Title: Blackbird
Author: Oldach's Dream
Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever?
Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation.
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Chapter Seven (Which is really just Chapter 6 continued, but I refuse to call it that):
Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to tell this Dean a little about his world. If only to take note of the parallels between the two, so he could possibly begin to find a way out.
Perhaps there was a crack, or a gap, or something in the curse holding him here, something unstable he could use to help Dean break him free.
Or perhaps he just wanted to know more about the normal world he was being presented with the opportunity to take part in.
"I only went for four years though." He continued his earlier recollections. "Then..."
"Jessica died?" He guessed
"Yeah." Sam agreed quietly, he didn't like hearing the words out loud. In any reality. "Then me and you went back to hunting."
"While trying to find dad, who's off hunting the demon that killed mom and Jess. At least, that's what we were doing, now we're just hunting, just you and me. We more or less gave up on trying to find dad, right?" Dean asked curiously.
Sam just nodded and looked at Dean curiously.
"Jess let me read your manuscript." He said in way of explanation.
"Paranormal activity." Sam said, still trying to wrap his head around that one.
"Yeah," Dean nodded. "The doctor that evaluated you earlier was trying to explain what was happening to you because of it. Or how what's happening to you is tied to it."
Sam took a seat on the couch by the window, feeling suddenly dizzy. "And?" he prompted, ignoring Dean's concerned glaze, he was used to it by now.
"And, she said that memory loss isn't uncommon with major head injuries like the one you suffered." He sounded very much like he was actually quoting the doctor.
"This isn't memory loss exactly, though, is it?" Sam said irritably.
"I'm getting there." Dean said patiently. "She also said that head injuries can sometimes release long repressed memories. Only in your case, instead of finding old, real memories, your brain filled in what you couldn't remember, with something that you could."
"Huh?"
Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Another trait both Dean's had. The way the room was set up had allowed them to face each other directly when Dean had turned his chair towards the couch Sam was now relaxed on. He could see perfectly how troubled his brother looked.
"I don't really remember the exact terminology she used." Dean admitted. "But basically, you've been writing this book since you started Stanford- thank you for never telling me about it, by the way." He added sarcastically.
Sam shrugged but said nothing, indicating that he wanted Dean to get back to his explanation. Humor could be saved for later.
Dean got the message. "The book's plot, it became sort of engrained in your thoughts. Kind of like a second reality, only less powerful, less real. It was a place you were making up, one you thought about constantly. So it got tied into your daily life, especially since you were basing the characters on us. Real people. But because they weren't really real, you didn't loose them when you got hurt. Like you lost everything else. And your brain just kind of...overcompensated."
"So I lost one set of memories and gained another?" Sam asked thoughtfully. Dean, his Dean, was right. That did kind of make sense.
"Basically." Dean nodded, relieved that he'd been successful in paraphrasing the doctor. "Dr. Malid said she's never heard of another case quite like it."
"There've been cases where people have lost their minds and made up different worlds. Detached themselves completely from reality." Sam told him, not really sure what he was trying to prove. "And I'm not talking about that movie. I mean actual medical cases."
"I know there have been, college boy." Dean said lightly, trying to calm Sam, as he had been speaking almost frantically. "But as far as Dr. Malid knows, there's never been one where the real world has been replaced with the plot of the novel that the injured person was writing."
"Seems a little unlikely." Sam sighed. "But it does make sense."
"You sound disappointed at that." Dean noted.
"Yeah, well. The more sense it makes, the harder it's gonna be to get out of here." Sam said. "The harder its gonna be for you to get me outta here."
Dean sighed. "Look, If you wanna keep acting like this isn't real Sam, that's fine, I'll humor you for as long as it takes you to get better." He paused. "But could you do me a favor, and not talk like that in front of mom or Jessica? Even dad, if you can help it."
Sam smirked, the similarities between the two were unmistakable. He always had to be the protector.
Sam didn't know what difference it really made anyway, whether he said it constantly or not, he knew it wasn't real. He knew that he was being set up. Of course knowing it and feeling it were two entirely different things.
But he didn't want to upset his mother or his girlfriend. This was very possibly the only time he'd ever get a chance like this. A chance to see and talk to the women he loved. He would not screw that up. For anything.
"Sure." He agreed. "I'll try not to mention it."
"Good." Dean nodded. "That's what the doctor suggested too, to help you stay here."
"Of course." Sam agreed lightly. "Because if you humor me, I'll never get better."
Dean shook his head and rolled his eyes. He could tell Sam was joking, or at least kind of joking. Playing off the serious situation as unimportant.
Again he asked himself, what difference did it really make? He could strip off all his clothes and go streaking through the streets, singing jingle bells at the top of his lungs, and no one in the real world would ever find out about it. He could do anything he wanted and it wouldn't really be happening. He was, after all, simply inside his own head. In the real world he was laying in a hospital bed, probably drooling like a vegetable.
He wondered briefly about death. If he died in this fake reality, would he die in his own world? He decided it wasn't something he wanted to test, and quickly let the question go.
"Hey Sammy?" Dean asked tensely after a few moments.
"Yeah?"
"In your world," Sam could tell he was being serious, and that it had been difficult for him to say that. "I'm trying to save you, right?"
Now that was somewhat of an odd question, Sam looked thoughtfully at his brother. It sounded almost as if Dean was scared of the answer he may receive. His eyes were darting from the tiled floor to Sam's forehead, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Uh, yeah." He answered after a moment. "You, well, you went off to find the thing causing this." He decided not to mention that it was most likely a human he was hunting. In his own reality, Sam had had a hard time accepting that. He didn't want to see this Dean's reaction to it.
"Just me?" He asked. "Where are you?"
"A mental hospital." Sam answered honestly. Despite knowing that none of this was real, he felt very reluctant in divulging that information.
Dean's face scrunched in confusion. "I just left you somewhere and went off by myself?" Sam shrugged, now it was him who wouldn't meet his brother's gaze. "I wouldn't do that Sammy."
"You didn't have a choice." Sam was defending Dean's actions to Dean. He wanted to roll his eyes at the humor of it, but found that the humor of the situation was lacking. By defending his brother to this Dean, he felt like he was trying to convince himself, that his own doubts were unfounded.
"You didn't abandon me," Sam went on. "It wouldn't of been safe for me to go with you."
He decided to leave out the part about the crazy doctor. It seemed irrelevant here. So the doctor on duty was a mean, sadistic bastard? So what? Dean hadn't known that when he dropped Sam off there. When he dumped him there like he was a hindrance.
"I mean, Its not like I could risk hunting while I'm passing out every three seconds." He was getting angry, his voice steadily rising with each thing he said. "Dean did the only thing he could do. I would of done the same thing. There wasn't another option!"
"Okay Sammy." This Dean said agreeably. Both brothers were left with the feeling that Sam had been yelling more at himself than he had at him. "I'm sure he... I...we... were doing the right thing."
"Pronouns suck don't they?" Sam asked, his shallow breathing returning to normal.
Dean smirked, "In this situation, I think everything kind of sucks."
"True." Sam agreed. "I have, what? Three different doctors? Two brothers. A girlfriend and a mom who aren't dead anymore? Two dads? Two different childhoods to pick from, one I don't even know about yet. Two different college majors, two jobs..." he trailed off. "God, if I'm not already insane, I think this might be the breaking point."
"You said yet." Dean smiled genuinely.
"What?" Sam asked, confused. He had been expecting his brother to say something along the lines of 'You're not crazy' or 'Do you want me to go get the doctor so she can give you some more drugs?'
"Yet." He repeated, and Sam realized he was quoting him. "Does that mean you're gonna be sticking around long enough for us to fill you in on your past here? On Your real life."
"Depends, I don't watch Oprah here do I?" Sam asked it to lighten the mood, and because he was finding, that when faced with uncomfortable situations here, he acted a lot like his other brother.
"You hate daytime TV." Dean informed sincerely.
"So do you." He couldn't help but recall Dean's cracks about it the last time he'd been in a hospital. When he was dying.
"Yeah." He agreed, but was still looking at him like he expected an answer.
"I don't know Dean. I don't think, I mean, I don't know if I can choose when I come here." He felt oddly disappointed at the thought of leaving here again. Of course he kept telling himself that that was because all that was waiting for him in the other world was a tiny, starch white room and a nutty doctor.
"Dr. Malid has a theory on that too." he said immediately.
"Of course she does." Sam really couldn't complain about the doctor's interest in him, given the circumstances.
He had spent only a short time with her here, but she was by far his favorite doctor. No sinus issues, no insanity problems. Yup. Dr. Malid was the best doctor Sam had had in years.
"She thinks that the more attached you get to this world, the more likely you are to stick around."
"Oh, come on!" Sam exclaimed.
"What?" Dean asked, generally confused.
"Don't you think that that's exactly what, whoever's setting me up, would want?" He asked, not caring ridiculous he sounded to this Dean. "Come, enjoy you're new normal life. While I kill you slowly. And while I'm at it, I'll kill your brother too."
"Sam." Dean said with a small, half smile. "No one's gonna kill me. I'm right here. And so are you. That's not going to change anytime soon. Unless you leave us again."
Sam sighed. Why did this have to be so hard? It shouldn't be this difficult to decide whether or not he wanted to go back to his brother, back to fighting evil.
But it was.
It was, because he was trapped inside his own subconscious. And in his mind, he did feel as if Dean abandoned him by leaving him in the care of Dr. Kabala. And he also felt as if he deserved that. After all the times he had abandoned Dean, he really couldn't blame the man for wanting to leave him behind.
Yet he also knew, or thought, hoped, he knew, that his real brother wasn't really abandoning him. Even if he did deserve it, all Dean was doing, was trying to help him. Cure him.
No; kill the thing causing this. This wasn't something coming from inside Sam himself. It didn't need a cure, it needed a kill.
"Sammy?" Dean asked softly. "Are you okay?"
"I don't know Dean." He answered honestly.
"Why don't you go back to sleep. You're still hurt, I shouldn't of bombarded you with all this stuff right now." He sounded self-deprecating. "You're supposed to be taking it easy."
"It's alright." Sam assured him. "I wanted to know. But I do think I'll go back to sleep. All this reality jumping can really take a toll on a guy."
Dean smiled. "At least that hasn't changed."
Sam gave him an odd look as he stood up.
"You've always had a tendency to get sarcastic when you don't know what else to do." Dean told him.
"Yeah, well," Sam stretched lightly, enjoying the feel of expanding his mussels. "You have a tendency to be a sarcastic smart-ass all the time."
"That I do." Dean agreed easily. "We get that from mom."
Sam stopped stretching and looked at his brother. Perhaps they did. John Winchester had been all work, no jokes, while the boys had been growing up. He never before considered where they had picked up their respective humor traits.
Sam shook his head to stop himself from thinking about it further. Even if it were true, it would change nothing.
He crossed the small room and crawled into bed. He'd never admit it, but it felt good to be lying down. This curse was great at making him feel things, specifically the aftermath of his coma, very realistically.
Sam reached down to pull up the blanket, but found that Dean, who had stood up at some point, was doing it for him.
He wanted to scowl at his brother's babying, but found that he was actually quite touched. The gesture reminded him briefly of their childhood years. When Dean would tuck Sam in, as most children were tucked in by a mother or father.
"Night Sammy." He said softly.
Sam felt his eyelids dropping, and by the time Dean had turned the light off and was back in his chair next to Sam's bed, he found that he had no energy to contemplate anymore possible differences between the worlds.
He knew only, that his big brother was a few feet away, and that he was safe.
"Good night Dean." He whispered. Then, even softer, "I'll see you in the morning."
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Sam woke slowly.
His back screamed in pain when he tried to uncurl himself. He realized immediately that it was the result of sleeping in the fetal position.
His eyes cracked slowly and he was assaulted by white. Confining, stifling, white walls.
He was back at Grandville. Back within the immediate vicinity of Dr. Kabala. The thought of the insane doctor was much more frightening here.
Sam lifted his head only enough to scan the tiny room. His bags were nowhere in sight. Meaning his cell phone, and any means he might have had of contacting Dean weren't there.
He closed his eyes again. Tears sprung in them. Ones he could not fight away.
He did not want to be here. He felt trapped. So utterly and completely depressed at the thought of staying here, that depressed did not seem strong enough of a word.
He had never been the claustrophobic type, but he could have sworn he felt the walls closing in around him.
He shut his eyes tightly.
I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back.
He no longer felt guilty for thinking that. He knew if he didn't get back to the other world, he really would go insane.
So he pulled a pillow over his head tightly, if only to keep away the silence. Repeating to himself, over and over, out loud now, his throat scratchy and his voice choked with tears.
"I want to go back. I want to go back. I have to go back"
Until sleep finally rescued him once again.
End Chapter.
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