or whatever, have at it.” He continued walking and muttered aloud for their benefit, “Sam Winchester? Sounds retarded. Dumb fucks.”

“You got something to say, Campbell?” the lead man called after him aggressively, reverting back to the name he was sure of. He sounded pissed off and a little uncertain.

“Nope,” Sam said with a shrug, not looking back. “I’ve got nothing to say to the likes of you. Your stupidity might rub off on me.” So far his plan was working better than expected. Unfortunately, if it went perfectly, he was about to be on the receiving end of something unpleasant any second now. Three on one was not the best of odds, in his opinion.

There was the sound of running footfalls and he wasn’t even able to turn before the first wave hit him, nearly knocking him off of his feet. He should be avoiding fighting, he knew, but he hadn’t seen any other way to deal with this. Above all, it was imperative that no one knew the truth.

As he stumbled, his arms were grabbed from behind. Aw, this is gonna hurt. He was spun around and a fist drove itself into his solar plexus, almost as if in slow motion, knocking the breath from him with sickening force. Again and again, he took hits to his unguarded stomach, bile rising in his throat, but he was unable to do anything about it. Another blow crashed against his face, whipping his hand to the side. Ugh. He sagged against his captors as his vision blurred.

“You sure got a smartass mouth on you, just like Dean,” the leader huffed, his breathing heavy with the exertion of using Sam as a punching bag.

Sam lifted his head and laughed a little. He totally couldn’t see straight. “What can I say?” He made his lips turn up in a cracked smile, his voice sounding a bit raw behind the flippant tone he’d adopted, despite his efforts. “Guess it rubs off on a guy.”

“He’s nuts,” someone muttered with disgust.

“Watch yourself, Campbell,” someone else said as he was tossed to the floor and kicked aside. They were abandoning their attack.

“Leaving already?” he called out after them, another laugh escaping him.

They ignored him and were soon turning a corner, out of earshot.

Sam let out a slow breath and winced as he lay his head back upon the cold floor where he’d been dropped like a sack of potatoes. He decided to rest there a moment, closing his eyes and assessing the need for a few minutes to gather up the willpower to even move. Never mind who might come upon him in the hall, wondering why the hell he might’ve decided to take a nap in such a heavily trafficked area. “Ow,” he announced ruefully, belatedly holding a hand to his abused stomach.

Well, at least he’d been successful.

It was a shame his head was starting to pound for his efforts.

---
TBC

A/N: Chapter title is from “Hush Mail” by Infected Mushroom.