"At least he wasn't seeing Ruby." Dean whispered to himself.
He was repeating variations on these six words to himself, like a mantra. Although neither he nor his mother could be sure what Sam was seeing, they didn't think he was seeing Ruby. Ruby meant that he was lost, possibly for weeks. Ruby was his strongest, most dangerous delusion. When he saw her, Sam retreated so far into his own mind that sometimes it'd take tranquilizing levels of antipsychotics to coax him out of his hallucinations and back to reality. When he saw her, he became violent. Dean was grateful he hadn't gotten violent the night before. It was a small favor, but violence meant police, courts and state-mandated psychiatric treatment.
"At least he's not seeing Ruby." He repeated, trying to convince himself that Sam would only be in the hospital two or three days and that he'd come out relatively unscathed.
Dean was sitting on his bed. For the last three hours, he'd been trying to study for the GRE, which he was taking for a second time in the beginning of December. His scores the first time had been good, but not great. He'd signed up for it again right after Halloween, when he'd been convinced that his life would be smooth sailing for awhile. As always, he'd been wrong.
On cue, when Dean felt the mantra no longer working, Jo came into his bedroom.
"Dean, I'm so sorry." She murmured.
Dean stared at her. Jo was normally biting and sarcastic, like one of the guys. Right now she just looked soft and sympathetic, all traces of her typically wry demeanor gone.
"He's in the hospital. He'll be okay."
Jo just nodded and came over to him, sitting next to him on the bed. "Cas told me. What did your mom say?"
"He thought a demon was wearing her face."
Jo wrapped an arm around him Dean let his face fall to her chest. Jo took the GRE book, which had mostly remained unopened, and set it aside.
"He'll be okay, Dean. He'll come out of it."
"What if he doesn't? What if he stays like this?"
"He won't."
Dean squeezed his eyes shut. He was so tired. He hadn't slept at all after his mother had called the night before. Cas had passed out immediately after his minor breakdown in the bathroom and his tossing and turning had kept Dean awake. Normally he found it reassuring, knowing he was there, that his busy mind was working even as he slept, but last night it had kept him from sleeping and around 6:30, he had given up completely.
"What are the doctors saying?" Jo asked slowly.
"They say he'll be fine once they level out the medication. They think it happened because they tapered him off the Haldol too quickly." Dean said.
"See? He'll be fine. He always is. You know that these things happen." Jo murmured, rubbing his shoulder.
"These things always happen."
"What does your mom think?"
"She's freaked out. This is only the second time she's ever had to deal with this by herself. This time is worse too. Last time he was just talking to himself." Dean said, referring to the birthday episode from the year before.
"She'll get through it. Mary's strong." Jo said, her voice sounding as if she were trying to convince herself as well as Dean.
"I'm just hoping she doesn't leave. If she leaves now, I'm still two days away in a car."
"She won't leave."
Dean sat there for a long time with Jo. He didn't say much. He couldn't. Jo comforted him with her silence. Eventually he fell asleep on her shoulder because he was both mentally and physically exhausted. She tucked him in as if he were her child instead of her best friend.
Dean awoke to his phone ringing. He looked down at the caller ID. It was Castiel. Dean sighed. He wasn't sure he wanted to see Castiel, his family, or really anyone besides Jo. Despite dropping the L-bomb the night before and his silent vow to "let his walls down" the night before, he didn't want to share this with anyone.
"Hello?" He mumbled.
"Hey. It's me. I canceled my 3pm class. I'm coming over." Castiel said on the other end.
"You didn't have to cancel your class. I'm fine." He lied.
"I already did and I'm sure I made their day. I'll be over in 15 minutes. I got you lunch."
Dean tried not to groan. "Okay, Cas. Thanks. "
Castiel arrived almost exactly 15 minutes later with burgers from 5 Guys. When Dean smelled them, his stomach growled. He hadn't realized how hungry was. They sat down at the tiny bar in his kitchen and Castiel passed Dean a burger.
"Turducken slammer with extra pickles and ketchup." Castiel clarified, smiling a little.
Castiel knew exactly what kind of burger he liked.
"You're a keeper." He said, taking a huge bite.
Dean didn't know if Castiel had gotten tips for taking care of him from Jo, because he had brought Dean his most beloved sandwich and didn't ask him too much about Sam. They spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on the couch watching Jo's DVDs of Dr. Sexy MD, which had mysteriously appeared after she stopped by earlier. Castiel hated Dr. Sexy MD, so it was a real testament to his love for Dean that he sat there and watched it, even laughing at times.
Dr. Sexy MD was performing an emergency quadruple bypass when Dean's mother called.
"How is he?" Dean asked without saying hello.
"He's a little better." She said. "He's awake. They didn't have to strap him down this afternoon."
When Sam had to be restrained, that usually meant that he was at his worst.
Dean breathed a sigh of relief, "How long are they keeping him?"
"Probably a couple of more days. He's still… seeing things." She said. "But I think he is realizing they aren't real."
"How do you know that?"
The four times that Sam had been hospitalized when it was mostly just the two of them, Dean the only person watching out for him, Sam had never once realized his delusions weren't real.
"He keeps repeating 'I know it's not real' and he recognized me." She said.
"Whoop-di-fucking-doo. He recognized you, but he's still seeing shit. You know what that means." Dean said, suddenly feeling unreasonably angry at his brother.
Same shit, different day. He thought to himself.
"It's a start, Dean." She said "Do you want to talk to him? They said he could talk to you. The doctors remember you."
Of course they did. He had been a regular in the psychiatric ward of St. Peter's for a solid year and a half of his life. Visiting Sam after he'd snapped. Dropping Sam off at group therapy. Taking Sam to emergency psychiatric visits. Picking up Sam's hardcore medication, when he'd been prescribed the kind that had to be injected. He'd been a regular when his mother was in Ohio or "too mentally exhausted" to go herself, while his father was off drunk somewhere. He'd been there when no one else was.
"No. No. Absolutely not." Dean said, frantically shaking his head.
"Dean, your voice might help ground him." She said soothingly.
"I said no." He snapped.
"Okay. Sorry."
"Tell him I said to get well soon." His voice was rough.
"Are you still coming home in December?" She asked, completely changing the subject.
"I don't know." He muttered.
His mother sighed, but didn't push the subject. "Okay, well, I'll call you tomorrow. I can tell you don't feel like talking."
"Mom, I'm sorry." He said.
She had already hung up the phone.
When he hung up the phone, Castiel was giving him that usual curious stare of his. Dean couldn't stop thinking about how he looked like a bird, with that stare and that head tilt of his. He half expected him to sprout wings. Dean just watched him for a second and then suddenly his apartment felt small. Too small.
"Let's go out." Dean said. "I can't sit here and wallow for another minute."
"Where?"
"I need whiskey. Now. Let's go to Trickster's. I don't have a lot of money and they have $1 shots." Dean said, standing up.
"Dean, are you sure it's wise to be drinking?" Castiel asked carefully. "I can tell you're not in the best sorts right now."
"Come with me or don't, I'm going to Trickster's." He said, standing up, at the door in five seconds. He grabbed his jacket, the leather jacket that had belonged to his father, one of the only mementos of his that he kept around besides the Impala.
Twenty minutes later, after a very chilly walk, they were sitting at a table in Trickster's and Dean had a beer and two shots sitting in front of him. Trickster's was a grungy dive bar that inexplicably featured cage dancers once a week. It was not a "college bar" by any means and that is one reason Dean liked it. He was sure he wouldn't see anyone he knew here tonight besides Castiel.
Dean chugged the shots, one after another. Castiel watched him, looking concerned.
"Dean, we've been here for three minutes. Slow it down." Castiel said.
"That's why I'm switching to beer for the next 10 minutes. Two shots, beer, two shots, beer, and so on, until I can't fucking feel anything." Dean muttered.
"What can I do?" Castiel asked.
"Unless you have the cure for crazy, then there is nothing for you to do besides watch me drink and make sure I make it home without dying." Dean said callously.
That's exactly what Castiel did for the next two hours. They didn't talk. Dean just drank. Dean rarely drank to get smashed. He had the tolerance of an elephant, something that came from his alcoholic genes or maybe from the simple fact that he had started drinking at the ripe old age of 12 and had built it up over the last 14 years. These days, he drank because he enjoyed the taste of alcohol and because sometimes, he just needed a buzz to chase away his pain. He never did this. He hadn't done it in many months, anyway. Tonight though, it was a different story. By his fifth shot and second beer, he was feeling loose, much better than he had when he was moping in his apartment.
"You know I noticed about you last night?" He said, his words starting to slur.
"What, Dean?" Castiel said warily.
"You—are fucking—like—the cutest thing ever. Okay. Don't get me wrong. I-love—love you, Cas. I love you, man. But Jesus Christ, you cry a lot!" He said, pounding back another shot. "I mean, come on! How often do you cry? Like probably three or four times a week. It doesn't even faze me anymore!"
"I do not cry that much." Castiel said sharply.
"You are like a chick, Cas. You snivel and you sob and you give me the silent treatment. It's fucking… well… it's like dating a chick."
"I am not a chick." Castiel said, glaring at him.
"You and fucking Sam. You're both like girls. When Sam's mad at me, he pulls the same fucking shit." Dean said, laughing. He knew he was starting to get sloppy. He didn't care.
"I think you should slow it down with the shots." Castiel said. "I'm not going to get mad over this, because I know you're just drunk and sad, but at least slow it down."
"I have a better idea. Why don't you slow it down with the weeping and the bitching? God, I am so fucking sick of it. You and Sam, always crying, wah wah wah. Poor crazy Sam. No one gives a shit about me. I had to give up four years of my life to take care of that fucker." He said.
"Dean-" Castiel started.
Dean interrupted. "I was 18 and my parents were gone, you know? Gone all of the fucking time, trying to save their fucked up, doomed marriage. I had to stay home and take care of their son. But at least then, Sam was normal. He wasn't a fucking lunatic. When I turned 20, dude started seeing demons. Like literal fucking demons. Can you even imagine that? Isn't that kinda perfect though? A crazy guy seeing 'his demons'?" He said, slapping the table, laughing a little too hard.
"Dean, do you feel better? Is the alcohol making you feel better? You came here to forget Sam, yet he's all you've talked about since we've arrived at this… lovely… establishment." Castiel said.
"Shut up, Cas. Go get me a beer." He said, waving his arm at the bar.
"I'll be back." Castiel said.
Dean just sat there, staring at the wall behind him. "Fucking Sam." He muttered. "Fucking crazy Sam."
Castiel came back a minute later with a cup of ice water. "Drink this." He said.
"I told you to get me a beer, not water."
"Either you drink this, or I'm leaving." He said. "You can get as drunk as you want, but I don't want you vomiting all over me because you're dehydrated."
"Fuck off, Cas." Dean sputtered. He took a huge drink of the water anyway.
"Dean, honestly, is doing this making you feel better?" He asked.
"Fuck yeah. Of course it is. I don't get all weird like you do. I just loosen up." Dean said.
"You loosen up? I get weird?" Castiel said, as if he were entertaining a dog.
"You get all lovey-dovey most of the time. One or two drinks and you're so cuddly. But sometimes man, you get pissed. You hulk out. It's hilarious because you're so itty bitty, but you seriously fucking hulk out. Ya know? It's crazy." He slurred, shaking his head.
Castiel shook his head. "Dean, there's a reason I don't do what you're doing right now. I don't drown my sorrows in liquor for a reason. I can't handle it. I get angry at everyone and everything."
"Why? Because of your pathetic, fucked up life? Well, newsflash, Cas, we both have fucked up lives. My dad's a drunk who hit my mom all the time when I was a kid. My mom is a weak bitch who disappears when things get tough. My brother is in the goddamn mental ward right now. You don't see me crying in the bathroom or shoving girls or destroying my belongings. Get the fuck over it. Grow up." He said coldly.
When he said that, Castiel looked like he'd just been slapped. "Is that really what you think of me?"
"Right now? Yeah, that's what I think of you. Of both of you. I'm sick of crazy fuckers. I'm sick of having to take care of you and Sam and my mom. You know what? Get over it. Spank your inner moppet, whatever, but move on and quit expecting me to pick up the pieces when you fall apart." Dean said, shaking his head.
"No one expects you to clean up the pieces." Castiel said.
Dean could hear Castiel's voice quivering, but at this moment, he didn't care. If Sam appeared in front of him right now, screaming about demons, losing his shit, Dean would just smash a bottle over his head to knock him out cold. He didn't care.
Dean chugged down the rest of the water and staggered up to the bar and ordered another shot. He swigged it and then stumbled back to the table.
Castiel was still sitting there, which actually surprised Dean, even in his drunken stupor. Castiel was biting his lip and his eye was twitching slightly, like it had the first night that Dean had been over to his apartment.
"You got a nervous tic or something, Cas?" He asked, laughing at himself.
"Why are you being so mean?" He whispered.
"I'm mean? I'm the nicest guy in the universe." Dean slurred. "So fucking nice to put up with this bullshit."
Castiel's eye quit twitching when he said that. With that, even though Dean was trashed, he could tell that Castiel was going from hurt to angry. Dean was suddenly worried he'd hulk out.
"Right now, you're not putting up with anything. You're just sitting here, completely trashed, insulting one of the people who cares about you the most. Your mother, or 'that weak bitch,' as you call her, is with Sam. You're 2000 miles away, wasted in some dive bar in the middle of nowhere. You won't even talk to him. You're not doing ANYTHING special right now." Castiel snarled.
Dean stared at him, open-mouthed. He had the sudden urge to slug Castiel, who was normally so meek and so gracious just to be in Dean's presence. In some corner of his mind, a sober part that was currently glazed over with whiskey, he knew Castiel was right, but right now, he just wanted to punch him. He was seeing red.
"Get out of my sight." Dean hissed.
"You want to hit me, don't you? I know how guys like you are, Dean. I grew up in homes surrounded by guys like you. You repress and you run, because that's all you know how to do. Anyone gets close, anyone questions you, and you either run away or you throw punches."
"I don't run. I watched over that kid for four years, Castiel, you don't know what that was like."
"You've been here for five years. You haven't been home in two years. You can't claim sainthood forever, Dean."
"Get the fuck away from me, before I beat the living shit out of you, you fucking pansy." Dean bellowed.
"You're coming with me. You want to try to hit me? Go ahead. It's not like I haven't had worse. Believe me, I have had much bigger, scarier guys than you threaten me before."
By now, people were starting to stare at them.
Dean just let out a strangled cry and stomped out of the bar. He tripped on the way out and someone yelled "GOOD GOING, CASANOVA!" which was hilarious to him for some reason, because of Castiel's name and because of the entire situation. He plodded up the road, laughing and almost crying at the same time, trying to pretend Castiel wasn't behind him. About one block into the walk, Dean felt his insides turn over. He stopped at a telephone pole and bent over and threw up all of the whiskey and beer he'd drowned his sorrows in that night.
Castiel, of course, was standing right behind him, watching him retch. When it was all out, he felt him reach over and hesitantly rub his back.
"Did it help?" Castiel asked.
Dean just shook his head. "It never does."