Saving The Winchesters

Chapter 3

He didn't know what he expected to get in the way of an answer, but that one certainly wasn't it.

"An angel of the Lord." Dean restated skeptically. "Right. I should have known. And I go around ganking demons and monsters, right?"

The man, Castiel, squinted up at him. "I don't understand that reference. But if you would not mind, your weight is hurting my vessel."

Dean just stared at him.

Castiel shifted his gaze around, unfamiliar with this type of greeting.

Dean reluctantly got to his feet, not bothering to help the other man up. He had to again remind himself that he was in fact, in the loony bin, and these people weren't here for no reason. This guy might have actually thought he was "healing" Sam with his angelic mojo or whatever.

When Castiel was again on his feet, he brushed off his coat before examining his hands. "How odd," he muttered to himself, "This body is so... compact."

He looked up from his examination of himself with mild confusion and wonder. "Well, as it seems, I do not apparently contain the aforementioned healing power I thought I had possessed. I believe I am what is to be, drained?" And on that note, he crumpled to the floor.

Dean just stared.

"Well. Are you going to help him or do I have to do all of the work?" Sam piped up from the bundle of sheets. "We should probably find his room before Ruby comes with meds. Patients are prohibited from leaving their wing without permission, and I'm pretty sure without an ID and Mr. Comatose over there, this'll be a lot of trouble for all of us."

Dean blinked and looked at his brother. This was the most coherent he'd seen him in months. It was almost like having the old Sammy back again, the one that always thought things through rationally while Dean went with gut and intuition.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Absolutely." Dean stooped over Castiel, his blue eyes now only occasionally fluttering, and slung his arm around his shoulder while Sam did the same with the guy's other arm. Luckily, since the place was practically a hospital on crack, there were abandoned wheelchairs in every corner. The two boys crept out of the room sneakily and deposited the "angel" in the nearest one. All it took from there was to have Dean push him around, looking purposeful, while Sam trailed behind them.

Eventually, they found the room they had been looking for. While Sam's was a solitary room, it seemed that Castiel shared his with a roommate. Probably some kind of social disorder the doctors were trying to discourage or something.

The room of 221 was fairly large, with one side of the room being a complete and utter mess, and the other pristine. There was a tuft of black curly hair sprouting from the blankets of the messy side, so the Winchesters lay the prone man on the clean side.

They were nearly to the door when a deep rumbling voice spoke from under the pile of blankets and other articles of rubbish that had been strewn around. A pair of blue green eyes peered at them curiously.

"Sam and Dean Winchester. Brothers. Dean being the eldest, and Sam being around four years his junior. Dean, who lives alone, but often seeks the company of women. Perhaps to temporarily forget his sorrows when the alcohol isn't strong enough. Though we both know that that distraction will never work out, don't we Dean?  Hard working yet hardly ever rewarded. Troubled. Possible mummy and daddy issues. Probable child abuse and or psychological codependency issues. Definite trust issues. Conclusion: Why aren't you in here with the rest of us?"

The eyes turned on Sam, squinting slightly.

"And Sam Winchester. Used to live with a woman. Could be a sister, but I doubt that. No, I believe it was a girlfriend. Something happened to said girlfriend, and that's one of the reasons you hardly ever leave your room. And oh dear, you do detest the days when your big brother comes to visit. Feels like he pities you like the zoo animal you believe yourself to be? Caged. Trapped. You need more drugs to numb the pain on those days, yes? Of course yes, you're already trembling for your next fix. Conclusion: Oh yes, you need us more than he does." He says, gesturing to Dean.

Both of the boys stare at the curly haired boy, slack-jawed.

The man simply rolled his eyes. "Oh please. I'm still half asleep and I picked you two apart in less than a minute. Don't be so obvious."

He gave them one last look before rolling over, his back to them.  "High functioning sociopath. It was this place or jail for me, and I don't do stripes." And with that, the room was once again filled with silence.

The two boys frantically turned on their heels and rushed out of the room, leaving the trench coat and bed headed boys to be left in peace.

"What the hell." Sam asked as they walked briskly back to his room, his eyes trained to the floor. "No, really. What the hell? How did he know all that stuff? Patient records are kept under lock and key, and that guy looks like he attracts trouble in his sleep. There's no way he could get past every employee in the place to get his hands on them, much less mine in particular." He was silent for a moment as he replayed the curly-haired boy's words again, before meeting his brother's green eyes.

"You should have told me." Dean muttered gruffly, shifting his gaze away. "I wouldn't come anymore. Not if you didn't want to see me. I get it." Dean hated this. He hated emotions, he hated having to feel them. Especially this one, which was particularly bitter. Was is resentment? Betrayal? And damn, having it being dished out by his little brother was just under getting nailed in the happysacks. But there was pain medicine for that which was physical. There was no medication for raw emotions.

"I knew you needed me, Dean." Sam whispered quietly, "I always knew that. When mom was at her lowest, man it was like the world had ended. It was like she was dead. Dad drinking and disappearing for days or weeks at a time just made it worse, and then it was just the two of us. You practically raised me, Dean. Protected me and gave me band-aids when I scraped my knees, or tutored me in the lessons of ass-kicking and talking to girls." He said this last part with a sad smile that was quickly changed to a hard grimace.

"But the thing is, I'm not nine years old anymore. I'm twenty-seven now. And yeah, something is screwed up with my head. I get it. But I can't fix it, and you can't fix it, okay? You can never fix this, so I wish you would stop trying." By now, Sam's voice had steadily increased in volume and intensity until he was practically shouting the words. "Because you know what big brother? Seeing these people pity me is hard enough, and I don't even know them! But you? You're Mr. Indestructible, the perfect little solider.  And if you pity me, I'm going to pity myself. So maybe if you stop treating me like a wounded animal, maybe I can stop acting like one."

With this last sentence, Sam turned on his heel and opened the door to his room. With one last look over his shoulder at his  big brother, he slammed the door shut behind him.

Dean doubled over, gasping. He felt each punctuated beat of his heart, every labored breath he sucked through his mouth. 'Oh God,' he thought, 'I'm having a heart attack. Oh God I'm going to die. Right here in damned Hellsville, Tennessee.'

He waited patiently to finally keel over, but it never happened.

After around 10 or so minutes, he stood straight up again, still feeling queasy and sick to his stomach; though his heart rate had decreased considerably. He contemplated hunting down a nurse or at the very least asking the information desk ladies for help, but he decided against it. Since when did Dean Winchester need anyone's help?

He couldn't stand being in the wretched place any longer though, not with a brother who basically pissed in his face and told him to get lost. No, that was definitely not an option. He was leaving. Effective immediately.

So he collected his keys from the pocket if his jacket and offered a friendly wave to Jo, who was manning the desk. After receiving a cheerful wave goodbye, and starting up his Impala, Dean made a vow to himself. He would never again visit Sam. It obviously made him unhappy and stressed (not to mention the need to be drugged!) whenever Dean was around, and he wasn't going to be held responsible for that, not in this lifetime.

He pulled out of the lot, Led Zeppelin's Ramble On playing softly from his speakers. He hummed along to along to the song, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He had always liked this song, but it wasn't until now that he truly appreciated the lyrics.

"Leaves are falling around, it's time I was on my way.
Thanks to you, I'm much obliged
for such a pleasant stay,
But now it's time for me to go..."