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phantismaFandom: Supernatural
Title: Scattered, Part Three --A sequel to Splintered and Shattered
Characters/Pairing: John/Dean, Dean/Sam, John/Sam, John/Dean/Sam, Dean/OMC, Sam/OMC
Rating: VERY NC-17
Word Count: 15, 456 (total)
Summary: The harder they try, the deeper the pieces cut on the way down. Dean isn't okay. John isn't okay. Sam is so far beyond not okay. Dean's splintered pieces are shattered and scattered and he can't seem to hold it all together.
A/Ns: This was difficult to write, but the story needed an ending. I didn't have anyone beta this for me. All mistakes and such are my own.
WARNINGS: Character Death. Violent sex, non-con/dub-con, depending on how you read the choices each character makes. This is incest. This is father/son and brother/brother incest. It is violent and ugly. It is also, in the end, about love and sacrifice and the lines that we blur when it's family.
You’re not sure you can even drive. Your head is buzzing and your ribs hurt. But you turn the key and pray that you can get Sam to help. You yell for help and you nearly pass out from the pain when they finally take Sam from you. You collapse and huddle and you blame yourself. It’s all falling apart and it’s all your fault.
It’s easily been hours when Dean felt his pocket vibrate. He pulled out the phone and sighed. His father was awake. Dean stepped out of the ER room doors.
“Where are you?” His father sounded angry and afraid.
“Hospital.” Dean rubbed at his head. He’d gotten his prescriptions filled and the painkiller had taken the edge off, but he was still hurting.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah…well, I got jumped. I’m…beat up.”
“It’s Sam, isn’t it?”
Dean sighed. He didn’t want to answer that. “He’s going to be okay. He’s in surgery.”
“Surgery? Christ, Dean. What did I do?”
“It wasn’t your fault Dad. He…there was some internal bleeding. In his stomach.”
His father was quiet so long Dean almost thought he’d lost the call. “Dad?”
“I can’t…I can’t keep doing this Dean. I could have killed him.”
Dean felt the tears burning down his face. “Dad, please. I’ll be home soon. We can talk about it then.”
“I don’t want to talk about it Dean.”
Dean trembled, pieces of himself shaking loose and clattering down around him. “Dad, please…please…just…wait.”
“Goodbye Dean.”
Dean couldn’t breathe as the call ended, couldn’t move. Goodbye Dean.
No. No. His father wouldn’t…couldn’t…Dean stared at his phone, dialed his father’s number. It dumped him directly to voicemail. “Fuck. Dad. Don’t do anything. I’ll be home as soon as I can. Please Dad. Just…hold on.”
He hung up and raced inside. He couldn’t leave without knowing Sam was okay. He couldn’t stay and let his father do something drastic. He was stuck and he didn’t know what to do.
You pace and curse yourself and try to decide which one of them needs you more. Your head hurts and your body is telling you to rest, but you can’t. But the police make the decision for you, asking questions and looking at you the same way they had when it was you in Sam’s place, like they know something. Then the doctors are telling you that Sam is awake and wants you and you can’t help but go to him.
“Dad?” Sam’s voice is sleepy and hoarse and Dean shakes off the fear inside him.
“You just came out of major surgery, and that’s all you can think of?”
“Is he okay?”
Dean nods slowly, hoping the lie is convincing. “Still sleeping off the drugs I gave him.”
“Don’t lie to me. You need to go be with him. When…before, when he hurt you, it was all I could do to keep him from killing himself.”
Dean swallowed and nodded. “I needed to know you were okay.”
“Go.”
Dean kissed his forehead. “I’ll be back, Sammy.”
He was waiting for the elevator when the cops came back with the doctor in tow. “Mr. Macdonald.”
Dean turned. “Yes?”
“Sir, we need you to come with us.”
“Is something wrong?”
“We need to speak to you.”
Dean was only keeping the panic at bay by sheer will. He followed the cops and the doctor into a lounge. The door closed and the cop nearest the door crossed his arms. “Sir, are you aware that your brother was raped?” the other cop asked.
“What?” Dean let some of the fear leak out. “He didn’t say…I found him in the tub…like I said. He was beat up, out of it.”
“Because he bathed, we have no way to collect DNA. He won’t tell us anything. He said he can’t remember what happened.”
Good boy, Dean thought. “I wasn’t home. I had my own assault issue last night.” He pointed to the collar with his bandaged hand.
“Yes, we spoke to the officers handling your case. They say that there isn’t any reason to think it was the work of the same men.”
Dean swallowed. “We live in a rough neighborhood. It could have been—“
“Mr. Macdonald, who attacked your brother?”
“I don’t know. I…I wasn’t there.” Every second he stood there talking with these dumbass cops, his father slipped further away from him.
“Judging from the bruising on his body, this isn’t the first time. There are faded bruises on his hips and buttocks.”
Dean just stared at the doctor. “What are you saying?”
“Is someone abusing your brother?”
Dean switched his eyes to the cop. “What?”
“I spoke with the doctor who examined you, Mr. Macdonald. He stated that you also showed signs of previous bruises of a sexual nature.”
No. No. This couldn’t be happening.
“I—I…no one’s being abused. I…I sometimes take…take tricks. To pay the bills.”
“Is your father abusing you and your brother?”
Dean shook his head, until his neck twinged. He grimaced. “No. No, it isn’t like that.”
“How is it, Mr. Macdonald? Explain it to me.”
“I have to…my father needs me. I need to get home.”
“Not until you’ve explained this to me.”
It isn’t a conscious reaction, you just spin inside yourself. You can’t think past the need to save your father, to keep Sam safe, to survive. You don’t even realize you’ve shut down until you feel a hand on your face, a light in your eye. Even then you can’t react. You can’t figure out who they’re talking to or why they’re calling you Daniel. When the cold comes and they urge you to rest, you think that it’s been a long time since you’ve really rested…and it couldn’t hurt to just close your eyes.
Dean woke slowly, pulling himself up out of the drugged stupor. He was still drugged, the way his thoughts slugged through his brain was enough to tell him that. He licked thick lips and tried to move a hand to rub at his eyes. His hands didn’t move.
He opened his eyes. He was restrained, padded leather restraints holding him to the bed. He licked his lips again. He swallowed the lump of panic in his throat.
“Hello Dean.”
He turned slowly, the collar making the movement difficult. Pastor Jim. Dean closed his eyes. Breathed. “My father?”
“Let’s not worry about that right now, Son.”
“Don’t son me. Where is my father?”
Jim shook his head. He stood and came closer, rubbing one hand over Dean’s forehead. “You need to concentrate on you Dean. On getting better.”
“Let me up.” Dean pulled on the restraints. “Untie me.”
Jim shook his head. “No, Son. I won’t.”
Dean pulled until the pain in his wrist and neck and ribs was too much. He fell back against the pillow panting. “I don’t belong here. I need to take care of Sam.”
Jim’s face was grim. “You’ve done quite enough to Sam, Dean. He needs to heal too. He needs to get his head screwed on straight and finish school.”
Dean looked away, couldn’t look at him. “I’ve told the doctors what I know Dean. That he’s been abusing you for at least the last four years. I never dreamed you’d get Sam involved.”
The tears burned. He could still see the look of total abandon on Sam’s face that night he’d seen the two of them together. Then all he could see was Sam’s bloody and broken face. “I should have ended it. I’m sorry. You told me you would deal with it. I should have seen you couldn’t.” Jim said. He was at the door. “I’m going to check on Sam. I’ll be back.”
“Tell me he isn’t dead.”
Jim didn’t answer though and when Dean looked he was gone.
The drugs don’t dull the ache in your gut. He’s gone. You know he is. Either Jim found him and ended it, or he did it himself and Jim was there to clean up the mess. You pull and pull on the restraints until your wrists are bruised and chaffed and they put you under.
His waking thought was that his father was gone. Dead. That everything was for nothing. It burned inside him. He opened his eyes. He was in a different room. He wasn’t restrained.
The collar was gone and his ribs only ached. He moaned as the realization sank in. He’d been out of it for days. Weeks.
Dean put bare feet on the floor and tested his ability to stand. There were drugs in his system. But they’d been dialed back. He took a few steps across the room. There wasn’t much. The bed. A chair. A window that had bars across the outside.
He shuffled to the window and tried to look out. All he could see was a dreary sky that looked like rain. He shuffled to the door. He wasn’t surprised that it was locked. He made his way back to the bed and leaned against it.
When the door opened, Dean half expected it to be Jim, but in his place was a short woman with big glasses and soft brown hair in a blue lab coat. She smiled warmly at him. “Hello Dean. I’m Dr. Daly.”
Dean made a noncommittal grunt and sat on the bed.
“Do you know where you are?”
“Judging from the window and door, I’m guessing a psych ward.”
“Do you know why?”
He made a face. “I’m not much for the touchy feely crap, Doc.” She crossed her arms, but didn’t respond. Dean shrugged. “I assume it’s because someone thought I might hurt myself…or someone else.”
She nodded slowly. “That’s right. You were pretty beat up when you brought your brother in, and it wasn’t the first time one of you was seen for a violent sexual assault.”
Sam. Dean’s gut clenched. “My brother. I need to see my brother.”
“He’ll be here on family day. Pastor Murphy said he’d bring him.”
Jim. The reason their father was dead. He looked at her. “What about my father?” He held his breath. She frowned at him.
“Your father won’t be coming here, Dean.”
“He…he was suicidal and I was trying to get to him, but the police wouldn’t let me.” His head hit the wall. He closed his eyes. “I need to know. He has to be okay. Everything has to be okay. I need them.”
He couldn’t force his lungs to work. His stomach hurt. “Let’s talk about your father Dean. Can you tell me about him?”
Dean watched her pull the chair closer to the bed and sit. “Like what?” He was wary.
“What kind of man is he?”
“Good man. Helps people.”
“Does he help you Dean?”
“I help him. It’s my job.” He made a face and pulled his legs up off the floor. “What drugs do you have me on?”
She cocked her head. “What makes you think I have you on drugs?”
He glared at her. “I’m not stupid, Doctor. I can feel them.”
She smiled lightly. “I don’t think you’re stupid Dean. Your friend told me that you knew a bit about drugs, I was just curious. It’s nothing too strong. I started bringing you down off the heavy stuff as soon as you were brought here.”
“So what are they?”
“Something to help control your anxiety, something for depression.”
“I want names.”
She took a deep breath and shook her head. “Maybe in a few days, once you’ve adjusted.”
Dean scowled and looked at the door. “How long have I been here?”
“You’ve been in my care for a little over a week.” She stood and came closer. “I’m going to do everything I can to help you through this, Dean.”
This. Like she would even understand what this was.
“I’ll let you out into general population tomorrow. For today, I just want you to get used to being here. Okay?” She touched his leg, smiled.
“When can I see Sam?”
“Today is Wednesday. Family day is Sunday.”
Four days. “Is my father dead?”
“I don’t know Dean.”
He squinted at her, trying to determine if she was lying. There was a knock on the door and an intern peeked his head in the room. “Dr. Tay is ready for you.”
She nodded and patted Dean’s leg. “Get some rest, Dean. I’ll come by and check on you later.”
You think she’s given you more than just meds for anxiety and depression because you keep saying things you don’t mean to say. You shuffle through the common area filled with the deranged and the wall lickers and you curl up in a ball on your bed at night and hold to the thought that you’ll get to see Sam. You don’t think about your father, because it hurts too much. You do whatever they tell you, just to get through until Sunday, because Sam is coming and Sam won’t leave you in a place like this.
“Okay, Dean. We have some rules for you. This is your first Family Day. Dean, are you listening to me?”
He flicked his eyes to Dr. Daly and nodded. “Okay, now because of the nature of your…issues, there will be no physical contact, aside from one hand, across the table.”
“What?” Dean sat up suddenly. “What? You afraid I’m going to molest him right there in the common room?”
She sighed. “I realize you’re angry, Dean. But this is the rule. If you can’t live with that, you can’t see your brother.”
He growled, but nodded. “Yeah, whatever.”
“No outbursts, or they’ll have to leave.”
“Right. No touching, no outbursts. I’ll just sit there and stare at him. That should go over well, don’t you think?”
She put down her pen and looked at him. “You’re deflecting again.”
He smiled and held up his hands. “It’s what I do.”
“You’ll never get out of here if that’s all you do.” She sighed and gestured to the door. “Go on. They’ll be here soon.”
Dean didn’t want to admit he was scared. He’d finally figured out how long it had been. Almost a month since Sam had come out of surgery and sent him to go save their father. Almost a month since he’d failed.
He sat at his designated table in the common area and waited. He was afraid Sam wouldn’t want to see him, wouldn’t forgive him, would realize it had always been all his fault.
Sam. Dean stood slowly as he came into the room. He seemed taller. His skin was pale and there was a dullness to his red rimmed eyes. His face still wore the vague remnants of bruises. His walk was a little stiff, and he held one arm across his stomach as if protecting it.
He moved across the room slowly, offering Dean a small smile as he sank to a seat in the chair opposite him. For a long moment Dean didn’t even realize Jim was there too.
“Sam.” He wanted to leap over the table and hold him. He settled for sliding his hand onto the table. After a slight hesitation, Sam slid his hand up too and brushed his fingers over Dean’s.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked, his voice soft, his eyes on the table.
“I want out of here.” Dean replied. “You?”
Sam flinched. “I’m okay. I start school tomorrow.”
Dean looked up at Jim who was standing behind Sam now, one hand on his shoulder. “Good Sam. You always were the smart one.”
“How are you really Dean?” Jim asked.
Dean looked at him. “I just want out. No one will tell me anything. They treat me like I’m some fragile thing. They’re pumping me full of drugs and I can’t think straight.”
“They’re trying to help you.” Sam said softly.
“I don’t need them, Sam. I need you and Dad.”
Sam flinched again and his hand slid away. Dean was fairly certain he was crying, though his hair was hiding his face. Dean looked at Jim again. “Is he…what did you do?”
Jim shook his head. “No isn’t the time, Dean.”
Dean slammed his hand on the table. “You tell me. Right this minute.”
“Dean, please.” Sam reached for him again, but Dean was looking at Jim.
“Tell me.”
Jim blinked, dropped his gaze to the top of Sam’s head. “He’s gone, Son. Isn’t that enough?”
Gone. He’d known. He’d known from the words Goodbye Dean. Known it was over. But pain lanced through him at the admission. Dean stood, sending his chair skittering backward. There was a roar in his head…like a million bees. He shook his head. It couldn’t end like that.
“Tell me what you did.” Dean said again, louder than he’d intended. He reached for Jim, fisted a hand in his shirt and yanked him in. “Tell me.”
Jim’s voice was cold, hard in his ear. “He was already dead when I got there Dean.”
The frame that held you together is gone and the pieces fall one by one into someplace dark and forgotten inside you. You shatter. The pieces scatter. The reality a little too real, the loss too great. Everything you sacrificed, everything you became was for nothing…and nothing was all you have left.
Time was passing, but Dean had no concept of it. Sam went away and never came back. Jim came by from time to time, but mostly it was just Dean and his pain and Dr. Daly.
Most of the time he didn’t talk. He chewed on his nails. He hid in the corner. “I’m tired,” he said suddenly, sitting in Dr. Daly’s office. He looked up at her. He was tired. He’d waited so long.
She seemed surprised. “I haven’t heard your voice in so long I was beginning to wonder if I needed to re-diagnose you.”
He sighed. “I’m tired.” He took a deep breath and looked around him. “I never thought it was abuse. I just…I took care of him, you know? He came home beat up, I patched him up. In the beginning it was just one more thing.”
“You’re talking about your father, Dean?”
He nodded. Just say it. Get it over with. Make her think you’re better so you can get out. Get out and find Sam. “He was hunting, came home all fucked up.”
“What was he hunting?”
“Incubus.” Dean said without thinking. He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. “That’s what he said.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen, I guess. We were in Massachusetts.” He didn’t look at her. “It was just hand jobs then. I’d patch up his wounds, jerk him off and we’d both just go to bed.”
His stomach hurt. He was betraying the family secret. Betraying him.
“At some point it became more?”
He nodded, huddling deeper into the chair, drawing his feet up. “Blow jobs after…I don’t know…a while. Not often. Sometimes months would go by. He’d get this weird look on his face.”
She was scribbling notes. “I always thought it was my fault.” Dean said. “I stayed home with Sam that night, while he hunted. If I’d been with him maybe he’d be okay.”
She squinted at him, put her pen down. “You know that it wasn’t your fault, right Dean. That he used you?”
Dean squirmed. That made him uncomfortable. He nodded slowly. “Sam was my fault though. He saw…thought he should help me like I helped Dad. And I let him.” He closed his eyes against the longing for Sam, the need. He yawned. He really was tired.
“I think that’s enough for today.” Dr. Daly said. “We can pick this up tomorrow.”
Title: Scattered, Part Three --A sequel to Splintered and Shattered
Characters/Pairing: John/Dean, Dean/Sam, John/Sam, John/Dean/Sam, Dean/OMC, Sam/OMC
Rating: VERY NC-17
Word Count: 15, 456 (total)
Summary: The harder they try, the deeper the pieces cut on the way down. Dean isn't okay. John isn't okay. Sam is so far beyond not okay. Dean's splintered pieces are shattered and scattered and he can't seem to hold it all together.
A/Ns: This was difficult to write, but the story needed an ending. I didn't have anyone beta this for me. All mistakes and such are my own.
WARNINGS: Character Death. Violent sex, non-con/dub-con, depending on how you read the choices each character makes. This is incest. This is father/son and brother/brother incest. It is violent and ugly. It is also, in the end, about love and sacrifice and the lines that we blur when it's family.
You’re not sure you can even drive. Your head is buzzing and your ribs hurt. But you turn the key and pray that you can get Sam to help. You yell for help and you nearly pass out from the pain when they finally take Sam from you. You collapse and huddle and you blame yourself. It’s all falling apart and it’s all your fault.
It’s easily been hours when Dean felt his pocket vibrate. He pulled out the phone and sighed. His father was awake. Dean stepped out of the ER room doors.
“Where are you?” His father sounded angry and afraid.
“Hospital.” Dean rubbed at his head. He’d gotten his prescriptions filled and the painkiller had taken the edge off, but he was still hurting.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah…well, I got jumped. I’m…beat up.”
“It’s Sam, isn’t it?”
Dean sighed. He didn’t want to answer that. “He’s going to be okay. He’s in surgery.”
“Surgery? Christ, Dean. What did I do?”
“It wasn’t your fault Dad. He…there was some internal bleeding. In his stomach.”
His father was quiet so long Dean almost thought he’d lost the call. “Dad?”
“I can’t…I can’t keep doing this Dean. I could have killed him.”
Dean felt the tears burning down his face. “Dad, please. I’ll be home soon. We can talk about it then.”
“I don’t want to talk about it Dean.”
Dean trembled, pieces of himself shaking loose and clattering down around him. “Dad, please…please…just…wait.”
“Goodbye Dean.”
Dean couldn’t breathe as the call ended, couldn’t move. Goodbye Dean.
No. No. His father wouldn’t…couldn’t…Dean stared at his phone, dialed his father’s number. It dumped him directly to voicemail. “Fuck. Dad. Don’t do anything. I’ll be home as soon as I can. Please Dad. Just…hold on.”
He hung up and raced inside. He couldn’t leave without knowing Sam was okay. He couldn’t stay and let his father do something drastic. He was stuck and he didn’t know what to do.
You pace and curse yourself and try to decide which one of them needs you more. Your head hurts and your body is telling you to rest, but you can’t. But the police make the decision for you, asking questions and looking at you the same way they had when it was you in Sam’s place, like they know something. Then the doctors are telling you that Sam is awake and wants you and you can’t help but go to him.
“Dad?” Sam’s voice is sleepy and hoarse and Dean shakes off the fear inside him.
“You just came out of major surgery, and that’s all you can think of?”
“Is he okay?”
Dean nods slowly, hoping the lie is convincing. “Still sleeping off the drugs I gave him.”
“Don’t lie to me. You need to go be with him. When…before, when he hurt you, it was all I could do to keep him from killing himself.”
Dean swallowed and nodded. “I needed to know you were okay.”
“Go.”
Dean kissed his forehead. “I’ll be back, Sammy.”
He was waiting for the elevator when the cops came back with the doctor in tow. “Mr. Macdonald.”
Dean turned. “Yes?”
“Sir, we need you to come with us.”
“Is something wrong?”
“We need to speak to you.”
Dean was only keeping the panic at bay by sheer will. He followed the cops and the doctor into a lounge. The door closed and the cop nearest the door crossed his arms. “Sir, are you aware that your brother was raped?” the other cop asked.
“What?” Dean let some of the fear leak out. “He didn’t say…I found him in the tub…like I said. He was beat up, out of it.”
“Because he bathed, we have no way to collect DNA. He won’t tell us anything. He said he can’t remember what happened.”
Good boy, Dean thought. “I wasn’t home. I had my own assault issue last night.” He pointed to the collar with his bandaged hand.
“Yes, we spoke to the officers handling your case. They say that there isn’t any reason to think it was the work of the same men.”
Dean swallowed. “We live in a rough neighborhood. It could have been—“
“Mr. Macdonald, who attacked your brother?”
“I don’t know. I…I wasn’t there.” Every second he stood there talking with these dumbass cops, his father slipped further away from him.
“Judging from the bruising on his body, this isn’t the first time. There are faded bruises on his hips and buttocks.”
Dean just stared at the doctor. “What are you saying?”
“Is someone abusing your brother?”
Dean switched his eyes to the cop. “What?”
“I spoke with the doctor who examined you, Mr. Macdonald. He stated that you also showed signs of previous bruises of a sexual nature.”
No. No. This couldn’t be happening.
“I—I…no one’s being abused. I…I sometimes take…take tricks. To pay the bills.”
“Is your father abusing you and your brother?”
Dean shook his head, until his neck twinged. He grimaced. “No. No, it isn’t like that.”
“How is it, Mr. Macdonald? Explain it to me.”
“I have to…my father needs me. I need to get home.”
“Not until you’ve explained this to me.”
It isn’t a conscious reaction, you just spin inside yourself. You can’t think past the need to save your father, to keep Sam safe, to survive. You don’t even realize you’ve shut down until you feel a hand on your face, a light in your eye. Even then you can’t react. You can’t figure out who they’re talking to or why they’re calling you Daniel. When the cold comes and they urge you to rest, you think that it’s been a long time since you’ve really rested…and it couldn’t hurt to just close your eyes.
Dean woke slowly, pulling himself up out of the drugged stupor. He was still drugged, the way his thoughts slugged through his brain was enough to tell him that. He licked thick lips and tried to move a hand to rub at his eyes. His hands didn’t move.
He opened his eyes. He was restrained, padded leather restraints holding him to the bed. He licked his lips again. He swallowed the lump of panic in his throat.
“Hello Dean.”
He turned slowly, the collar making the movement difficult. Pastor Jim. Dean closed his eyes. Breathed. “My father?”
“Let’s not worry about that right now, Son.”
“Don’t son me. Where is my father?”
Jim shook his head. He stood and came closer, rubbing one hand over Dean’s forehead. “You need to concentrate on you Dean. On getting better.”
“Let me up.” Dean pulled on the restraints. “Untie me.”
Jim shook his head. “No, Son. I won’t.”
Dean pulled until the pain in his wrist and neck and ribs was too much. He fell back against the pillow panting. “I don’t belong here. I need to take care of Sam.”
Jim’s face was grim. “You’ve done quite enough to Sam, Dean. He needs to heal too. He needs to get his head screwed on straight and finish school.”
Dean looked away, couldn’t look at him. “I’ve told the doctors what I know Dean. That he’s been abusing you for at least the last four years. I never dreamed you’d get Sam involved.”
The tears burned. He could still see the look of total abandon on Sam’s face that night he’d seen the two of them together. Then all he could see was Sam’s bloody and broken face. “I should have ended it. I’m sorry. You told me you would deal with it. I should have seen you couldn’t.” Jim said. He was at the door. “I’m going to check on Sam. I’ll be back.”
“Tell me he isn’t dead.”
Jim didn’t answer though and when Dean looked he was gone.
The drugs don’t dull the ache in your gut. He’s gone. You know he is. Either Jim found him and ended it, or he did it himself and Jim was there to clean up the mess. You pull and pull on the restraints until your wrists are bruised and chaffed and they put you under.
His waking thought was that his father was gone. Dead. That everything was for nothing. It burned inside him. He opened his eyes. He was in a different room. He wasn’t restrained.
The collar was gone and his ribs only ached. He moaned as the realization sank in. He’d been out of it for days. Weeks.
Dean put bare feet on the floor and tested his ability to stand. There were drugs in his system. But they’d been dialed back. He took a few steps across the room. There wasn’t much. The bed. A chair. A window that had bars across the outside.
He shuffled to the window and tried to look out. All he could see was a dreary sky that looked like rain. He shuffled to the door. He wasn’t surprised that it was locked. He made his way back to the bed and leaned against it.
When the door opened, Dean half expected it to be Jim, but in his place was a short woman with big glasses and soft brown hair in a blue lab coat. She smiled warmly at him. “Hello Dean. I’m Dr. Daly.”
Dean made a noncommittal grunt and sat on the bed.
“Do you know where you are?”
“Judging from the window and door, I’m guessing a psych ward.”
“Do you know why?”
He made a face. “I’m not much for the touchy feely crap, Doc.” She crossed her arms, but didn’t respond. Dean shrugged. “I assume it’s because someone thought I might hurt myself…or someone else.”
She nodded slowly. “That’s right. You were pretty beat up when you brought your brother in, and it wasn’t the first time one of you was seen for a violent sexual assault.”
Sam. Dean’s gut clenched. “My brother. I need to see my brother.”
“He’ll be here on family day. Pastor Murphy said he’d bring him.”
Jim. The reason their father was dead. He looked at her. “What about my father?” He held his breath. She frowned at him.
“Your father won’t be coming here, Dean.”
“He…he was suicidal and I was trying to get to him, but the police wouldn’t let me.” His head hit the wall. He closed his eyes. “I need to know. He has to be okay. Everything has to be okay. I need them.”
He couldn’t force his lungs to work. His stomach hurt. “Let’s talk about your father Dean. Can you tell me about him?”
Dean watched her pull the chair closer to the bed and sit. “Like what?” He was wary.
“What kind of man is he?”
“Good man. Helps people.”
“Does he help you Dean?”
“I help him. It’s my job.” He made a face and pulled his legs up off the floor. “What drugs do you have me on?”
She cocked her head. “What makes you think I have you on drugs?”
He glared at her. “I’m not stupid, Doctor. I can feel them.”
She smiled lightly. “I don’t think you’re stupid Dean. Your friend told me that you knew a bit about drugs, I was just curious. It’s nothing too strong. I started bringing you down off the heavy stuff as soon as you were brought here.”
“So what are they?”
“Something to help control your anxiety, something for depression.”
“I want names.”
She took a deep breath and shook her head. “Maybe in a few days, once you’ve adjusted.”
Dean scowled and looked at the door. “How long have I been here?”
“You’ve been in my care for a little over a week.” She stood and came closer. “I’m going to do everything I can to help you through this, Dean.”
This. Like she would even understand what this was.
“I’ll let you out into general population tomorrow. For today, I just want you to get used to being here. Okay?” She touched his leg, smiled.
“When can I see Sam?”
“Today is Wednesday. Family day is Sunday.”
Four days. “Is my father dead?”
“I don’t know Dean.”
He squinted at her, trying to determine if she was lying. There was a knock on the door and an intern peeked his head in the room. “Dr. Tay is ready for you.”
She nodded and patted Dean’s leg. “Get some rest, Dean. I’ll come by and check on you later.”
You think she’s given you more than just meds for anxiety and depression because you keep saying things you don’t mean to say. You shuffle through the common area filled with the deranged and the wall lickers and you curl up in a ball on your bed at night and hold to the thought that you’ll get to see Sam. You don’t think about your father, because it hurts too much. You do whatever they tell you, just to get through until Sunday, because Sam is coming and Sam won’t leave you in a place like this.
“Okay, Dean. We have some rules for you. This is your first Family Day. Dean, are you listening to me?”
He flicked his eyes to Dr. Daly and nodded. “Okay, now because of the nature of your…issues, there will be no physical contact, aside from one hand, across the table.”
“What?” Dean sat up suddenly. “What? You afraid I’m going to molest him right there in the common room?”
She sighed. “I realize you’re angry, Dean. But this is the rule. If you can’t live with that, you can’t see your brother.”
He growled, but nodded. “Yeah, whatever.”
“No outbursts, or they’ll have to leave.”
“Right. No touching, no outbursts. I’ll just sit there and stare at him. That should go over well, don’t you think?”
She put down her pen and looked at him. “You’re deflecting again.”
He smiled and held up his hands. “It’s what I do.”
“You’ll never get out of here if that’s all you do.” She sighed and gestured to the door. “Go on. They’ll be here soon.”
Dean didn’t want to admit he was scared. He’d finally figured out how long it had been. Almost a month since Sam had come out of surgery and sent him to go save their father. Almost a month since he’d failed.
He sat at his designated table in the common area and waited. He was afraid Sam wouldn’t want to see him, wouldn’t forgive him, would realize it had always been all his fault.
Sam. Dean stood slowly as he came into the room. He seemed taller. His skin was pale and there was a dullness to his red rimmed eyes. His face still wore the vague remnants of bruises. His walk was a little stiff, and he held one arm across his stomach as if protecting it.
He moved across the room slowly, offering Dean a small smile as he sank to a seat in the chair opposite him. For a long moment Dean didn’t even realize Jim was there too.
“Sam.” He wanted to leap over the table and hold him. He settled for sliding his hand onto the table. After a slight hesitation, Sam slid his hand up too and brushed his fingers over Dean’s.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked, his voice soft, his eyes on the table.
“I want out of here.” Dean replied. “You?”
Sam flinched. “I’m okay. I start school tomorrow.”
Dean looked up at Jim who was standing behind Sam now, one hand on his shoulder. “Good Sam. You always were the smart one.”
“How are you really Dean?” Jim asked.
Dean looked at him. “I just want out. No one will tell me anything. They treat me like I’m some fragile thing. They’re pumping me full of drugs and I can’t think straight.”
“They’re trying to help you.” Sam said softly.
“I don’t need them, Sam. I need you and Dad.”
Sam flinched again and his hand slid away. Dean was fairly certain he was crying, though his hair was hiding his face. Dean looked at Jim again. “Is he…what did you do?”
Jim shook his head. “No isn’t the time, Dean.”
Dean slammed his hand on the table. “You tell me. Right this minute.”
“Dean, please.” Sam reached for him again, but Dean was looking at Jim.
“Tell me.”
Jim blinked, dropped his gaze to the top of Sam’s head. “He’s gone, Son. Isn’t that enough?”
Gone. He’d known. He’d known from the words Goodbye Dean. Known it was over. But pain lanced through him at the admission. Dean stood, sending his chair skittering backward. There was a roar in his head…like a million bees. He shook his head. It couldn’t end like that.
“Tell me what you did.” Dean said again, louder than he’d intended. He reached for Jim, fisted a hand in his shirt and yanked him in. “Tell me.”
Jim’s voice was cold, hard in his ear. “He was already dead when I got there Dean.”
The frame that held you together is gone and the pieces fall one by one into someplace dark and forgotten inside you. You shatter. The pieces scatter. The reality a little too real, the loss too great. Everything you sacrificed, everything you became was for nothing…and nothing was all you have left.
Time was passing, but Dean had no concept of it. Sam went away and never came back. Jim came by from time to time, but mostly it was just Dean and his pain and Dr. Daly.
Most of the time he didn’t talk. He chewed on his nails. He hid in the corner. “I’m tired,” he said suddenly, sitting in Dr. Daly’s office. He looked up at her. He was tired. He’d waited so long.
She seemed surprised. “I haven’t heard your voice in so long I was beginning to wonder if I needed to re-diagnose you.”
He sighed. “I’m tired.” He took a deep breath and looked around him. “I never thought it was abuse. I just…I took care of him, you know? He came home beat up, I patched him up. In the beginning it was just one more thing.”
“You’re talking about your father, Dean?”
He nodded. Just say it. Get it over with. Make her think you’re better so you can get out. Get out and find Sam. “He was hunting, came home all fucked up.”
“What was he hunting?”
“Incubus.” Dean said without thinking. He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. “That’s what he said.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen, I guess. We were in Massachusetts.” He didn’t look at her. “It was just hand jobs then. I’d patch up his wounds, jerk him off and we’d both just go to bed.”
His stomach hurt. He was betraying the family secret. Betraying him.
“At some point it became more?”
He nodded, huddling deeper into the chair, drawing his feet up. “Blow jobs after…I don’t know…a while. Not often. Sometimes months would go by. He’d get this weird look on his face.”
She was scribbling notes. “I always thought it was my fault.” Dean said. “I stayed home with Sam that night, while he hunted. If I’d been with him maybe he’d be okay.”
She squinted at him, put her pen down. “You know that it wasn’t your fault, right Dean. That he used you?”
Dean squirmed. That made him uncomfortable. He nodded slowly. “Sam was my fault though. He saw…thought he should help me like I helped Dad. And I let him.” He closed his eyes against the longing for Sam, the need. He yawned. He really was tired.
“I think that’s enough for today.” Dr. Daly said. “We can pick this up tomorrow.”
