One Stop Talk
Title: One Stop Talk
Rating: PG
Pairings: Wincest
Word Count: 2,061
Warnings: None
Summary: The talk Sam has with the psychologist in the season one episode Asylum
Sam figured the waiting room of the psychologist’s office looked like the waiting room of any other psychologist’s office. Though he probably should have, he’d never been to a psychologist before, so he wouldn’t know. The place was white with uncomfortable black leather chairs and some potted plants placed in corners next to end tables covered in out of date magazines that had probably been donated by other patients. He grabbed the glossy Men’s Health mag off the top of the stack, noticing absentmindedly, that the place where the person’s address would have been had been cut off and began flipping through it. In the next couple of minutes he learned more about Hollywood than he had in the last couple of years.
“Sam Winchester?”
He looked up and saw a balding man wearing a blue button-up, a woolen windbreaker, and a pair of black trousers held in place by a brown belt. He looked like he’d had a long day already and Sam wondered what Dr. James Ellicot’s patients were typically like. Probably not perfectly sane twenty-two year olds that were trying to filch information out of him. Hopefully he’d be able to do that subtly without the man figuring out what he was trying to do. However, this man was a psychologist, so he doubted he would succeed. Still, he would try. He and Dean - who was waiting outside - needed to find out more about the asylum before they could even guess how to destroy the spirit haunting its halls.
“That’s me,” he said, his expression blank.
“Come on in,” Dr. Ellicot responded, gesturing for him to follow him into the next room as Sam pushed himself to his feet, giving the doctor a tight-lipped smile, and doing exactly that. He tossed the magazine aside. It flopped onto the leather couch with a muffled thud.
“Thanks again for seeing me last minute,” Sam said as he walked into an office that looked almost identical to the waiting room, save for the fact there was a desk and a few shelves housing psychology and sociology books. He took the next to the window that was a smaller version of the couch he’d been sitting in outside. He noted the picture of a young boy and an elderly man on the doctor’s desk. Just above that on the wall was a plaque that stated Dr. James Ellicot had been in the service of the Rockford Chamber of Commerce for the past fifteen years.
“Doctor Ellicot,” he said like the name wasn’t entirely familiar to him. “That name…wasn’t there a Doctor Sanford Ellicot? Yeah, he was the chief psychiatrist somewhere.”
The doctor nodded proudly, barely holding back a smile as he turned towards Sam, his yellow notebook on his lap as he said, “My father was chief of staff at the old Roosevelt Asylum. How did you know?”
A look of false surprise crossed Sam’s features at this and he sat back, gesturing towards the man before him as he responded, “Huh, well, I’m sort of a local history buff. Hey, wasn’t there an incident or something in the…in the hospital, I guess, in the south wing, right?”
“We’re on your dollar, Sam,” the doctor said, sounding annoyed now. Clearly Sam had accidentally struck a nerve. “We’re here to talk about you.”
Sam froze. “Oh, okay, yeah, yeah, sure,” his tone barely covering his anxiety. This hadn’t been part of the plan. Of course, he had assumed the doctor would figure out what he was up to, but he hadn’t thought the man would actually insist he talk about himself. That wasn’t something he did. Not even with Jess and, lately, not even with Dean. Sam Winchester didn’t talk about himself. Talking about himself meant revealing what he thought and he didn’t like doing that. More often than not his thoughts were dark and talking to a psychologist about these particular thoughts could get him committed to a room with padded walls.
“So?” the doctor said.
“So,” Sam repeated, feeling frustrated with himself as well as nervous.
“How’re things?” the doctor asked.
“Uh, things are good, doctor,” Sam replied, barely able to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Even the smile he flashed the man was full of frustration and anger, though he hoped the man wouldn’t notice that.
“Good. What’ve you been doing?” the doctor asked. The smile on his lips was just as fake as Sam’s.
“Uh…” Sam began, trying to think of something that wouldn’t sound too odd. “Sam old. I’ve just been on a...on a road trip with my brother.”
“Was that fun?”
“Loads,” Sam replied, his smile becoming more strained, more fake. “Um…you know…we…met a lot of…interesting people.” The doctor nodded in assent. “Did a lot of, uh…a lot of interesting things. Uh…” That was it. He couldn’t talk about himself anymore. He tried to divert the conversation back to the asylum. That was what he was here for. “You know, what was it exactly that happened in the south wing? I forget…”
This time the man cut him off before he could get any further. “Look, if you’re a local history buff, then you know all about the Roosevelt riot.”
“The riot?” Sam asked, before he realized what he’d done. Then he shook his head and added, trying to save face, “Well, no, I know, I’m just curious -”
“Sam,” the doctor said, his voice firm. He set his pad and pen aside and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Let’s cut the bull, shall we? You’re avoiding the subject.”
“What subject?” Sam asked stupidly, his eyebrow raised in confusion and shock.
“You.” There was a moment of silence from the both of them before the doctor continued, “Now, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you all about the Roosevelt riot, if you tell me something honest about yourself…like, uh…this brother you’re road-tripping with. How do you feel about him?”
Sam turned his gaze to the white carpet beneath their feet as his brows rose high enough to be in danger of disappearing into his hairline.
How did Sam feel about Dean. That wasn’t something he’d ever been asked before. He’d certainly asked himself that many times and had conversations with himself about it, but Sam had never been asked by anyone else how he felt about Dean. Not even Jessica had asked him how he felt about Dean and he hadn’t told her either. The last thing he’d wanted to do was tell her about his past with his brother. He’d loved her and he didn’t want to scare her away. If he told this man about how he felt about his brother would he commit him or judge him? He liked to think he wouldn’t, but there was no knowing with psychologists who just thought they were helping when really they weren’t.
Making himself more comfortable in the chair, he took a shuddering breath and sat the same way the man before him was sitting with his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling between his legs. He swallowed hard, looked up into the doctor’s eyes and said, “You’re not going to judge me or commit me to a padded room, are you?”
The doctor smiled. This time the smile was genuine. “As long as you’re not going to hurt yourself or anyone else, nothing you say to me leaves this room.” He paused, then added, “And I’m not allowed to judge you. It’s part of my job.”
Sam wasn’t completely reassured, but he nodded anyhow and took a small, shuddering breath, before he began. “When I was six months old, my mom died and my dad…he kind of lost it after her death, so he dragged my brother and I around the country, working odd jobs. My brother and I grew up in close quarters and we became really close.” He paused, letting that sink in, wondering if the man understood. The doctor didn’t say anything, so he continued. He could clarify things at the end of his story. “Then I went to college and my dad was really upset about that. He felt like I was abandoning him. He told me to never come back if I left. So I went and I was gone for four years and I met a girl that I fell in love with.” He smiled at his memory of Jess. “She was beautiful and just…she was everything I’d ever wanted, but then Dean came back.” His smile faded. “And we went on a trip together, just for the weekend, but when I got back, she’d died.” He swallowed hard. “So I went with Dean and we’ve been on a road trip ever since.”
There was a silence after Sam finished speaking where he was trying to hold back his tears and the doctor was taking in what the boy before him had said.
“You’re in love with your brother?” the man asked finally.
Sam nodded.
“Have you always been in love with him?”
Sam nodded again.
“Have you had sex with him?”
Sam nodded a third time.
There was another silence.
Sam dragged his hand over his face and finally said, “I love him more than anything. I would do anything for him. I would die for him. I loved Jess. I really did, but if I had to choose between her and Dean, I would choose Dean. I did choose Dean.” He took a shuddering breath. “So it’s basically my fault that Jessica died.” Silence. “I never shouldn’t have been with her to begin with. Then nothing would have happened.”
More silence, this time it lasted longer than the first two and when the psychologist spoke again, he said, “I’m going to tell you what I think you should do about your brother and then I’m going to keep my end of the deal and tell you all about the Roosevelt riot, alright?”
Sam nodded.
“I think you should stay with him.” Sam looked up, surprised. “He seems to be what makes you happy and if he’s helping you through your girlfriend’s death, then, by all means, let him help you. However, I also think you should try to learn how to stand on your own. You’ve been depending on your brother your whole life it sounds like. If your dad was working odd jobs, he probably left you two alone together, so you’re all each other’s ever had. I can see why you would fall in love with him. Anyway, I think going to college was good for you because it showed you that you can be your own person. Maybe once you’re done grieving your girlfriend, you should go back and your brother can visit you sometimes or go to college with you. In any event, I think you both need to learn that you can be happy without each other to lean on. You can stand up by yourself.”
Sam nodded once the man was done speaking, even though he knew that wasn’t going to happen. He was never going to be able to let Dean go a second time. The only reason he’d been able to the first time was because Dean had been so angry with him for leaving him that he’d said some awful things that ensured Sam would stay away. Maybe he’d wanted Sam to stay away. More than once Dean had said all he wanted was for Sam to be happy and he knew that Sam would be happy going to college without him there.
He was so caught up in these thoughts that the doctor had to restart the story of the riot several times before Sam actually understood everything he said. By the time he was done in the psychologist’s office, it was three in the afternoon and he’d gone in around one. Dean was waiting for him just outside the hospital the doctor’s office was housed in. He smiled when he saw him. Sturdy, strong Dean. Dean had always been there for him and always would be. How could he ever consider leaving him? He pushed out the door and left behind what the doctor had told him about learning to stand on his own because he knew he would never be able to do that. And he didn’t really need to. He had Dean. He didn’t need anything else.
Rating: PG
Pairings: Wincest
Word Count: 2,061
Warnings: None
Summary: The talk Sam has with the psychologist in the season one episode Asylum
Sam figured the waiting room of the psychologist’s office looked like the waiting room of any other psychologist’s office. Though he probably should have, he’d never been to a psychologist before, so he wouldn’t know. The place was white with uncomfortable black leather chairs and some potted plants placed in corners next to end tables covered in out of date magazines that had probably been donated by other patients. He grabbed the glossy Men’s Health mag off the top of the stack, noticing absentmindedly, that the place where the person’s address would have been had been cut off and began flipping through it. In the next couple of minutes he learned more about Hollywood than he had in the last couple of years.
“Sam Winchester?”
He looked up and saw a balding man wearing a blue button-up, a woolen windbreaker, and a pair of black trousers held in place by a brown belt. He looked like he’d had a long day already and Sam wondered what Dr. James Ellicot’s patients were typically like. Probably not perfectly sane twenty-two year olds that were trying to filch information out of him. Hopefully he’d be able to do that subtly without the man figuring out what he was trying to do. However, this man was a psychologist, so he doubted he would succeed. Still, he would try. He and Dean - who was waiting outside - needed to find out more about the asylum before they could even guess how to destroy the spirit haunting its halls.
“That’s me,” he said, his expression blank.
“Come on in,” Dr. Ellicot responded, gesturing for him to follow him into the next room as Sam pushed himself to his feet, giving the doctor a tight-lipped smile, and doing exactly that. He tossed the magazine aside. It flopped onto the leather couch with a muffled thud.
“Thanks again for seeing me last minute,” Sam said as he walked into an office that looked almost identical to the waiting room, save for the fact there was a desk and a few shelves housing psychology and sociology books. He took the next to the window that was a smaller version of the couch he’d been sitting in outside. He noted the picture of a young boy and an elderly man on the doctor’s desk. Just above that on the wall was a plaque that stated Dr. James Ellicot had been in the service of the Rockford Chamber of Commerce for the past fifteen years.
“Doctor Ellicot,” he said like the name wasn’t entirely familiar to him. “That name…wasn’t there a Doctor Sanford Ellicot? Yeah, he was the chief psychiatrist somewhere.”
The doctor nodded proudly, barely holding back a smile as he turned towards Sam, his yellow notebook on his lap as he said, “My father was chief of staff at the old Roosevelt Asylum. How did you know?”
A look of false surprise crossed Sam’s features at this and he sat back, gesturing towards the man before him as he responded, “Huh, well, I’m sort of a local history buff. Hey, wasn’t there an incident or something in the…in the hospital, I guess, in the south wing, right?”
“We’re on your dollar, Sam,” the doctor said, sounding annoyed now. Clearly Sam had accidentally struck a nerve. “We’re here to talk about you.”
Sam froze. “Oh, okay, yeah, yeah, sure,” his tone barely covering his anxiety. This hadn’t been part of the plan. Of course, he had assumed the doctor would figure out what he was up to, but he hadn’t thought the man would actually insist he talk about himself. That wasn’t something he did. Not even with Jess and, lately, not even with Dean. Sam Winchester didn’t talk about himself. Talking about himself meant revealing what he thought and he didn’t like doing that. More often than not his thoughts were dark and talking to a psychologist about these particular thoughts could get him committed to a room with padded walls.
“So?” the doctor said.
“So,” Sam repeated, feeling frustrated with himself as well as nervous.
“How’re things?” the doctor asked.
“Uh, things are good, doctor,” Sam replied, barely able to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Even the smile he flashed the man was full of frustration and anger, though he hoped the man wouldn’t notice that.
“Good. What’ve you been doing?” the doctor asked. The smile on his lips was just as fake as Sam’s.
“Uh…” Sam began, trying to think of something that wouldn’t sound too odd. “Sam old. I’ve just been on a...on a road trip with my brother.”
“Was that fun?”
“Loads,” Sam replied, his smile becoming more strained, more fake. “Um…you know…we…met a lot of…interesting people.” The doctor nodded in assent. “Did a lot of, uh…a lot of interesting things. Uh…” That was it. He couldn’t talk about himself anymore. He tried to divert the conversation back to the asylum. That was what he was here for. “You know, what was it exactly that happened in the south wing? I forget…”
This time the man cut him off before he could get any further. “Look, if you’re a local history buff, then you know all about the Roosevelt riot.”
“The riot?” Sam asked, before he realized what he’d done. Then he shook his head and added, trying to save face, “Well, no, I know, I’m just curious -”
“Sam,” the doctor said, his voice firm. He set his pad and pen aside and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Let’s cut the bull, shall we? You’re avoiding the subject.”
“What subject?” Sam asked stupidly, his eyebrow raised in confusion and shock.
“You.” There was a moment of silence from the both of them before the doctor continued, “Now, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you all about the Roosevelt riot, if you tell me something honest about yourself…like, uh…this brother you’re road-tripping with. How do you feel about him?”
Sam turned his gaze to the white carpet beneath their feet as his brows rose high enough to be in danger of disappearing into his hairline.
How did Sam feel about Dean. That wasn’t something he’d ever been asked before. He’d certainly asked himself that many times and had conversations with himself about it, but Sam had never been asked by anyone else how he felt about Dean. Not even Jessica had asked him how he felt about Dean and he hadn’t told her either. The last thing he’d wanted to do was tell her about his past with his brother. He’d loved her and he didn’t want to scare her away. If he told this man about how he felt about his brother would he commit him or judge him? He liked to think he wouldn’t, but there was no knowing with psychologists who just thought they were helping when really they weren’t.
Making himself more comfortable in the chair, he took a shuddering breath and sat the same way the man before him was sitting with his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling between his legs. He swallowed hard, looked up into the doctor’s eyes and said, “You’re not going to judge me or commit me to a padded room, are you?”
The doctor smiled. This time the smile was genuine. “As long as you’re not going to hurt yourself or anyone else, nothing you say to me leaves this room.” He paused, then added, “And I’m not allowed to judge you. It’s part of my job.”
Sam wasn’t completely reassured, but he nodded anyhow and took a small, shuddering breath, before he began. “When I was six months old, my mom died and my dad…he kind of lost it after her death, so he dragged my brother and I around the country, working odd jobs. My brother and I grew up in close quarters and we became really close.” He paused, letting that sink in, wondering if the man understood. The doctor didn’t say anything, so he continued. He could clarify things at the end of his story. “Then I went to college and my dad was really upset about that. He felt like I was abandoning him. He told me to never come back if I left. So I went and I was gone for four years and I met a girl that I fell in love with.” He smiled at his memory of Jess. “She was beautiful and just…she was everything I’d ever wanted, but then Dean came back.” His smile faded. “And we went on a trip together, just for the weekend, but when I got back, she’d died.” He swallowed hard. “So I went with Dean and we’ve been on a road trip ever since.”
There was a silence after Sam finished speaking where he was trying to hold back his tears and the doctor was taking in what the boy before him had said.
“You’re in love with your brother?” the man asked finally.
Sam nodded.
“Have you always been in love with him?”
Sam nodded again.
“Have you had sex with him?”
Sam nodded a third time.
There was another silence.
Sam dragged his hand over his face and finally said, “I love him more than anything. I would do anything for him. I would die for him. I loved Jess. I really did, but if I had to choose between her and Dean, I would choose Dean. I did choose Dean.” He took a shuddering breath. “So it’s basically my fault that Jessica died.” Silence. “I never shouldn’t have been with her to begin with. Then nothing would have happened.”
More silence, this time it lasted longer than the first two and when the psychologist spoke again, he said, “I’m going to tell you what I think you should do about your brother and then I’m going to keep my end of the deal and tell you all about the Roosevelt riot, alright?”
Sam nodded.
“I think you should stay with him.” Sam looked up, surprised. “He seems to be what makes you happy and if he’s helping you through your girlfriend’s death, then, by all means, let him help you. However, I also think you should try to learn how to stand on your own. You’ve been depending on your brother your whole life it sounds like. If your dad was working odd jobs, he probably left you two alone together, so you’re all each other’s ever had. I can see why you would fall in love with him. Anyway, I think going to college was good for you because it showed you that you can be your own person. Maybe once you’re done grieving your girlfriend, you should go back and your brother can visit you sometimes or go to college with you. In any event, I think you both need to learn that you can be happy without each other to lean on. You can stand up by yourself.”
Sam nodded once the man was done speaking, even though he knew that wasn’t going to happen. He was never going to be able to let Dean go a second time. The only reason he’d been able to the first time was because Dean had been so angry with him for leaving him that he’d said some awful things that ensured Sam would stay away. Maybe he’d wanted Sam to stay away. More than once Dean had said all he wanted was for Sam to be happy and he knew that Sam would be happy going to college without him there.
He was so caught up in these thoughts that the doctor had to restart the story of the riot several times before Sam actually understood everything he said. By the time he was done in the psychologist’s office, it was three in the afternoon and he’d gone in around one. Dean was waiting for him just outside the hospital the doctor’s office was housed in. He smiled when he saw him. Sturdy, strong Dean. Dean had always been there for him and always would be. How could he ever consider leaving him? He pushed out the door and left behind what the doctor had told him about learning to stand on his own because he knew he would never be able to do that. And he didn’t really need to. He had Dean. He didn’t need anything else.