Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, the series or any of the characters.
For Asylum By Sensue
Chapter One: (Dean's POV)
Dean drove away from the asylum in complete silence. Even the car stereo, which after a 'winning' hunt was usually blasting with Queen or ACDC, was erringly silent. There was no conversation, no jokes or funny childhood stories between the two brothers on their trip to the nearest motel. It was the first time in Dean's life that he felt uncomfortable around Sam.
"All I want to do is get some sleep," it was the last thing that Dean had said before they drove off. He would not allow Sam to apologize to him; in his brain, he knew that the spirit of Dr. had caused him to act, for lack of a better term, crazy and shoot him in the chest. But in his heart--He'd never been hurt worse in his life. His beloved brother hated him enough to want to kill him.
Dean's hands trembled, forcing him to tighten his grip on the steering wheel to maintain control of both the car and himself. He felt Sam's stare, but refused to turn to look at him. He didn't need Sam's guilt right now, he had enough of his own.
He had failed his little brother. He failed to keep him safe, protected him against the evils in the world. Their father was on a quest for revenge, one that Dean had not been able to free himself from his entire life. Sam, always the odd one out, had wanted a normal life since the moment he discovered that their family was 'different'--he wanted to be one of them, wanted that type of lifestyle.
Dean wanted to say that he discouraged Sam from his dream of being normal because it was the right thing to do; that the fight against evil and saving the innocent was worth his brother's unhappiness, but that would be a lie.
The truth was Dean was afraid. Afraid of being alone, afraid of dying alone. It was a fear that had been instantly ingrained in his mind the day his mother had died. The day that she died forever changed the rest of his life. Their father, the most caring and gentle person in his life--the man who would read him stories at bedtime and taught in to ride his bicycle, had died along with his mother, leaving behind a revenge driven demon hunter. Instantly, Sam had become the only innocent left in the family with Dean as his caretaker and protector.
While their father was busy trailing 'supernatural' tales across the country, Sam was Dean's playmate and only friend in the world. Sure, they'd met millions of people, but knew none of them long enough to call them friends. Most of the time they would lie about who they were anyway, every city had a new alias.
His brother was a stubborn one, though. Sam never sat still, always questioning everything that their father had told them, wanting to know more and wanting to know 'why?'. As he grew up, the fighting got worse until one day, the worse day in Dean's life, Sam left them--left him alone.
John Winchester had been livid and in a moment of pure stupidity told Sam not to come back. Dean, who'd been listening from the bathroom where he'd run, forced himself not to cry at the sound of the door slam. In that moment, he felt betrayed. He'd given up his whole life, his childhood, to take care of his brother and he'd left him without even saying goodbye.
Dean forced himself not to groan as he felt his chest tighten, focusing on breathing deeply. It was becoming a necessity for him to stop soon, his chest could not take his upright position for much longer. He spotted the red sign of a cheap motel by the side of the road and nearly side-swiping another vehicle, pulled into the parking lot.
The pain was becoming worse, he noticed right away as he leaned down to pull the keys from the ignition. That small movement made his body throb with agony. Biting his lip, he pushed the door open and gingerly got out of the car, not bothering to even look behind him to see if his brother was following him to the front office.
Whipping out a fake id and fake credit card, he handed them to the clerk at the desk, filled out the appropriate paperwork, and got the keys to their room. Walking over to the assigned room, he quickly spotted the bathroom and ducked into it before Sam took his jacket off.
The door closed and locked with a small click. Once alone, Dean let the pain show, tears streamed down his face as he felt himself slide to the ground. Silent drops of dirt and dust-filled teardrops fell in front of him. Placing a hand against his chest, he winced at his own light touch, knowing that he'd fractured a couple of ribs at the very least.
A soft knock on the door made him jump slightly, groaning slightly at the pain the movement caused. "Yeah? What do you want? Can't a guy pee in peace?" He called out.
The sound of feet backing away from the door and Sam's soft, "sorry," made him ashamed that he'd been severe with Sam, but he needed a few more minutes to compose himself. Wiping at his face with his sleeve, he levered himself up off the floor and leaned against the bathroom sink to stare at himself in the mirror.
Hell probably looked nicer than he did at that moment. Cobwebs and dust attached themselves to every hair follicle on his head, while dirt from his clothes had spread across his face extenuating the tearstains that he'd tried to hide.
He adjusted the tap, then splashed water on his face, washing away the evidence. He lowered his head so that he could quickly wash his hair in the sink, and just used the soap in the tray as shampoo. Once he looked a little more clean, he unbuttoned his shirt to view the damage caused by the rock salt. His chest was almost entirely red, small broken blood vessels soon would form massive bruising across his rib cage. He touched the deep red marks, wincing again with a hiss.
It hurt to breath.
If it had been any other time, he most likely would've asked Sam to wrap his chest; if it hurt to breath, it was usually a huge sign of a fractured or broken rib. It needed to be wrapped in order to keep it stable and to prevent it from puncturing a lung, causing a pneumothorax. It wasn't one of those times.
Dean re-buttoned his shirt, then straightened, replacing his mask as he walked back into the room where Sam had been waiting for him to come out.
Shaking his head once, he held up a hand, then took the bed closest to the bathroom. Lying down, all he wanted to do was sleep and forget.
It didn't take long for Sam to give up trying to speak to him, taking the bed closest to the door to rest. He could still feel Sam's eyes on him as he dozed.
Giving up the pretense, Dean turned his back on his little brother, covered his eyes with his arm, then let himself stop fighting sleep. It overtook him just as quickly.
To Be Continued... (Sam's POV is next)
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