Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Asylum ❯ Drop Out ( Chapter 25 )

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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. 25: Drop Out

Dean looked up as Sam came into the cafeteria later that night, dragging ass. “What the hell happened to you?” Dean asked, giving his brother a once over as he approached the table he was occupying alone. If he didn’t know better, he’d say his little brother had been in a fight.

Sam straightened his jean jacket, kind of shaking his head as his jaw locked. “Nothing,” he said as he sat down. “Where’s your posse?” he changed the subject, grabbing a roll off of Dean’s dinner plate. “This might be the first time I’ve seen you without them.”

Dean gave him an imperious frown, swiping his plate back protectively. “What do you mean, ‘Nothing’? Just look at you.”

Sam shrugged. “I said it’s nothing,” he repeated dismissively, taking a hefty bite out of the stolen piece of bread.

“So you say, but you’re full of shit,” Dean persisted with a scowl. “And give that back.” He reached across the table with the reflexes of a cat and snatched the roll back out of Sam’s hand.

“Oh, so you don’t share anymore?”

“Not with you.” Sam’s evasiveness was pissing him off. Not to mention his sarcasm.

“Nice. Real nice, Dean.”

Green eyes narrowed. “I’m not wasting my dinner on you if you’re just gonna feed me a line, expecting that it’ll go down easy. Go get your own food if you’re so damn hungry.” He took an angry bite out of the roll he’d wrested back, too irritated to even bother buttering it now, though it tasted pretty bland plain. “The line’s open for another 10 minutes. You better haul ass.”

It was last call in the cafeteria. Usually it was only a handful of people in here at this hour. He came in sometimes just for the peace and quiet. Getting a second dinner was just an added bonus he gave in to now and then.

“Fine,” Sam said, getting to his feet and ghosting off.

Dean stubbornly kept at his food, but after a minute or two, he glanced over his shoulder to verify Sam’s whereabouts. It would be just like him to act like he was going to do one thing, then turn about and do another. Like vacating the cafeteria entirely when Dean was not nearly done grilling him.

He was there, in line, just as he was supposed to be.

Dean turned back to his food, letting out an exasperated sigh as he ate. His shoulders were stiff with tension as he practically tracked Sam’s movements with the eyes in the back of his head, waiting for him to finish.

The instant he’d laid eyes on Sam just now, the first time since they were in the library earlier, he’d been certain beyond doubt that he’d been in a fight. Which was utterly mental since Sam pretty much pitched a fit if he was fighting. What was with the double standard? They’d both kind of agreed that they should avoid attracting attention to themselves, yet here they were getting pulled into all manner of bullshit.

At least I only did it because I had no choice, he thought.

Sam seemed to think he was a total live wire, that he lived by knee-jerk reactions to his surroundings, but that wasn’t entirely true.

(No choice? Really?)

Some part of him called ‘bullshit’, but he ignored it.

What, was I supposed to let some jackhole go around spreading rumors and shit about us being related and all? He shook his head, nearly rolling his eyes. Like to see how that would fucking blow everything out of the water.

The clatter of a tray hitting the table made him look up. Sam didn’t look at him, just settled down on the bench with nonchalance and picked up a knife and fork.

“Really, Sam?” Dean said, forgetting his meal momentarily.

Sam glanced at him. “What?”

He indicated his brother’s plate. “Salad? Really?”

Sam shrugged and stabbed his fork through a chunk of lettuce, cutting it into a manageable size. He almost looked prim as he lifted the fork to his mouth and ate it, then continued dissecting more of his ‘meal’ with medical precision.

“I thought you said you were hungry?” Dean just couldn’t leave it alone.

“I didn’t say anything about that, you did.” The only other thing on his tray was a steaming cup of coffee.

“You’re doing this just to spite me, aren’t you?” Dean accused him. It bothered him to think that Sam wouldn’t eat because of him, just because he was a little pissed off. It went against his sense of duty to allow it.

“Dean,” Sam said with exasperation. “I’m not. Just drop it.” He stabbed another forkful of lettuce. “It’s mostly all they had left. Besides, I like salad. It’s good for you. You should try it sometime.”

“I’m not a rabbit.”

“Me neither.”

Dean frowned. “Here,” he said, pushing his plate of half-eaten Manicotti across the table. He felt guilty eating something substantial while his brother threw ineffectual green stuff into his gnawing stomach. “Get a little Italian in you.”

Sam paused, speared vegetables held aloft. “Are you trying to share with me now?” His eyebrow raised in a blandly questioning fashion that appeared like he was being challenging. “I thought I wasn’t worth the effort?”

“Shut up,” Dean said, pushing his plate further away and leaning back. He feigned indifference. “Watching you eat that stuff made me lose my appetite. ‘Sides, I ate earlier.”

“I’m fine.”

“Just eat it, Sammy.” Agitation prickled him as Sam refused his gesture and stared him down. He was just like a little kid, refusing to eat his vegetables, only this was some twisted backwards version of it.

Eventually, Sam sighed and dropped his gaze. “Fine, fine,” he muttered pushing the salad aside and picking up Dean’s knife and fork. He cut into one of the remaining Manicotti and took a big bite. “Happy?” he said around the mouthful.

“Nope,” Dean replied, crossing his arms. “You’re gonna have to finish that. I’ll be pissed if you waste it.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Lost your appetite, my ass.” He dutifully kept at the cheese-filled pasta dish, however. Dean wasn’t sure if it was to humor him or because his brother really was hungry. He hadn’t seen him at dinner, so maybe he’d skipped. That he’d gotten the coffee seemed to support that. It  He appeared to have a bad habit of substituting the beverage for actual meals.

The least I can do is make sure you take care of yourself, idiot, he thought at Sam.

While his brother was often like an open book, he also had times where he shut off and seemed to cram everything down, down deep where he could pretend it didn’t exist. It made him act strange and disconnected, like the building pressure of it was changing him, making him sharper around the edges. It couldn’t be good for him.

Guess that’s a family trait.

“Listen, Sammy,” Dean said, leaning his elbows upon the table and shooting his brother an earnest look. “You can deny it all you want, but I can see what’s in front of me. I know what a guy looks like when he’s been in a fight, and you’re that guy.” He tried to sound as un-accusatory as possible. As mellow and undemanding as possible so that his brother didn’t just clam up on him. It was an effort. “I just want to know what happened.”

Sam stopped eating and wiped his mouth on a napkin. “Why, so you can tell me what a hypocrite I am?”

“That wasn’t the plan, though I am dying to say that,” he admitted, feeling the corner of his mouth pull up in the beginnings of an inappropriate grin.  

Sam glared at him.

Oops. He hadn’t really meant for that to slip out. “Hey, you said it, not me,” he defended with a half laugh.

That jaw locked in place and he had to grab Sam’s sleeve to keep him from getting up and ditching. He held fast to the jacket at the corner of his arm. “Oh, come on, sit down.” He could feel the coiled tension just beneath his hand. “I was joking. I wasn’t really going to say anything.” Even though I wanted to. “I just want you to level with me, okay?”

Sam shook his hand off. “Like you leveled with me when you got into that last fight? No, wait, all you did was leave me a stupid, bullshit note and avoid me for days. You’re right, Dean, I’m the only hypocrite here.”

Dean’s mouth twisted and a sour expression crossed his face. “Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have done that. But I thought you were just going to bitch at me.”

“See? You don’t give me any credit,” Sam said, his mouth pulling down into a heavy frown. “What is the point of anything if you can’t even trust me enough to let me react to something on my own? You just tell yourself what you think will happen and act like it’s gospel.”

“I don’t,” Dean protested. Grudgingly though, he admitted that it sort of sounded like the truth.

“Are you so afraid of being told what to do?” Sam accused him. “And of other people’s opinions?”

“Well, you don’t always see the big picture,” he snapped back. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Stop hiding shit from me all the damn time. Maybe then I could see this,” he sketched his hands in the air condescendingly, “‘Big Picture’ of yours.”

Goddamnit, Dean thought in aggravation. He knew he had to cough up some sort of conciliatory gesture here, but... he folded his hands tightly where they sat on the table, looking down at nothing in particular. “It’s hard...” he forced out, not really wanting to talk about this. “I don’t feel like I should.” A spinal tap would probably feel more pleasant than this right now.

“Why not?”

“You’re-” Dean regarded him, some unhappiness tugging at the corners of his mouth. He glanced around covertly and said, “In some ways, you’re still my kid brother. I’m not supposed to dump things on you, I’m supposed to handle them myself.”

“Says who?” Sam argued. “That’s stupid.”

Dean leaned back again, raking a hand through his hair. “That’s just how it is, Sam. It’s how I was raised.”

“So, get over it,” Sam demanded, still keeping his voice low enough not to carry. “You said it yourself - you can’t see me in the same way anymore, I’m not just your little brother anymore, so why can’t that change as well?”

“Because it’s instinct,” he insisted. “I don’t even need to think about it most of the time. I can’t just shut it off, and I don’t really think that I should.”

Sam let out a long sigh and brushed his hair out of his eyes, looking like he was trying to compose himself. “You frustrate me to no end.”

Dean allowed a slight smile to tug at the corner of his lips. “That almost sounds like you’re bracing yourself to forgive me or something.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Sam scoffed. “Don’t bet on it though.”

Ah, he was relenting. What a relief. “You gonna tell me why you got into a fight now?”

Sam sighed again, his gaze darkening. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, as if fending off a headache. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I didn’t see a way around it.” Stress and anger marked the lines of his brother’s face, making his skin look stretched tight upon his angular features.

“Well, that’s not like you.” The consummate peacemaker starting a fight? He’d only seen Sam do that once, here in the cafeteria. He typically avoided making a scene.

“I screwed up.”

“How so?”

“I was distracted...” Sam trailed and then shook his head, deciding not to follow that train of thought to its completion. “And, stupidly, I answered to Winchester.” He looked self-deprecating as he said this, so Dean didn’t comment. “Now, I kind of understand why you get into some of these fights - in certain situations it seems like the only solution.”

“What happened, exactly?”

Sam briefly recounted the scene to him, and while he might have been amused in another situation that Sam had thought to emulate him, the gravity of the whole thing was a sinking hole in the pit of his stomach. If both of them had already had run-ins like this, it looked like word was spreading fast. He thought Sam had handled himself pretty well, but he doubted the cover would last for long.

Damn it all. I thought we’d have more time.

“So, what do you think?” Sam asked, giving him that peering look that said as clearly as words that he was pretty sure he already knew the answer, and didn’t like it, but expected Dean to level with him anyway.

“Geez,” Dean breathed, running a hand over his lower face in a haggard manner. He didn’t want to level with Sam. He didn’t want to validate that soldier-like look in those eyes. He didn’t want Sam to have to face hard truths or see the ugly side of life. It didn’t suit him. “It doesn’t look good,” he said lightly. “Probably have to kill the lot of them to be left alone.”

“Well, that isn’t an option, so what is Plan B?”

“Lay low.”

“We already tried that. And if I’m not mistaken, the reason you got into that fight a few days ago was the same reason I did. It’s like we’re being targeted.”

“I’m still a fan of Plan A.”

He was sort of joking, but sort of not. He didn’t like being pushed into a corner. It made him.... irritable. And if things kept going like they had been, and if they didn’t leave Sam alone, he was sure that Plan A was going to become an unavoidable outcome.

“Dean, you have to try and avoid thinking like that. You can’t keep repeating things like what you did to that guy... what was his name?” he prompted. “The one you mangled?”

“Gordon.”

Sam was getting that weird look in his eyes, like he’d forgotten the details of that incident until he’d brought it up himself just now.

“Right,” Sam said in a subdued voice. He looked a little pale. “You can’t do that again. Ever.”

“I can’t promise you that.”

Grey eyes searched his face, tension bracketing them in thin lines. “You realize that you went too far, don’t you?”

Dean shrugged, knowing that a real answer would be against what Sam wanted to hear. “I tried to avoid a confrontation with him for a long time.” He really had, knowing instinctively how hard the clash between them would be.

Sam rubbed a hand over his mouth, closing his eyes briefly. He sensed the evasion and was trying to recoup. “Alright. At least you tried.” It was a paltry offering but seemed to be the best that he could do.

Personally, Dean didn’t feel responsible for the outcome when Gordon had been so glibly pushing his buttons. He’d even tried to warn the asshole off before losing his temper completely; a rather decent thing to do, if he said so himself. “Look, Sammy. I’ll do my best, okay?” He tried to sound placating. “If people are finding out about this so fast, then trying to silence them won’t work anyway. I’ll just stay out of dodge and avoid confrontation.”

“Thanks,” Sam said quietly, looking utterly stressed out. “How are they finding out, anyhow? We’d been so careful.”

“I don’t know.” He really didn’t. It was strange, to be honest. The only thing he could think was that Gordon had talked to one of his buddies before their run-in with each other. Maybe they had gotten the notion from him, then had seen something in the brief moments that he and Sam had been around each other that made them wonder. But why now and not earlier? It was like crisis was culminating upon crisis and there was no room for a breather.

They were supposed to be focusing on finding their dad, not fucking around with people’s opinions on their relationship. And yet, people were forcing the issue by being aggressive, making them waste time on it.

The more he wanted to check out the remote areas of the building for John, just in case, the more shit seemed to be headed his way. It was so uncanny it almost seemed connected. “I want to check the basement,” he said, changing the subject. “And the underground. We’ve looked almost everywhere else.”

“I know, but I think that might be a little difficult at the moment.” Sam looked about as frustrated as he felt. “Dad’s been missing too long already. We have to find him fast, but it seems like lately, everyone is marking our every move.”

“Doesn’t that seem like a coincidence to you?”

The lines of Sam’s face sharpened. “Yeah. A coincidence. Conveniently.”

“You think there is any credit to what Dad was saying about some whackjob doctor he knew? That he’s here now?”

“I don’t know,” Sam trailed dubiously. “It does seem kind of far-fetched.”

“Yet it might explain a few things.”

Sam gave him a patented ‘you’re crazy’ look.

“What? I’m just playing devil’s advocate here,” Dean said defensively. “Just a little session of ‘what if?’.”

Sam was shaking his head. “What would the purpose be?”

“Hey, you’re the one that was convinced dad was abducted, you tell me.”

His brother heaved a sigh and leaned his elbows on the table. “Ok... Well... Maybe the crackpot doctor didn’t feel like he’d finished with him yet?”

“So we have a stalker doctor?” Dean shrugged, finding it a little funny. “Seriously?”

Sam shot him a dirty look. “I told you I don’t know.”

“Alright, alright.” But now that he thought of it, their dad was convinced the doctor was here prior to coming. Knowing John, he might avoid contact with anyone he thought was compromised. For instance (and this was a stretch for him to even consider) what if their dad thought that the doctor had been in contact with him? Wouldn’t his father be just the type to avoid him in case this had happened? It might explain why he’d come to see Sam and yet did not spare a moment for him. John was a hunter through and through. He would not do anything to give away his position or give his enemy the upper hand.

“Hey, Sammy? What if Dad thought that the doctor he mentioned had gotten ahold of me and scrambled my brains?”

Sam frowned and considered. “Well... In that case, it would sort of make sense why he didn’t come to see you yet came to see me. But does that mean this doctor followed you from facility to facility? I mean, you’ve been in the system for years.”

“Mn.” Yeah, it did seem a little far-fetched. But part of him wanted to believe that something like that was the reason John never bothered himself to drop by.

“Dean, I’m sure he had his reasons,” Sam reassured, his voice only subtly sympathetic so as not to seem coddling.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Dean agreed, agitation itching beneath his skin. “He always did.” Was it foolish of him to hold on to the hope that his father had some higher purpose, some valid reason for leaving him to rot? He wanted to believe that it was part of the hunt, that his father knew some grand scheme that he wasn’t aware of; though, deep down, the resentment that flowered within him spoke to the contrary. And Sam’s empathic reassurance was just making him more certain that the worst case was true. “Hey, what do you say to getting out of here?”

“Sure,” Sam said promptly, still eyeing him like he was going to collapse in self pity or something.

“Come on,” he said, getting up. He felt twitchy now, agitated. Not only that, but even with the few people that were in the cafeteria, it was like all of their eyes were upon him and it was making him want to lash out. Some other part of him was just wanting to be alone with Sam, somewhere where they didn’t have to worry about how they appeared to others. Somewhere where he could reaffirm the one connection he felt he had. Just to be able to rest his head against Sam’s shoulder and feel like he still belonged somewhere, even if John had abandoned him like he’d always feared.

He dumped his tray and stalked out of the cafeteria, wanting to put it all behind him. He wanted to rely on Sam, yet in some ways he was afraid - afraid that if he put any weight upon that bond, that it, too, would dissolve in a wisp of smoke.


“Dean, I said wait up!”

Sam jogged up to him as he slowed his pace. “Geez, didn’t you hear me?”

“No.” Dean furrowed his brow. “Only just now.”

Sam shook his head, looking slightly annoyed. “I called out to you a few times. I thought you were ignoring me or something.”

“Sorry,” Dean said flatly, “didn’t mean to.” He was actually surprised at how far he’d walked without noticing. They were in the hallway near the men’s bathroom. The agitation had not dissipated. “I’m going to hit the can,” he said, looking for any excuse to get a moment away. It wasn’t fair to Sam to want to vent this upon him.

He made his way into the dreary, tiled chamber and rested his hands upon one of the sinks, ducking his head a moment to still the chaos racketing his cranium. At times like this, he wanted something.... something like destruction, either his own or someone else’s. It came up from time to time, and still he was at a loss for how to deal with it.

It was stupid to put such importance on family, he thought self-deprecatingly. His mom had abandoned him early on, and maybe his dad had, too. Was he that bad of a son? Was he that easy to leave?

Was it only a matter of time before Sam dropped him, too?

God, it made him want to grab onto whatever he had of Sam, to rip into him and instill himself upon his brother until he was sure that he would never be forgotten or tossed aside. He wanted to bury these feelings of worthlessness by losing himself in the shared heat of forbidden lips.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

He’d always thought of himself as normal... but what if that was an illusion? What if his mother was normal, and Sam as well, and it was his father and even himself that were off the deep end without even knowing it? Spurned without really understanding why?

‘You’re just like him.’

He’d never forget his mother saying that to him, as if it explained every little thing and justified her leaving.

He gripped the sides of the porcelain sink with white-knuckled hands. Weren’t mothers supposed to love their children beyond all else? Weren’t they supposed to love and protect them with near animal ferocity? So why did his mother find it so easy to abandon him like some blighted thing? Why had those maternal instincts only been there for wide-eyed little Sammy? What had been so abhorrent about his younger self?

And what a way for his father to repay his loyalty - by dropping him like a hot coal just a few years later.

If anything made him crazy, made him feel utterly mental and out of control, it was this. It welled up from some dark pit within him, sloshing within his chest and he just wanted to lash out and become something worthy of leaving. He didn’t want to be left while trying his best.

A hand on the back of his neck made him jump like a jackrabbit. His face was pale and ghostly beneath his dark hair in the mirror. Sam’s face hovered in the gloom behind him, over his shoulder. He didn’t say anything but his reserved, tight-lipped face said it all.

“I’m fine.” Dean shrugged his hand off and turned on the faucet, splashing water over his face. Damn it, he hadn’t thought Sam would follow him in here.

“You don’t look fine,” Sam said, watching him with careful eyes.

Dean plastered a smile to his face and went for a bad joke. “Every inch of me is fine,” he drawled, “not to mention sculpted like a Greek god.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but the worried look didn’t really fade from them. His ploy hadn’t worked. “Dean,” he began, but Dean cut him off.

“I’m fine,” he said sharply, lifting his shirt up to dry his face. He felt like he was losing his shit; and that urge to press his brother up against the wall and lose himself in his scent and violate his soft mouth was raging in him, making things worse. “Stop badgering me.”

The urge was misguided. It was more than the attraction he felt, it was steeped in the jealousy of having his mother pick Sam over him, and his dad as well. It was how everyone had been circling around his pristine, perfect little brother, making him feel like a leper. He wanted to force himself upon that image, tear it down, bring Sam down to his level, and to feel a little less unwanted. But it wasn’t fair to his brother, the only person that seemed to feel he had any worth. It wasn’t fair to want to spend these pent up feelings upon him. He knew that, and yet he was having a hard time fighting himself not to act upon it. It was pissing him off and Sam wasn’t giving him space.

“I’m not badgering you,” Sam shot back, bangs falling into his beautiful, smoldering eyes. “I’m just worried about you because you aren’t acting like yourself.”

“Yeah, well, you’re bothering me,” he said harshly.

“Yeah? Well excuse me for giving a fuck.” Sam was looking properly pissed off now.

Dean shrugged, knowing the lack of response would infuriate his brother more than anything else.

There, as if on cue, Sam’s jaw locked in place and his eyes practically burned with pent up anger.

Just leave me be, Sammy, he pleaded silently. He needed some space so he could sort himself out. Right now he felt like a ticking time bomb or a volcano ready to explode. He was not in control. Pissing Sam off on purpose, he almost felt like he was taking a backseat to someone else’s fight.

Sam shoved him back abruptly, striking him in the shoulder. “Is there some reason you’re acting like a total dick all of a sudden?”

“Maybe I’m getting sick of having you follow me around all the damn time, ever think of that?”

Oh, that struck a nerve.

He couldn’t be properly surprised when Sam’s curled fist landed upon his jaw. Boy, he really didn’t hold back on that one, did he? After the initial flare of pain, his jaw went numb and sort of throbbed. He was, however surprised when Sam followed that with a matching blow to the other side which made his head spin. “Ow, fuck,” he muttered as he staggered back, a hand coming up to his face. His other hand groped behind him and found the edge of a sink to brace himself against.

“You’re such an asshole,” Sam spat, pushing him up against the wall between the sinks roughly, then pressing an angry mouth upon his.

Mentally, Dean reeled, even as his body was already taking over for conscious thought, mouth sliding open to welcome Sam’s. His feelings were throttling him as he came back to himself and all he knew how to do was kiss back like it was his last moment among the living and he twined his arms around the aggressive lines of his brother’s lean body.

This was okay, wasn’t it?

It wasn’t his own lack of control that led to this - to the harsh clashing of lips and teeth, and the will to devour. It was Sam who had initiated this, so it was okay to give up and give in to it. That’s what he told himself, anyway. He pulled Sam to him, funneling his frustration, his fear, his anger, and all the tumultuous feelings into him. It was almost a catharsis. Slowly, the feeling of desire was rising above it all, like it was ripping everything else out of him and he could only focus on where their bodies touched, and on the hips that pressed against his.

His hand slid beneath Sam’s shirt, feeling hot skin, solid flesh. Proof that he wasn’t alone. His other hand coiled in Sam’s hair, almost hard enough to hurt, as he fed from his mouth. Waves of raw emotion and sensation flooded him. He’d never been so harsh and aggressive with his brother before. He feared it even, but he couldn’t stop himself. He was a raw nerve. A live wire. And Sam wasn’t doing anything to stop him. In fact, he was making it worse, breaking from the kiss to run a hot mouth against his throat.

Dean’s eyes slid shut as he leaned back against the cool tiled wall between the sinks. Sam’s hand brushed across the front of his pants, enflaming desire, tracing the need that coalesced there and making him toss his head back as it sharpened in his gut. “Sam,” he murmured unconsciously, breath catching in his throat as fingers grew more bold; they squeezed him, making him shudder.

“Stop pushing me away,” Sam said, hunting his lips. “I hate it when you do that.”

“I--” Dean began, some excuse or other ready to fall from his mouth.

“Shh,” Sam interrupted. “I don’t want to hear it.” His voice was sharp with annoyance but there was an undertone of something warmer, deeper and sensual.

Dean felt the timbre of it lance through him and he couldn’t play at being patient any longer, not with Sam so close he could feel his breath upon his mouth. Compulsion and desire were flooding him unbearably, resting upon his tongue and pulsing within his thoughts until they nearly had life enough to control him. He grabbed hold of the front of Sam’s shirt, slinging him in a tight circle so that their positions were reversed and pushing his brother against the wall. He inhaled his clean, slightly musky scent as he ground their hips together and pinned Sam’s hands back against the ugly blue tile.  

He was rewarded with the startled hitch of breath against his hovering lips, and a knee-buckling groan. Sensation flared in his belly, and he rocked against the solid yet yielding body before him, collecting every stifled noise that Sam tried to hide as he bit his lip.

Let me hear you, he thought, enthralled. Everything. His eyes drifted closed as his lips brushed Sam’s lingeringly, though his speeding pulse was beating insistently in his ears, urging haste and action. He explored the rough, silken quality of them, drawing out his desire to kiss them before he gave in to temptation and tasted. He could lose himself forever in the welcoming heat of his mouth and the passionate, debilitating caresses of his tongue.

Wanting to hear more, he ceded Sam’s mouth as he rocked his hips against his brother’s more emphatically, trapping their passion more tightly between their taught abdomens. He drifted in to draw distractions upon sexily parted lips, preventing Sam from biting them and barring sound.

It was all he wanted and needed in this moment - Sam’s flushed face, eyes rolled back and breath catching in his throat in a staggered cadence. It flooded his being, rocking the inner part of him like an earthquake. How did I ever live without you?

“Dean,” Sam gasped, losing to his body at last. His eyes screwed shut as his back bowed. His lips were so flushed they almost looked red in the dingy lighting. Dean caught his full lower lip in his mouth and felt it tremble between his lips as Sam shuddered, reaction flooding through him in turn. It was bittersweet, the sharp stab in his loins and the final, crumbling bastion between himself and the burning edge of orgasm. If only this could last forever, this fluid moment of heightened awareness, of oneness. This feeling that nothing else existed but the two of them in their own inner world.

How long will it last?

How long can it last - a fleeting euphoria in the embrace of this fucked up world?

---

They slept that night in the basement, Dean announcing that he was sick of all the damn orderlies telling him what he could and couldn’t do, and Sam not feeling much like arguing anyway. It wasn’t very comfortable, or warm for that matter, but neither of them seemed to care much about that as long as they could stay together. They made a bed out of the cement floor and pillows out of some heavy burlap sacks that were either completely full and hard or lumpy, which they piled together, then flopped down with each other in an exhausted heap.

“A bed would sure be nice,” Sam said as he drifted off, tangled up with Dean. It may have been cold down here, but Dean’s arms were warm around him and his presence was reassuring and calming in ways he couldn’t begin to describe. He’d missed being able to just lay like this, not having to worry about the orderlies checking in on who was out of bed or in someone’s else’s bed with them. He was mostly just complaining because Dean expected him to.

“What are you talking about?” Dean said softly as he nodded off. “Haven’t you ever heard of roughing it? Man. The things you missed out on, living with mom. Bet she never even took you camping.”

“Nope. Did dad take you?”

“Naw, he didn’t have time. I went on my own.” A giant yawn interrupted his speech. “Woulda been more fun with you along,” he murmured sleepily.

“So I’ll go with you next time,” Sam yawned, but Dean’s breathing had already become deep and even with sleep. Sam shrugged and settled his head more comfortably on his brother’s shoulder before following him into unconsciousness.

---
TBC

A/N: Chapter title from Infected Mushroom. The informational blurb at the end of the author’s note is not why I picked the song, but I thought it was interesting.

“Drop Out”
Spoken Intro:
“But they all do ‘sort of’ the same thing, and that is rearrange what you thought was real. And... um... they remind you? of the beauty of pretty simple things. You forget, because you're so busy going from A to Z, that there's... uhh … 24 letters in between...” (--Timothy Leary, “Turn on... tune in...drop out”*.)

(echoed)
Letters in-between
Letters in-between
Letters in-between
Letters in-between
Letters in-between

You tend to... (tend to)
Tune in... (tune in)
And you drop ooout (drop out)
[x6]

You tend to... Tune in... And you drop OooOOuut

music

You tend to... Tune in... And you drop ooOut...
[x2]

music

You tend to... Tune in... And you drop ooout...
[x2]

Music, choir-like chanting

Distorted
You tend to... Tune in... And you drop ooout...
[x2]



*"Turn on, tune in, drop out" is a counterculture phrase coined by Timothy Leary in the 1960s. The phrase came to him in the shower one day after Marshall McLuhan suggested to Leary that he come up with "something snappy" to promote the benefits of LSD. It is an excerpt from a prepared speech he delivered at the opening of a press conference in New York City on September 19, 1966. This phrase urged people to initiate cultural changes through the use of psychedelics and by detaching themselves from the existing conventions and hierarchies in society. The phrase was derided by more conservative critics.

The phrase is derived from this part of Leary's speech: "Like every great religion of the past we seek to find the divinity within and to express this revelation in a life of glorification and the worship of God. These ancient goals we define in the metaphor of the present — turn on, tune in, drop out."

Leary later explained in his 1983 autobiography Flashbacks:
"'Turn on' meant go within to activate your neural and genetic equipment. Become sensitive to the many and various levels of consciousness and the specific triggers that engage them. Drugs were one way to accomplish this end. 'Tune in' meant interact harmoniously with the world around you - externalize, materialize, express your new internal perspectives. Drop out suggested an elective, selective, graceful process of detachment from involuntary or unconscious commitments. 'Drop Out' meant self-reliance, a discovery of one's singularity, a commitment to mobility, choice, and change. Unhappily my explanations of this sequence of personal development were often misinterpreted to mean 'Get stoned and abandon all constructive activity.'"

The above is referenced from Bionity(dot)com.