Born Again Part Seven: Salvation
Author: Twilight
Feedback: Always welcome
Rated: PG-13
Summary: Dean is going out of his mind and Sam…Sam’s just gone.
Notes: Parts of this story is based on a documentary I saw a year or so ago. The story is completely plotted and outlined and I began before I saw many episodes into season five. I would say this takes place mid season five, somewhere before Abandon all Hope and then goes AU.
Part One
Part Seven: Salvation
Today Dr. Morgan sat across from him, legs casually crossed, hands resting in his lap, a pleasant, relaxed look on his face.
His white lab coat was missing and he didn’t have a pad and paper, didn’t meet Sunny in his office and so he wasn’t sure what to expect. He didn’t know if he had ever spoken with a therapist before or if maybe what he knew about them was just from what he had read or maybe seen on the television.
Other patients milled around the common room he was allowed to enjoy after his first twenty four hours.
Earlier Sunny had wandered out of his room a little after his lunch, clad in a soft grey tee and blue scrub pants, fuzzy grey socks with little grippers on his feet.
He had looked around the room, saw people working puzzles or playing board games, one woman working on a canvas with what appeared to be water colors.
He didn’t know how he knew they were water colors, but just accepted that they were.
It was hard to reconcile some of the things his brain recognized, but he was learning to accept that he just knew some things even if he couldn’t remember why.
There was a small television with a few chairs arranged in a semi circle, but only one person sat in front, watching the afternoon news. The two people on the screen, who sat behind the news desk, didn’t seem familiar, but maybe that was because he just didn’t watch the news.
He spotted his doctor speaking with the same charge nurse, Lily. They glanced his way, but he couldn’t decipher the look they both gave him and then Dr. Morgan walked toward him, nodding toward a small table with magazines and a few books. “Can we talk?”
And boy did the man talk.
He talked about, well just about anything.
Sunny didn’t know if he was a sports kinda guy, but Dr. Morgan was hopeful the Orioles would make the World Series this year.
Sunny didn’t know if he had ever been over to the Inner Harbor in Baltimore, but Dr. Morgan chatted about the past weekend and the clipper ships that had been in port.
Sunny didn’t know if he had plans for Independence Day, but Dr. Morgan wouldn’t shut up about his wife and kids and the upcoming fire works and barbeque.
Sunny didn’t know anything about the latest block buster movie, but Dr. Morgan went on and on about the last few he had managed to get to on his days off.
Sunny didn’t know what his favorite pizza topping was, but Dr. Morgan sang the praises of Pizza John’s, a local joint with just the right amount of greasy, crispy pepperoni, lamenting said grease on the light blue tie his kids had given him on his last birthday and Sunny, well Sunny didn’t know when his birthday was.
“So the detective you met the other day, Hicks. He dropped off your stuff, but they haven’t found anything so far.”
And what could he say to that? Maybe he was all alone in the world if nobody was missing him.
“I put your pack and clothes into your room. I notice the art book and brochure. Do you like art?”
He started to lift his shoulders, because how should he know, but then he thought he must like art; why else would he have the book?
“I brought you this.” The doctor reached down into his soft sided brief case and pulled out a book. It was a coffee table book on the art gallery and Sunny took it, fanning through the pages, looking at the prints of paintings and sculptures.
He knew the periods, recognized some of the artist’s styles without looking at the credit under the photos and the whole thing just made his head hurt.
Doc Morgan cleared his throat and reached back into his bag. “Clearly you have an interest, so maybe that’s our starting place. I don’t know if you’re an artist,” he pulled out a sketch book and a few pencils, “and if you are, what median you might use, but maybe these will help you work out some memories.”
He handed the whole thing over and Sunny didn’t know what to say, but, “thanks” seemed appropriate.
“You’re welcome.” The doctor stood then, hand brushing over the grease spot on his tie. “I’ll be back around this evening to talk, but if you need me before then, Lily will page me.”
“Kay,” he nodded, watching the man walk off and stop a few tables over, leaning in to speak with the woman working on a puzzle, and then Sunny gazed down to the items he gripped.
He stood, walking back down the hall and into his room. The backpack he came in with was sitting at the foot of his bed and he dug into it again, this time his search a little less frantic. He pulled out the book on modern art and the brochure on the Walter’s and sat them on the table by his bed.
He didn’t know if he was an artist, but what he was more interested in was the piece of paper still tucked into the book. He looked at the scrawl of pen and the phone number. Even though the police had checked out the number, it had to have been someone he knew or someone who knew him. Why else would he be carrying it around?
He pulled out a piece of paper from the sketch book and used one of the pencils and rewrote the number, but the hand writing didn’t match.
He sat, trying to remember why he had the phone number, why it was tucked into a book about art, why he was on a bus in a city he couldn’t recognize, but the more he thought about things, the more his head hurt.
Giving up for the time being, he pulled the sketch book over his lap and pressed the pencil tip to the thick paper. If he was an artist, shouldn’t he be able to draw….something?
Nothing came to mind.
No images of lovely landscapes or trusted people faces or even a bowl of fruit.
Maybe he didn’t use paper and pencil…maybe he was painter or sculpture or maybe…maybe he wasn’t any of those things.
He leaned back on the pillows, bringing his legs up and balancing the pad on his bent knees. Putting pencil to paper again, he relaxed, blowing out a deep breath and just let his hand do what it wanted to.
When he glanced back down, he realized he had drawn a tree.
Not a nice tree, not an artistic tree, but a basic, any kindergartner could draw, tree.
It had to mean something, right?
He took in a another deep breath, blowing it out, staring at his drawing and then, almost dream like, he could see a two story house, a well maintained, manicured lawn, and the tree he had drawn in the front yard.
Something tickled his memory…a man and a woman, a little boy and baby, standing in front of the tree, smiling, happy, and loved.
Then a another woman, screaming and pounding on the upstairs window, the front door slamming closed and fire….oh god, fire everyway.
People were running toward him, hands were holding him…holding him down and he could feel a prick of a needle at his shoulder. Someone was talking, telling him to breathe, that he would be alright and he realized he was crying and rocking, sitting on the floor near his bed.
Whatever drug they had given him had started to work, made him feel heavy and tired, but did nothing for the pounding headache behind his right eye.
“He…ead…huuurts.”
“Okay, okay…we’ll give you something for your headache…just breathe…that’s it…calm down…you’re okay.”
Hand pulled on him and his body tilted, leaning back and into the bed where someone pulled the sheets and blanket up and over his chest. He grabbed on to the bedding, shivering under there warmth.
“That’s it…better, Sunny. You’re gonna be okay.”
He nodded, eyes finally focusing on the nurse, Lily, soothing him with a gentle hand to his arm, rubbing her fingers in little circles over the length of it.
“Go to sleep, Hon…you’ll feel better when you wake up.”
So he closed his eyes and in seconds he was deeply and soundly asleep. He didn’t know how long he stayed that way, but when he opened them again, the room was empty and the door was shut.
He slid off the bed and went to the tiny adjoining bathroom, using the toilet, and then washing his hands. The soap slipped from his fingers and he still felt shaky, but at least the headache was gone.
Back in his room, he didn’t know what to do.
He wanted out.
Wanted to get out of there and do…do something.
Suddenly he wished he had a laptop or some reference books.
He wanted to understand how something like this could happen, see if he could find a way to fix it…to fix him.
“Sunny?”
He left the bathroom, finding Lily standing in the door way.
“How you feeling, Hon?”
“Better, I guess.” Truthfully, he was still a little shaky, his brain a little foggy and his legs felt weak. He wanted to sit on the bed, but if he did that, he might get another dose of whatever they had given him and he didn’t want that.
“Good. You missed dinner. Are you hungry?”
He really wasn’t, but he nodded anyway.
“Okay, I’ll get them to send up a dinner box. Do you want to come to the common room for awhile?”
He thought if he said no, she might shut him in and lock his door, so he nodded again and then the slip of paper that was tucked back into the book caught his eye. “Hey, uh…Lily? Am I allowed to make a phone call?”
Her eyes showed her surprise, but she nodded anyway. “Sure. There’s a phone in the common room.” And she didn’t ask anymore questions as she watched him snag the paper and followed her to the room at the end of the hall.
She took him to the phone, picking up the handset. “You just need to dial nine to get an outside line. I’ll bring your food when it gets here.”
He watched her walk off, speaking to a few of the other patients that shared the room with him. He waited until she was out of view, not sure why he felt he had to, and then dialed the number. The phone rang and then again, two more time and Sunny thought that maybe his call would be going to voice mail, but on the fifth ring the call connected and a woman said, “Hello?”
He cleared this throat, “Umm…”
“Hello?” she said again, “who’s there?”
Shit…what should he say?
“I ah…hello…hello?” Did she hang up?
“Is this…the police called the other day asking if I knew a…are you?”
“Yes! Yes…please, can you help me?”
“I’m sorry, dear. I don’t think I know who you are. You’re voice doesn’t sound familiar.”
Oh god, she was going to hang up and then what the hell would he do? She had to know him. Why else would he have her number…she had too.
“Please, ma’am…please. I..” he couldn’t help that his voice warbled. “I had your number written on a piece of paper…not my writing, tucked into a book of modern art.”
There was a second or two of silence and then she asked, “A book of modern art, you say?”
Did that mean something to her? “Yes…yes, ma’am.”
“Well, my daughter, Lanna Lilton is a student…she’s an artist and she dropped her phone…”
He was trying hard to follow the woman’s logic.
“Well, she has been giving out the home phone because her cell needs to be replaced…just hang on, will you?”
“Yes, yes…I can hang on.” And his heart beated hard in his chest. He heard a chair pushing back from a table and then voices and then someone new was on the phone.
“Hello?”
And he knew that voice…somehow. “Hi, I ah…”
“Oh god…Sam? Sam is that you?”
“I…can you just…”
“Hey…it’s okay.” And he knew she was just responding to the clear emotion in his voice. “Mom just told me that they called about you a few days ago and that you can’t remember…but you’re Sam. Sam Williams. We’re…well, we’re friends and I’m going to come and get you okay? I’m coming, Sam.”
And he just nodded, feeling his knees unlock as he sank down to rest his back against the wall. Lily ran over, held out her hand and took the phone. He could hear her speaking but didn’t know what was being said over the roar in his head.
When Lily hung up, she knelt down beside him. “Sam,” she said and the name sounded right. “Lanna is coming first thing in the morning. She needs to speak with the detectives and Dr. Morgan this evening, but she’s coming to take you home in the morning.”
Part Eight
Feedback: Always welcome
Rated: PG-13
Summary: Dean is going out of his mind and Sam…Sam’s just gone.
Notes: Parts of this story is based on a documentary I saw a year or so ago. The story is completely plotted and outlined and I began before I saw many episodes into season five. I would say this takes place mid season five, somewhere before Abandon all Hope and then goes AU.
Part One
Part Seven: Salvation
Today Dr. Morgan sat across from him, legs casually crossed, hands resting in his lap, a pleasant, relaxed look on his face.
His white lab coat was missing and he didn’t have a pad and paper, didn’t meet Sunny in his office and so he wasn’t sure what to expect. He didn’t know if he had ever spoken with a therapist before or if maybe what he knew about them was just from what he had read or maybe seen on the television.
Other patients milled around the common room he was allowed to enjoy after his first twenty four hours.
Earlier Sunny had wandered out of his room a little after his lunch, clad in a soft grey tee and blue scrub pants, fuzzy grey socks with little grippers on his feet.
He had looked around the room, saw people working puzzles or playing board games, one woman working on a canvas with what appeared to be water colors.
He didn’t know how he knew they were water colors, but just accepted that they were.
It was hard to reconcile some of the things his brain recognized, but he was learning to accept that he just knew some things even if he couldn’t remember why.
There was a small television with a few chairs arranged in a semi circle, but only one person sat in front, watching the afternoon news. The two people on the screen, who sat behind the news desk, didn’t seem familiar, but maybe that was because he just didn’t watch the news.
He spotted his doctor speaking with the same charge nurse, Lily. They glanced his way, but he couldn’t decipher the look they both gave him and then Dr. Morgan walked toward him, nodding toward a small table with magazines and a few books. “Can we talk?”
And boy did the man talk.
He talked about, well just about anything.
Sunny didn’t know if he was a sports kinda guy, but Dr. Morgan was hopeful the Orioles would make the World Series this year.
Sunny didn’t know if he had ever been over to the Inner Harbor in Baltimore, but Dr. Morgan chatted about the past weekend and the clipper ships that had been in port.
Sunny didn’t know if he had plans for Independence Day, but Dr. Morgan wouldn’t shut up about his wife and kids and the upcoming fire works and barbeque.
Sunny didn’t know anything about the latest block buster movie, but Dr. Morgan went on and on about the last few he had managed to get to on his days off.
Sunny didn’t know what his favorite pizza topping was, but Dr. Morgan sang the praises of Pizza John’s, a local joint with just the right amount of greasy, crispy pepperoni, lamenting said grease on the light blue tie his kids had given him on his last birthday and Sunny, well Sunny didn’t know when his birthday was.
“So the detective you met the other day, Hicks. He dropped off your stuff, but they haven’t found anything so far.”
And what could he say to that? Maybe he was all alone in the world if nobody was missing him.
“I put your pack and clothes into your room. I notice the art book and brochure. Do you like art?”
He started to lift his shoulders, because how should he know, but then he thought he must like art; why else would he have the book?
“I brought you this.” The doctor reached down into his soft sided brief case and pulled out a book. It was a coffee table book on the art gallery and Sunny took it, fanning through the pages, looking at the prints of paintings and sculptures.
He knew the periods, recognized some of the artist’s styles without looking at the credit under the photos and the whole thing just made his head hurt.
Doc Morgan cleared his throat and reached back into his bag. “Clearly you have an interest, so maybe that’s our starting place. I don’t know if you’re an artist,” he pulled out a sketch book and a few pencils, “and if you are, what median you might use, but maybe these will help you work out some memories.”
He handed the whole thing over and Sunny didn’t know what to say, but, “thanks” seemed appropriate.
“You’re welcome.” The doctor stood then, hand brushing over the grease spot on his tie. “I’ll be back around this evening to talk, but if you need me before then, Lily will page me.”
“Kay,” he nodded, watching the man walk off and stop a few tables over, leaning in to speak with the woman working on a puzzle, and then Sunny gazed down to the items he gripped.
He stood, walking back down the hall and into his room. The backpack he came in with was sitting at the foot of his bed and he dug into it again, this time his search a little less frantic. He pulled out the book on modern art and the brochure on the Walter’s and sat them on the table by his bed.
He didn’t know if he was an artist, but what he was more interested in was the piece of paper still tucked into the book. He looked at the scrawl of pen and the phone number. Even though the police had checked out the number, it had to have been someone he knew or someone who knew him. Why else would he be carrying it around?
He pulled out a piece of paper from the sketch book and used one of the pencils and rewrote the number, but the hand writing didn’t match.
He sat, trying to remember why he had the phone number, why it was tucked into a book about art, why he was on a bus in a city he couldn’t recognize, but the more he thought about things, the more his head hurt.
Giving up for the time being, he pulled the sketch book over his lap and pressed the pencil tip to the thick paper. If he was an artist, shouldn’t he be able to draw….something?
Nothing came to mind.
No images of lovely landscapes or trusted people faces or even a bowl of fruit.
Maybe he didn’t use paper and pencil…maybe he was painter or sculpture or maybe…maybe he wasn’t any of those things.
He leaned back on the pillows, bringing his legs up and balancing the pad on his bent knees. Putting pencil to paper again, he relaxed, blowing out a deep breath and just let his hand do what it wanted to.
When he glanced back down, he realized he had drawn a tree.
Not a nice tree, not an artistic tree, but a basic, any kindergartner could draw, tree.
It had to mean something, right?
He took in a another deep breath, blowing it out, staring at his drawing and then, almost dream like, he could see a two story house, a well maintained, manicured lawn, and the tree he had drawn in the front yard.
Something tickled his memory…a man and a woman, a little boy and baby, standing in front of the tree, smiling, happy, and loved.
Then a another woman, screaming and pounding on the upstairs window, the front door slamming closed and fire….oh god, fire everyway.
People were running toward him, hands were holding him…holding him down and he could feel a prick of a needle at his shoulder. Someone was talking, telling him to breathe, that he would be alright and he realized he was crying and rocking, sitting on the floor near his bed.
Whatever drug they had given him had started to work, made him feel heavy and tired, but did nothing for the pounding headache behind his right eye.
“He…ead…huuurts.”
“Okay, okay…we’ll give you something for your headache…just breathe…that’s it…calm down…you’re okay.”
Hand pulled on him and his body tilted, leaning back and into the bed where someone pulled the sheets and blanket up and over his chest. He grabbed on to the bedding, shivering under there warmth.
“That’s it…better, Sunny. You’re gonna be okay.”
He nodded, eyes finally focusing on the nurse, Lily, soothing him with a gentle hand to his arm, rubbing her fingers in little circles over the length of it.
“Go to sleep, Hon…you’ll feel better when you wake up.”
So he closed his eyes and in seconds he was deeply and soundly asleep. He didn’t know how long he stayed that way, but when he opened them again, the room was empty and the door was shut.
He slid off the bed and went to the tiny adjoining bathroom, using the toilet, and then washing his hands. The soap slipped from his fingers and he still felt shaky, but at least the headache was gone.
Back in his room, he didn’t know what to do.
He wanted out.
Wanted to get out of there and do…do something.
Suddenly he wished he had a laptop or some reference books.
He wanted to understand how something like this could happen, see if he could find a way to fix it…to fix him.
“Sunny?”
He left the bathroom, finding Lily standing in the door way.
“How you feeling, Hon?”
“Better, I guess.” Truthfully, he was still a little shaky, his brain a little foggy and his legs felt weak. He wanted to sit on the bed, but if he did that, he might get another dose of whatever they had given him and he didn’t want that.
“Good. You missed dinner. Are you hungry?”
He really wasn’t, but he nodded anyway.
“Okay, I’ll get them to send up a dinner box. Do you want to come to the common room for awhile?”
He thought if he said no, she might shut him in and lock his door, so he nodded again and then the slip of paper that was tucked back into the book caught his eye. “Hey, uh…Lily? Am I allowed to make a phone call?”
Her eyes showed her surprise, but she nodded anyway. “Sure. There’s a phone in the common room.” And she didn’t ask anymore questions as she watched him snag the paper and followed her to the room at the end of the hall.
She took him to the phone, picking up the handset. “You just need to dial nine to get an outside line. I’ll bring your food when it gets here.”
He watched her walk off, speaking to a few of the other patients that shared the room with him. He waited until she was out of view, not sure why he felt he had to, and then dialed the number. The phone rang and then again, two more time and Sunny thought that maybe his call would be going to voice mail, but on the fifth ring the call connected and a woman said, “Hello?”
He cleared this throat, “Umm…”
“Hello?” she said again, “who’s there?”
Shit…what should he say?
“I ah…hello…hello?” Did she hang up?
“Is this…the police called the other day asking if I knew a…are you?”
“Yes! Yes…please, can you help me?”
“I’m sorry, dear. I don’t think I know who you are. You’re voice doesn’t sound familiar.”
Oh god, she was going to hang up and then what the hell would he do? She had to know him. Why else would he have her number…she had too.
“Please, ma’am…please. I..” he couldn’t help that his voice warbled. “I had your number written on a piece of paper…not my writing, tucked into a book of modern art.”
There was a second or two of silence and then she asked, “A book of modern art, you say?”
Did that mean something to her? “Yes…yes, ma’am.”
“Well, my daughter, Lanna Lilton is a student…she’s an artist and she dropped her phone…”
He was trying hard to follow the woman’s logic.
“Well, she has been giving out the home phone because her cell needs to be replaced…just hang on, will you?”
“Yes, yes…I can hang on.” And his heart beated hard in his chest. He heard a chair pushing back from a table and then voices and then someone new was on the phone.
“Hello?”
And he knew that voice…somehow. “Hi, I ah…”
“Oh god…Sam? Sam is that you?”
“I…can you just…”
“Hey…it’s okay.” And he knew she was just responding to the clear emotion in his voice. “Mom just told me that they called about you a few days ago and that you can’t remember…but you’re Sam. Sam Williams. We’re…well, we’re friends and I’m going to come and get you okay? I’m coming, Sam.”
And he just nodded, feeling his knees unlock as he sank down to rest his back against the wall. Lily ran over, held out her hand and took the phone. He could hear her speaking but didn’t know what was being said over the roar in his head.
When Lily hung up, she knelt down beside him. “Sam,” she said and the name sounded right. “Lanna is coming first thing in the morning. She needs to speak with the detectives and Dr. Morgan this evening, but she’s coming to take you home in the morning.”
Part Eight