Enter Sandman - (1/1) - SPN, Going Under Timestamp, H/C Bingo
Title: Enter Sandman
Warnings: Schizophrenic!Dean
Rating: PG 13+
Pairing: None
Disclaimer: None of the following belongs to me, I am just playing in Kripke and WB/CW's sandbox for fun not profit.
Beta Munibunny who is made of all kinds of awesome!
Summary: Sam struggles to watch his brother suffer through the ‘treatment’ of his mental illness.
Author Note: This was written for the H/C Bingo prompt Insomnia. This is an addition to the verse that started with Going Under It contains descriptions of mental illness. It in no way means to make light of the seriousness of the subject matter or offend anyone battling, the at times, debilitating effects of mental illness. Title stolen from the awesomeness that is Metallica.
He shifted slightly in the hard plastic chair as Dean twitched and whimpered in his drug induced sleep for the hundredth time that afternoon.
He had to swallow hard at the rising lump of anger that burned in his throat as he wiped gently at the drool that seeped from the corner of Dean’s slack lips. Sam hated the lack of dignity that sleep afforded Dean these days.
The only sleep his brother got was from a nearly lethal dose of sedatives that only granted him four hours at most and even that was obviously plagued with nightmares and was far from restful.
This had been the worst adjustment that Sam had ever seen Dean go through in his short fight with this invisible but completely devastating illness. It wasn’t unusual for Dean to suffer insomnia when he was adjusting to a new drug regime, but this time it was different.
Dean’s sure fire sleep inducing remedy was completely out of his reach. The slick black muscle car that had been Dean’s passion and respite throughout his illness was so tantalizingly close, yet so ridiculously far away in the reality of Dean’s current situation.
Every other time that Dean was struggling with the restlessness and crawling sensation under his skin, Sam would bundle him up in their Dad’s worn leather jacket and secure him into the front seat of his baby. They’d cruise the highways with Metallica cranked up to just below ear bleeding levels, James Hetfield’s gravelly screams as his lullaby, until Dean succumbed to the gentle rocking of the humming tires and slept like the dead for the next six hours.
With Dean’s grip on reality being so fragile there was no way that Dean was getting out of this facility any time soon. In that case, Sam was going to have to get creative. With a spark of an idea, Sam pressed his lips to his brother’s sweat dampened brow and pushed his way out the room before he lost his nerve to leave his brother alone. If he could get Dean’s treating doctor to agree, then it would be worth the panic and disorientation that Dean would experience if he woke from his drug induce haze earlier than expected.
~o0o~
Thankfully Dean’s doctor was all for trying anything that would allow Dean a measure of peaceful sleep without needing to nearly poison him with a cocktail of drugs that should have taken down a man four times his size.
Sam carefully juggled the bulky items in his arms as he made his way back down the hallways towards Dean room, being careful not to knock into any of the many patients loitering out in the less confining space of the corridors. Dean had once told him that hanging out in the hallways gave him the illusion of space, freedom, and a measure of control that his tiny room could never give. He’d said that when you were in for the long haul, any semblance of perceived freedom or control was coveted with salivating greed that if examined too closely would resemble desperation.
Sam shook away his depressing thoughts and picked up his pace, eager to get to Dean’s room to set up and see if his idea would even have a chance of helping Dean with his need to sleep. Finally, he reached Dean’s room and as quietly as he could with his arms full of equipment and treasured items, made his way in, glancing quickly over to his brother’s restless form. The drugs were barely holding him under as his body fought to rise from the murky depths of his disturbed dreams. Sam felt the pang of cutting sorrow lance through his chest as Dean whimpered and moaned his distress.
Sam carefully set down the docking station and ipod, his father’s worn leather jacket, and the miniature replica 67 Impala that their Uncle Bobby had found at garage sale two summers ago. At first, Dean had been disgusted that anyone would even think of sell the miniature of his beloved car, but he had soon treasured the replica model, painstakingly restoring it to it former glory, just as he maintained the real thing. Sam made a final polish of the gleaming black paint before he set it down on the ledge of the solitary, barred window. He then set about loading up Metallica’s ‘Black Album’ on repeat, starting it to playing softly as he gently draped the leather jacket worn soft with age and wear across his twitching brother’s chest. Finally he shut the door and turned up the ipod as much as he dare in the echoing room. The heavy bass and drums reverberated around the room in a strangely soothing cocoon of sound. Finally, he turned back to Dean to see bleary bloodshot green eyes glinting back at him with hazy curiosity.
“Hey Dean! I figured we can’t take you to your tried and true sleep tonic, so I brought it to you. See I even brought the Impala replica,” Sam smiled over at this lethargic brother as he gestured at the gleaming black model on the window sill.
Sam couldn’t hold back his smile as a genuine smirk creased his brother’s sleep deprived features.
“I can always rely on you to come up with something to help when I need you, can’t I Sam?” Dean slurred as he shuffled himself over onto his side, his face grimacing at the muscle tremors that could be seen twitching under his skin.
Sam clambered over the bed and slid in behind Dean, helping him to sit up against Sam’s chest with the worn jacket draped over them. Sam dropped his chin to rest on the top his brother’s head as he felt Dean shuffling in as close as he could get, his head nestling into Sam’s shoulder. Sam grinned as he felt the low rumble of Dean humming his way through the chorus of Enter Sandman.
“Rest Dean. I’ll be here when you wake, I promise,” Sam murmured into the sweat damp hair of his brother.
“Know...trust you,” Dean slurred as his head nodded towards his chest and his eyelids fluttered as he struggled to stay awake with the lull of the familiar surrounding him in the alien environment.
Sam felt a silent tear slip down his cheek as Dean relaxed slowly into the first natural sleep he’d had in the last three weeks that he’d be confined here. Sam swallowed back his grief as the long months of therapy and possible relapses stretched ahead of them. His fingers stroked through the sweaty strands of Dean’s hair as he stirred slightly as the song came to an end. Dean quickly settled back into a easy slumber as the next song started up and Sam quietly hummed into his hair.
They’d been through this before, they could get through it again. As hard as it was to watch his brother battle the illness always lurking in the darkness waiting to take away not only his reality but every trace of his dignity, as long as Dean was willing to battle back the darkness, then Sam would be there with him to fight every step of the way. Sam wasn’t going to leave him to manage this burden on his own anymore. He wasn’t sure how, but somehow Sam would find away to finish college and keep Dean well. There was no way he was going to leave him to face these Demons on his own, he’d help him take them on head on, with whatever means were necessary.
Warnings: Schizophrenic!Dean
Rating: PG 13+
Pairing: None
Disclaimer: None of the following belongs to me, I am just playing in Kripke and WB/CW's sandbox for fun not profit.
Beta Munibunny who is made of all kinds of awesome!
Summary: Sam struggles to watch his brother suffer through the ‘treatment’ of his mental illness.
Author Note: This was written for the H/C Bingo prompt Insomnia. This is an addition to the verse that started with Going Under It contains descriptions of mental illness. It in no way means to make light of the seriousness of the subject matter or offend anyone battling, the at times, debilitating effects of mental illness. Title stolen from the awesomeness that is Metallica.
He shifted slightly in the hard plastic chair as Dean twitched and whimpered in his drug induced sleep for the hundredth time that afternoon.
He had to swallow hard at the rising lump of anger that burned in his throat as he wiped gently at the drool that seeped from the corner of Dean’s slack lips. Sam hated the lack of dignity that sleep afforded Dean these days.
The only sleep his brother got was from a nearly lethal dose of sedatives that only granted him four hours at most and even that was obviously plagued with nightmares and was far from restful.
This had been the worst adjustment that Sam had ever seen Dean go through in his short fight with this invisible but completely devastating illness. It wasn’t unusual for Dean to suffer insomnia when he was adjusting to a new drug regime, but this time it was different.
Dean’s sure fire sleep inducing remedy was completely out of his reach. The slick black muscle car that had been Dean’s passion and respite throughout his illness was so tantalizingly close, yet so ridiculously far away in the reality of Dean’s current situation.
Every other time that Dean was struggling with the restlessness and crawling sensation under his skin, Sam would bundle him up in their Dad’s worn leather jacket and secure him into the front seat of his baby. They’d cruise the highways with Metallica cranked up to just below ear bleeding levels, James Hetfield’s gravelly screams as his lullaby, until Dean succumbed to the gentle rocking of the humming tires and slept like the dead for the next six hours.
With Dean’s grip on reality being so fragile there was no way that Dean was getting out of this facility any time soon. In that case, Sam was going to have to get creative. With a spark of an idea, Sam pressed his lips to his brother’s sweat dampened brow and pushed his way out the room before he lost his nerve to leave his brother alone. If he could get Dean’s treating doctor to agree, then it would be worth the panic and disorientation that Dean would experience if he woke from his drug induce haze earlier than expected.
~o0o~
Thankfully Dean’s doctor was all for trying anything that would allow Dean a measure of peaceful sleep without needing to nearly poison him with a cocktail of drugs that should have taken down a man four times his size.
Sam carefully juggled the bulky items in his arms as he made his way back down the hallways towards Dean room, being careful not to knock into any of the many patients loitering out in the less confining space of the corridors. Dean had once told him that hanging out in the hallways gave him the illusion of space, freedom, and a measure of control that his tiny room could never give. He’d said that when you were in for the long haul, any semblance of perceived freedom or control was coveted with salivating greed that if examined too closely would resemble desperation.
Sam shook away his depressing thoughts and picked up his pace, eager to get to Dean’s room to set up and see if his idea would even have a chance of helping Dean with his need to sleep. Finally, he reached Dean’s room and as quietly as he could with his arms full of equipment and treasured items, made his way in, glancing quickly over to his brother’s restless form. The drugs were barely holding him under as his body fought to rise from the murky depths of his disturbed dreams. Sam felt the pang of cutting sorrow lance through his chest as Dean whimpered and moaned his distress.
Sam carefully set down the docking station and ipod, his father’s worn leather jacket, and the miniature replica 67 Impala that their Uncle Bobby had found at garage sale two summers ago. At first, Dean had been disgusted that anyone would even think of sell the miniature of his beloved car, but he had soon treasured the replica model, painstakingly restoring it to it former glory, just as he maintained the real thing. Sam made a final polish of the gleaming black paint before he set it down on the ledge of the solitary, barred window. He then set about loading up Metallica’s ‘Black Album’ on repeat, starting it to playing softly as he gently draped the leather jacket worn soft with age and wear across his twitching brother’s chest. Finally he shut the door and turned up the ipod as much as he dare in the echoing room. The heavy bass and drums reverberated around the room in a strangely soothing cocoon of sound. Finally, he turned back to Dean to see bleary bloodshot green eyes glinting back at him with hazy curiosity.
“Hey Dean! I figured we can’t take you to your tried and true sleep tonic, so I brought it to you. See I even brought the Impala replica,” Sam smiled over at this lethargic brother as he gestured at the gleaming black model on the window sill.
Sam couldn’t hold back his smile as a genuine smirk creased his brother’s sleep deprived features.
“I can always rely on you to come up with something to help when I need you, can’t I Sam?” Dean slurred as he shuffled himself over onto his side, his face grimacing at the muscle tremors that could be seen twitching under his skin.
Sam clambered over the bed and slid in behind Dean, helping him to sit up against Sam’s chest with the worn jacket draped over them. Sam dropped his chin to rest on the top his brother’s head as he felt Dean shuffling in as close as he could get, his head nestling into Sam’s shoulder. Sam grinned as he felt the low rumble of Dean humming his way through the chorus of Enter Sandman.
“Rest Dean. I’ll be here when you wake, I promise,” Sam murmured into the sweat damp hair of his brother.
“Know...trust you,” Dean slurred as his head nodded towards his chest and his eyelids fluttered as he struggled to stay awake with the lull of the familiar surrounding him in the alien environment.
Sam felt a silent tear slip down his cheek as Dean relaxed slowly into the first natural sleep he’d had in the last three weeks that he’d be confined here. Sam swallowed back his grief as the long months of therapy and possible relapses stretched ahead of them. His fingers stroked through the sweaty strands of Dean’s hair as he stirred slightly as the song came to an end. Dean quickly settled back into a easy slumber as the next song started up and Sam quietly hummed into his hair.
They’d been through this before, they could get through it again. As hard as it was to watch his brother battle the illness always lurking in the darkness waiting to take away not only his reality but every trace of his dignity, as long as Dean was willing to battle back the darkness, then Sam would be there with him to fight every step of the way. Sam wasn’t going to leave him to manage this burden on his own anymore. He wasn’t sure how, but somehow Sam would find away to finish college and keep Dean well. There was no way he was going to leave him to face these Demons on his own, he’d help him take them on head on, with whatever means were necessary.