This is AU. Just saying. Also deals with mental illness and a lot of dark themes in the future. I will put warnings as they come.
Now I'm feeling at the end of the rope
Now I'm falling down the rabbit hole
Am I losing my mind? Or I just can't let go
I feel like, I feel like I'm losing control
Mumbling. That's all Seth could hear. That's all he had listened to for the past five minutes. Sure, the TV was on, and he was 'watching it' (or so he wanted it to seem), but he was listening carefully. This had become part of his daily routine – wake up, go to work, come home, listen. He was always listening. He had to in order to protect not only himself, but Dean, as well.
Five minutes had passed of Dean's pacing back and forth, walking from the kitchen, to the bedroom, to the kitchen, to the bedroom. Back and forth, back and forth. He understood exactly where this burst of energy came from, and simply allowed Dean to work it out of his system.
They were bothering him today. Bad. Real bad.
After a few more passes, Seth heard the front door open and close. This was Dean's routine. The day would progress, he would become more agitated. As the agitation grew, his need to smoke grew. He would venture outside, chain a few cigarettes, and come back much calmer. Maybe.
Seth rested his head against the back of the couch, letting his eyes slip shut. This was his few moments to relax his nerves.
He knew Dean was worked up; he knew from the moment he came home. He had called out to Dean, making his way to the bedroom as he received no response. Dean was in there, of course, but he wasn't the only one. He was staring at…something. Sitting on the bed, engrossed in what he saw, he didn't even notice Seth's presence. His brows were knitted together, a slight grimace marred his features. The rips in his jeans were becoming larger, his slender fingers wrapping around the loose strings, tearing them from the fabric. Seth called out again, snapping through Dean's captivity with – what seemed like – the wall. He looked over at Seth in the doorway, fear showing through his blue orbs. Realizing who it was, relaxation washed over his face, a small smirk replacing the frown from before.
Victory.
He had managed to grasp Dean's attention long enough to coax him into the living room to watch some TV and talk about what was bothering him (even if he knew the answer). He had hoped that that would be enough today, but that only lead to the current situation of Dean pacing, mumbling, and smoking.
Not quite.
He hated having to leave Dean during the day; it was always worse when he was alone. If his mind was occupied, he was relatively coherent. He would remain Dean, and actually be able to hold a conversation. Alone was when his mind raced, those heckling screams begging for release from their prison. Those moments were what Seth hated the most. Simply because he knew there was nothing he could do to take it away.
He knew the delusions were getting worse, even more frequent. He was getting less and less Dean lately, but Dean refused any sort of treatment. Seth knew he was terrified; these people had been with him since he was a child. They had become friends to him. When no one was around, they always were. They were his solace from loneliness, his protectors from a world that abused him.
Seth's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a creaking door, Dean returning to the confines of their rather small apartment. It was enough for the two of them; they didn't need or want anything extravagant, even if they could afford it (which, in their situation, was impossible). Making his way over to join Seth, Dean plopped down with a huff next to his partner, resting his head against a broad shoulder. He allowed his fatigue-ridden eyes to slip shut as Seth looked down at him, wondering if it was, indeed, still him.
Seth smiled. The mumbling had stopped, for now.
Taking a rather long intake of air, Dean quickly pushed it out in an exhausted sigh. His fits were draining, to say the least. His anxiety would sky-rocket, and then came the crash and burn. If he were to be honest, Seth looked forward to the crash. Both he and Dean could relax in these reprieves.
"Seth," Dean started, breaking the silence between the two. Earning a small 'hmm?' in return, he looked up into Seth's large brown eyes. Just that look was enough to keep his demons at bay, if only for awhile. His mind could relax when Seth was around, and he loved every second of it. Those moments of silence were becoming less and less.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, barely above a whisper, but Seth heard it. Looking back down at his tattered jeans, Dean began to pick at the strands falling off again, much slower this time and with less focus. Seth shook his head, placing a soft kiss against his partner's messy auburn locks.
"You don't have to apologize," he commented, resting his cheek against the older man's head. He looked down to the large hands that were rubbed red with anxiety as they began to still. Dean's breathing became soft and slow, the fatigue finally taking over his body and mind. Slipping his hand into the damaged one of his boyfriend's, Seth stroked gently at the scabbed knuckles with his thumb.
This was their routine. This was their battle. Schizophrenia was theirs to fight, together, and Seth would never let Dean fight alone.
A little note: This is based greatly around my own experiences, condition wise. I'm more coming from Seth's perspective in living with someone with this illness, so a good portion will be from that. Obviously, I know a lot about the latter view, but again I can't look into the head of the other person. Some things may seem different from a 'normal' presentation, but this is just what I know through experience. Of course, there will be variations to fit the story, but just remember this before I get an angry review that I'm doing it wrong or something. Ok, I think I'm done here. A heads up that chapters might be sporadic due to my heavy work load. Thank you for your time!
