A/N: Written for the horror comment meme on sharp_teeth, in answer to the prompt: "Sam is in a mental hospital, and has hallucinations of Dean, telling him to kill."
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Superantural related.
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Dean's standing in the corner of the room, looking as he did when he was twenty-six – when he came looking for Sam at Stanford, a lifetime ago. Spiky hair and green eyes bright with mischief, looking young and unscarred by life. Not like he did the last time Sam saw him – which is a relief and Sam doesn't question why. He knows you have to count your blessings, and that they're few and far between.
"Sam? Do you know where you are?"
Sam wants to ignore the voice questioning him, but he knows it won't do any good. They keep asking and asking, the flow of questions never drying up. Sam doesn't bother with their names or faces anymore, but he knows that they'll leave him alone only if he answers the questions.
"Yeah, I know."
"Where?"
"I'm in a mental hospital."
---
The first time Sam sees Dean he thinks he's a ghost and he's afraid. Not that he's scared of ghosts – what a ludicrous thought – but he's worried that Dean's restless, stuck in limbo and that is wrong, wrong. Dean should be at peace – if he can't be with Sam, then he should be able to rest, at least.
But there aren't any cold spots and salt doesn't make him go away, so Sam understands – Dean isn't a ghost, Sam's just going crazy. He's surprisingly okay with this.
He starts seeing Dean everywhere, nights and days. In his room, in the common area, in the hallways, in his doctor's office. Dean just stands there with his arms folded and he looks at Sam, sometimes smiling and sometimes not, but he never looks sad or reproachful, which surprises Sam because if he has to have hallucinations of his brother, he'd think that it would be of him hurling accusations, calling him a monster, asking him why he didn't save him. Sam's subconscious has always been adept at torturing him.
But there isn't anything like that. At first Dean doesn't even talk. He's just there, and Sam gets used to him.
---
You have to kill them, Sammy. You have to save all of them, like you saved me.
That's the first thing Dean says.
"Kill who?" Sam asks.
Everyone.
It doesn't make any sense, but Dean's finally speaking and Sam's overjoyed. He's missed the low rumble of his brother's voice. He revels in it and doesn't think too much about what Dean's saying. After all, it isn't really Dean speaking – it's just Sam talking to himself, being crazy.
But Dean's relentless, and every time Sam sees him he repeats:
Do it, Sam. Save them like you saved me.
"Why does it have to be me?" Sam wants to know.
Because, Sam. It always had to be you.
Then Dean disappears; Sam reaches out, wanting to force him to stay, force him to stay with him because he misses him so much and he's so, so lonely. Feels like he can't breathe, sometimes. A nurse rests a hand on his shoulder and then Sam remembers – crazy, he's crazy.
---
He manages to ignore Dean for a few days, though it hurts to do so. There's something wrong about what Dean says; Sam can't put his finger on it. When Dean speaks Sam mostly listens to his voice, to the familiar texture and the comforting tone, and he doesn't want it to ever stop. But something isn't right and Sam just wishes he could think clearly enough to understand why.
And one day, Dean doesn't show up. He doesn't appear the next day either, and the day after that, and with each day passing Sam feels like the weight on his chest become heavier, constricting his lungs and his heart.
"Please, Dean," he whispers when he thinks nobody can hear him. "Please, come back. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
He stops eating and the doctors worry. He doesn't sleep at night but waits, waits for his brother to come back because he can't, he can't, he can't be without him. He peers through the darkness and listens to the silence.
Until, one morning:
Are you going to do it, Sam?
---
"Are you listening?"
Sam contains an annoyed sigh. Why all the questions? He never has a moment of peace. He rolls his eyes in Dean's direction, and his brother smirks. Yes, the doctor is an idiot. He doesn't understand. Then Dean's expression is serious again. Are you ready, Sam?
Sam is, he fingers the sharpened piece of plastic in his pocket. Go straight for the jugular – I know! God, his brother can be a pain in the ass, sometimes.
"Do you remember why you're here, Sam?"
Sam almost doesn't answer. What's the point? He doesn't want to think about it, why can't the man understand that? He glances at Dean for support and sees his brother nodding. Tell him, Sam. Sam shakes his head – he doesn't want to, he doesn't. Please, don't make me.
It's okay, Sam. You're okay.
The love in Dean's voice is unbearable and Sam's tearing up, which is ridiculous because everything is okay. Dean said so.
"Why are you here?" the doctor insists, and Sam finally gives in.
"I remember. I killed my brother."
---
Do it, Sam, do it!
No, no, no. Please, Dean, don't make me.
You have to. I can't live like this, I can't become one of the things we hunt. You'll save me, Sam. Save me, please.
I can't, I can't.
It's okay, Sam. You're going to be okay.