Blue Skies From Rain Part 2 - Chapter 9
By mid-morning, Dean’s head was buzzing. He figured it was from the on again off again level of the meds in his system, so he tried to shake it off. He drank extra amounts of water, in spite of Neland’s scowl from the far side of the laundry room. The noise of the dyers was almost deafening, and the floor seemed to shake every time he moved an inch.
Everyone else in the room had been giving Sam a wide berth as they usually did, and he’d heard someone actually mutter something about a guy in a dryer. But beside him Sam was humming as he folded, pink-cheeked in the warmth of the room, looking at Dean every so often to make sure he was there, entirely harmless, industrious, and as content as a cat. Dean remembered feeling that way, the cozy line of washers and dryers, and the steady hum that helped him feel centered. Now it was just making him crazy. But if it would help Sam, then, that was it. He grit his teeth and kept on folding.
Sam wanted water, too. He looked at Dean as they were folding towels, and he wanted water. It was his third time that morning asking for water, and Neland was getting irritated. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t give Sam water, but if Sam kept asking then someone else would want to know why Sam was so thirsty. Sam might slip about the meds, and then when they asked where he’d gotten the idea-Dean jerked his chin up at Sam, to tell him to hold on till Neland was on the other side of the room, beyond the row of dryers. Sam looked at him like he was speaking French.
“Just wait,” said Dean, low.
Sam couldn’t or wouldn’t wait. He placed his towel on the edge of the table, and as Dean watched it slip to the floor, Sam walked to the sink. Neland was quick on his heels, and Dean rushed over to stand next to Sam. Now there were two orderlies, Neland and his assistant, who never seemed to have a nametag.
“You want more water, Sam?” asked Neland. His voice was level but he was scowling.
Sam didn’t even wait for a cup, he just bent down to hold the water in the curve of his palm.
“Man, this guy is really OCD,” said the assistant. “They still have a lobotomy for that, you know.”
“Knock it off,” said Neland. “Finish up, Sam, we’re on a schedule; the hotel in Peoria wants these towels like yesterday.”
“It’s not like we get paid,” said Dean, putting himself in Neland’s path to distract him.
“That’s enough out of you, Dean Doe.” Neland actually snapped at him, and Dean hung back, tugging on the sleeve of Sam’s cotton shirt. The heat from the dryers, normally comforting, seemed overwhelming. He wondered if the assistant was kidding about the lobotomy, but maybe not. If there was a wrench in the works, that would be it. He had to get them out of there before it came to that.
With hard hands, Neland led them back to their table where yet another tumbled pile of towels waited to be folded. It wasn’t soothing anymore and it wasn’t calm. The racket of the washers going full bore made the back of his brain bang against his skull. But he kept folding, hands getting rough from the residue of detergent. Next to him, Sam’s shoulders hung low.
“I just wanted some water,” he said, eyes flicking to Dean.
“I know,” said Dean.
The chime for lunch sounded, and with a sigh, he put the last towel on the table, and tugged at Sam. “Food.”
*
All the men lined up in front of the door, but as they all filed out, one of the orderlies stopped them. It was Edgerton, the morning orderly who came by with their razors and took them away again when they were finished. He pointed at Sam and Dean, while someone pushed them from behind to get them out of the way.
Edgerton looked at them, silent while the line filed past them. “You guys really can’t be sleeping together,” he said.
Dean’s gut twisted a bit, as naturally, anyone who had seen them getting up from the same bed in the morning would get the wrong idea. And, equally as naturally, the hospital would have rules, and rules were what Sammy lived by. Before Dean could say anything to keep Edgerton from scolding them, Sam was nodding. “Dean was keeping me warm,” he said.
“It doesn’t matter. You guys need to knock it off or I’m going to have to turn you in.”
“But-” said Sam, in whose mind the whole thing was good and comforting.
Edgerton just jerked his head to make them get back in line.
By the time they got to the dining hall, Dean’s head was pounding, and it was all he could do, when presented with his cup of pills, not to take all of them. They’d helped with headaches before, but he couldn’t do it. He had to get clear, now, just in case anything went wrong and he went into convulsions or something.
He stuck two of pills outside of his teeth, and swallowed one with a good, healthy swig of water. The pill lady was satisfied. As she was with Sam, though Dean, who was watching, saw Sam tuck one of the pills in his hand. He had such large hands that the pill all but vanished. As they got in line, Dean pointed to the trash can, and Sam waved his hand over the top as casually as if he was throwing a gum wrapper away. As a reward, Dean leaned forward, and tapped his forehead against Sam’s shoulder, not taking it away until he had to grab a tray.
“Which ones did you take?” he asked.
Sam tried to look at Dean at the same time he was talking to the lunch lady. “I don’t know. I swallowed two. The one I bit in half tasted terrible, and the other one, wouldn’t break in half, so I threw it all away.”
Dean didn’t let himself worry about how much was exactly half. That there were so many pills was its own kind of madness, almost as crazymaking as the dull food. At least there was food; naturally, in a place like this one, the lunch ladies did their best on a budget. It was almost like being buried alive in concern, except that they were trapped there.
They got their food and sat at one of the round tables. Dean hoped that if anyone sat with them, they would know how to chew with their mouths closed. He was getting sick of watching half-chewed cream corn go sliding down some guy’s chin. When he’d been more on the meds, he’d not cared as much. Now it was just gross.
Instead he watched Sam eat, feeling like a mother hen hovering over a fussy eater. Sam still looked pale and uninterested in the food, which today was some kind of soup with dark bits floating in it, a roll, a pile of carrot rounds, and the carton of milk. Dean thought there should be cake or an iced brownie or something, he remembered that from going to school. Even the worst cafeteria food could be brightened by desert. He promised himself that the second he got them out of there, they were having something that Sam liked, like Ding Dongs or raspberry turnovers or whatever Sam wanted.
“Hey, Sam,” he said, reaching out to touch Sam’s elbow. “It’s going to be okay.”
Sam’s mouth worked, his head dipped low between his shoulders as he tried to muster interest in the soup, the spoon in his hand tracing tired little circles in the bowl. “But I like sleeping with you.”
It sounded like his heart was about to break at the thought of it, which was nice in a way, but it worried Dean too. If Sam sunk too low, what if that set off another fit? He couldn’t let that happen, there was no need for it to happen.
“You just play it cool, and we can always sleep together, okay?” It should have felt more weird, coming out like that, and it would have anyplace else. But it was what Sam needed, so it was okay. At least here. At some point in their past, Dad had started to frown at Sam slipping into Dean’s bed even if the night had gotten particularly dark and scary for Sam. That boy needs to buck up, Dad had said, but some nights, especially when Dad was away, Dean didn’t have the heart. And Sam tucked in to his side, heat banking off him like a camp stove, didn’t hurt either. “Just don’t be talking about vampires or zombies anymore. And especially not the wendigos, ‘cause to anyone else that just sounds nuts.”
“I can’t believe you believe me,” Sam said, lifting his head a little.
“Well, I do” said Dean, wondering how a simple conversation could get so weird so quickly. “But then, here I am in a loony bin. You just got to stop talking about it. Especially to anyone who’s going to take it back to Dr. Logan or Dr. Baylor.”
“But if I don’t talk about it,” Sam said. “All these things in my head, it starts to spin around and-”
“Sam,” said Dean, raising his voice a little. “Stay calm, okay? Greer is coming this way.” He’d seen Greer out of the corner of his eye, making the rounds, checking on Mr. Pointy Fingers and Mr. Creamed Corn, and had spotted Dean and Sam.
If the staff talked, and they most likely did, then Greer knew about them sleeping together. A guy who looked like a former-Marine wouldn’t be okay with it at all. But if he hurt Sam-
Greer came up, nodding at them both, mouth opening, just as Sam’s spoon rattled violently in his bowl.
“Easy there, sport,” said Greer. “Those meds’ll kick in any second now and you’ll have a nice, calm afternoon. Maybe working on sorting stones.”
“Huh,” said Dean. He was going to lose his mind, and sooner rather than later. But maybe Sam would enjoy it. He nodded at Greer as he walked off and leaned in to speak low. “We’ll get to go outside, Sam.”
Sam’s eyes flickered low for a second, like he’d been absorbed in something other than what Dean was saying. “Sure,” he said. “I’m tired of Laundry.”
Dean was tired of the institution.
Chapter 10
Blue Skies From Rain Master Fic Post