Follow me Home...Part 1
Follow me Home...Part 1
"You think you know my brother better than I do?" Sam asked sceptically.
Castiel took a step closer, his cold eyes glaring up at Sam, his smaller stature in no way belying the power boiling within him. "Maybe not the you that's in the pit, but the you that would serve your own brother up to a vampire, just to see what would happen..." Castiel paused for a moment, shocked by the feeling of anger that twisted around him. "Raphael took all Dean's memories, he's defenceless. I won't abandon him," he finished.
"That's funny, then where have you been for the last year and half?"
Castiel flinched, though his eyes never faltered. He had been busy, that sounded flimsy even to him.
He couldn't understand how Sam could argue leaving Dean wherever he was though. That he would be safer if they didn't try to find him, reasoning that with no memories, angels or demons wouldn't bother to find his brother either. Castiel couldn’t guarantee that was the truth anyway, just because Dean had no memories did not mean he was out of danger. If anything he could now be in greater peril, defenceless as he was, Dean Winchester was still a wanted man by every angel, demon or other monster who's plans he had put a crimp in over the years.
The lack of a soul now seemed to shine from the younger Winchester, more an emanation of emptiness perhaps; Castiel wondered how he hadn't seen its lack the moment he first saw Sam after his return. It was all Castiel could see now when he looked at Sam. He briefly thought Dean was right in doing anything to get Sam’s soul back, except Dean wasn't here to argue that particular case anymore. He most likely didn't even remember he had a brother.
"This isn't how Dean would want things to end, and you know it," Castiel glared at Sam for a moment longer, before glancing over at Bobby who gave him a slight nod.
Castiel teleported away, appearing on the side of an abandoned road. He knew Bobby would stay with Sam and watch over him, allowing Castiel to search every inch of the earth for Dean, every conceivable place Raphael may have sent him. Raphael's last words kept a discordant beat in his head, “I’ve taken every memory of who he was, you'll never find him,” he had taunted as he wiped blood from his hands absently.
He closed his eyes briefly, trying to shift his unease aside. He didn't know how his brother had found Dean; he had recognised the Enochian sigils though, that had been fading on the floor around the cooling pool of Dean's blood. The spell was designed to destroy all of Dean's memories. His mind shied away from the fact that the spell was probably irreversible. He opened his eyes and stared down the open stretch of highway, trying to collect his thoughts, and concentrate on the fact that at least Dean was still alive, somewhere. The emptiness of the road unfurling ahead echoed the strange feeling curling around him.
Dean was lost, and he had no idea where to start looking for him.
.........................
Two months later...
Water droplets slid lazily down the glass, obscuring the view and making the world outside look hazy and distant, like a watercolour painting that was only half finished. It didn't seem real; like he could reach out with his fingers and smudge it.
It had been raining for days. The distant drone of the rain against the roof so constant it was hypnotic. The outside world had disappeared, shrouded by the downpour. It was comforting having the world shrink down to just the four walls around him, the blurry shapes of the world outside matching those in his mind. He was a lost man, and it seemed fitting that the world had become lost with him.
He heard the door behind him open, a soft clatter as plates were set down on a tray. He closed his eyes against the intrusion, thought he heard a man mutter something about lunch, before the door quietly shut again. He opened his eyes and looked back out at the blurry shapes.
The window was fogging from his breath, the glass cool against his forehead where he leant against it. He breathed out deeper, widening the fog. He reached up and wiped it away, almost disappointed when the world didn't smudge.
He thought he felt a slight breeze, a shift in the air in the room. He wondered idly if a window was open, but was too lost in thought to bother checking.
He watched as a hazy figure rushed across the lawn below his window, hurrying to the car park in a desperate bid to avoid the rain, but failing miserably. He wondered why they bothered at all. He thought the gentle caress of the cool rain against his skin would be welcome, but he wasn’t at liberty to test that theory.
He heard a soft noise behind him, someone clearing their throat.
"Mr Smith?"
He closed his eyes again, hoping that they, too, would just leave him be. The sound of the rain was soothing, he thought if he tried hard enough he could lose himself in it. The voice sounded again but it was more distant.
"Dean."
He jolted back to his surroundings, the name and voice carrying a weight he couldn’t help but react to. He opened his eyes and slowly rolled his head against the glass to see who had bothered him. The man stood just inside the door, watching him intently. Dr... Naman...Newman...no that wasn't right, he couldn't remember that either.
"Mr Smith, its Dr Novak."
Right, Novak, he thought, somehow still unsatisfied with the name.
"Hi Doc. Enjoying the weather?" he asked, slightly less annoyed at being interrupted now. He wasn't quite sure why, but he liked the Doctor, more than most of the other indifferent do-gooders in this place.
The doctor walked across the room, scuffing his feet slightly on the stark linoleum floor. He stood next to Dean and looked out the window.
"I like the rain," Dr Novak said quietly.
"Me too," Dean replied, looking back outside.
He could feel the doctor watching him, but the man was always so calm that it didn't bother him. It wasn't a look of pity or apathy that most of the other doctors or nurses had; maybe that was why he liked him. There was a quiet intensity about him, like there was so much more going on behind those eyes than he could understand.
"You always call me Dean," he said after a while.
He didn't remember his name, he didn't remember anything before two months ago when he had woken up in hospital. His chart said John Smith, a nice generic name.
"It seems more appropriate than Mr Smith," the doctor replied with an almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders.
A smile tugged at his lips, he had to admit he liked Dean better; John just didn't fit somehow. Familiar, but not his.
"So what's on the agenda today doc? Some ink blots maybe? They all look like aliens, or maybe tap dancing squirrels."
The doctor tilted his head slightly, like he was trying figure out how crazy his patient was, or perhaps just picturing tap dancing squirrels. Who knew? The doc had shown up two weeks ago, and Dean sometimes thought the doctor was stranger than his patient.
"No, no ink blots. I thought we would just… talk."
"Okay, though I'm not all that up to date with current affairs, you'll have catch me up."
Dean looked up at the doc, surprised to see an amused almost-smile. In two weeks he didn't think he had ever seen him smile. The guy could use some lightening up he thought; after all he was the one with amnesia, not the doc.
"Do you have any family, someone waiting for you out there?" Dean asked, nodding his head towards the window.
A brief moment of sorrow seemed to cross the doc's face, only a glimpse before it was gone.
"No. There was, but they're gone now."
"Hmm. I'd like to think there was someone out there waiting for me, but I don't remember. Kind of thought they'd have come looking for me by now, so I guess there isn't."
"Maybe they are still trying to find you," the Doc replied, a look in his eyes that Dean couldn't quite decipher.
"Maybe."
They both went back to looking out the window, the silence comforting.
The doctor seemed to stiffen for a moment, that sorrowful look back in his eyes.
"I have to go. I will see you again tomorrow Dean."
"I'll be here," Dean answered not looking away from the window.
The doctor turned and walked away, Dean heard him pause at the door.
"You should eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"There is pie. You like pie."
Dean looked around, the room was empty. His eyes fell on the plate of food. The pie did look tempting.
A nurse came in, carrying the usual handful of pills. He swallowed them diligently. She smiled absently as he handed back the medication cup.
"Hey, do you think you could change the name on my chart?"
She looked up, her interest vaguely piqued. "Did you remember what it was?"
"Not really. I just like the name Dean better. Someone told me it suited me more."
She smiled at him sadly, pitying his lack of memory. "Sure thing hun."
.........................
Dean sat in the common room, idly shuffling a pack of cards. The rain had finally cleared during the night. He had woken to rays of fresh morning light falling across his pillow. The staff seemed more cheery with the break in the weather, but he had cursed the light and simply rolled over and gone back to sleep.
His memory was just as blank as it had been for the last two months; the end of the storms hadn't brought a sudden breakthrough in his condition. He wished the dark clouds would roll back in, but the sky remained stubbornly blue.
He grudgingly stared at the other patients, he had wanted to stay in his room, but the nurses had insisted, talking in quiet, ingratiating tones that only served to piss him off. He was sure they did it on purpose. This place had such a sugary sweet coating with chewy drug centre, he was sure the air itself was likely to induce a catatonic state.
The common room housed a motley crew of inmates, from the catatonics who stared and drooled, to the bouncing maniacs, who seemed to spend all day leading the nurses on a merry chase as they tried to subdue them with idiotic platitudes or syringes. The less insane played cards.
He shuffled the cards again, flipping through them as he watched the loons, at least the bouncy ones were entertaining, and they tended to steer clear of his corner. The slower moving ones did too. He sometimes wondered what he had been in his past that leant his stare that handy, kindly-fuck-off, quality.
He had only been let out with the rest of the happy campers a few weeks ago, right after the doc first showed up. He had been deemed violent after what they told him was a psychotic break. They said he’d been rambling about demons and angels, and the world ending bloody. He didn't remember that, he just remembered waking up in the hospital sometime later.
Apart from the obvious psychotic ramblings, he had also been wounded. The doctors didn't know if the psychotic break was caused by the injuries or not, which was confidence inspiring. Hell, maybe he had always been a few cards short of a deck.
His wounds were mostly healed now, though he still needed crutches to walk. A smashed knee, broken ribs, broken wrist, bruised liver, and more cuts and abrasions than he cared to remember. No apparent head injury, which had the doctors confused. They had decided on some type of post traumatic stress causing the loss of memory, they insisted it may all come back one day. He wasn't holding his breath. It had been two months, and he hadn't even had a glimpse of who he had been before.
He rubbed absently at his leg. It still ached from the knee injury. His physiotherapist said it was coming along well, though he may never heal 100%, and he would likely have a limp for the rest of his life.
He mulled over the events of the last few weeks in his mind, when all you had was a short film to show for a lifetime, there wasn't a lot to sit and reminisce about to pass the time. He tried to let a particularly energetic patient distract him, but his mind kept wandering back to the inevitable question: who am I?
Some days he spent hours trying to remember even the smallest detail about his life, others, like today, he hoped he never remembered. He was sick of the see-saw of emotions. He just wished they would let him go back to his room, so he could go back to pretending the rest of the world didn't exist.
Sometimes he even wondered if it was worth hoarding the sleeping pills they gave him, and just putting an end to it all. Something told him he wasn't the sort to just lie down without a fight though.
He was tired though, he just didn't know from what. Days like today it felt like there was some burden, which if he wanted, he could just lay aside. Some weight he had carried for far too long. He just didn't remember what it was.
He sighed and tossed the cards on the table. Maybe he should join the energetic patient who was now standing on a chair trying to fly. Sooner or later they would give him a cocktail of something, and drug induced sleep was one way to stop the questions his mind couldn't answer.
Before he could decide if it was worth the trouble, the staff subdued bouncy and led him off. It looked like play time was over anyway, as the staff began to escort their patients back to their rooms. Being mostly ambulatory, he had the privilege of hobbling back to his room unescorted. Such small luxuries went a long way in a place like this.
He walked down the corridor, in no hurry to get back to his room now that he had the chance. He heard footsteps behind him and slowed to let whatever patient it was pass, so he could enjoy the rest of the walk back to his room in peace. When he looked up though, it was Dr Novak.
"Hello Dean."
"Oh, hi Doc."
Dean rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. How, exactly, do you start a conversation up with someone, when you have no memories and are currently the resident of an asylum. Not to mention that the Doc was a professional paid to swim around in his head, fishing for whatever lurked in its depths.
"So...rain’s gone," Dean stated, deciding the weather was about a good a topic as any.
"Yes," Doctor Novak replied.
Well so much for that line of conversation, Dean thought to himself. The doc really was one of those stare-at-you-intently-until-you-crack-and-spill-your-deepest-darkest-thoughts kinda people. Dean just stared back, determined not to fall for that old trick.
Of course the Doc just kept on staring, his eyes scrunched slightly as if he found something hidden inside Dean truly perplexing. The guy had no idea of normal social conventions. No wonder he's a shrink, shrinks are all fucked up, Dean thought to himself.
"You don't seem happy about the fine weather?"
"I don't really care," Dean said with a shrug, looking away from those damn staring eyes.
The doc tilted his head slightly, still studying him.
"The rain shrouded the world. You hoped that if it rained for long enough the rest of the world would disappear, and then it wouldn't matter who you were anymore."
Dean's eyes flicked back to the Doc’s, unnerved by the uncanny accuracy of the observation.
"It matters who you were Dean, who you still are."
"Yeah, to who?"
The doctor's eyes narrowed in frustration, Dean thought he was about to say something, but he looked away instead.
"Whoever I was, is long gone, they don't exist anymore," Dean said as he turned away, walking back to his room.
He didn't see the pained look on the doctor's face, or hear the whispered "Dean".
The rain came back shortly after dark. Dean sat up half the night, perched on the windowsill with his head resting against the cool glass. He let the sound of the rain wash over him, cocooning him from the world. He said a silent thanks to whoever was listening for the comfort it gave, never imagining that anyone was listening.
.........................
Weak rays of light woke him. He rolled over groaning, and he threw an arm over his eyes defiantly, wondering if they deliberately placed the bed so that the morning sun fell across his pillow. He hated mornings. He hated waking up. Whoever he had been before, he couldn’t have been a morning person.
"I'd have bought you coffee but they frown on that, apparently caffeinating patients isn't a good idea."
Dean looked out from under his arm. The Doc was sitting in a chair across the room watching him.
"I'd kill for a coffee."
"Do you think of committing violence often?" The Doc asked with a slightly confused look, his lips tilting in what may have been a faint smile, it was strangely endearing.
"It was a figure of speech," Dean clarified, not sure if the doctor was being serious when the smile disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared.
"Of course," Doc replied absently, his attention seeming to shift to the brightening blue sky outside the window, Dean thought it was more likely he was cataloguing every facet of his patient's personality though.
Dean let his arm fall back across his eyes. He really didn't feel like being shrinked, and certainly not by the only mildly likeable person in the joint. He gave up trying to get back to sleep and sat up, stretching his leg to try and relieve the stiffness, and rubbing a hand through his sleep-messed hair.
"You're in early doc," Dean asked, giving up trying to get his hair to settle.
"I'm always here."
"Married to the job huh?"
"Something like that," the Doc answered, giving Dean a look like he had missed the point.
Dean rubbed his knee. It always ached more in the mornings, until it loosened up a bit.
"How's that coming along?" Doctor Novak asked as he watched Dean's hands massage the injured leg.
"It's good, they say I might get to go for a walk outside today, give it a longer workout."
"Good thing it stopped raining then," Doc said with a hint of a smirk.
"Guess so. Be nice to get away from these four walls for a while." Dean replied as he looked out the window.
He hadn't been outside since he had been here. He had to admit he missed the feel of the wind on his face. Well he assumed he missed it, strange how he could miss something when he had no memories. In a complete one-eighty to how he had felt yesterday, now that he was finally getting to go outside, he suddenly wanted nothing more than to get out, to get away. He had a sudden feeling of claustrophobia, like he had been in the one place for too long.
For the first time in two months, it felt like some memory was trying to push its way into his mind. Some intangible thought that he didn't belong here. He glanced back to the Doc, who was watching him intently. He swore the guy could see inside him at times.
"You know what one of my favourite memories is?" The Doc asked as he looked away from Dean.
"What?"
"Driving," the Doc answered, his attention no longer entirely on Dean
"Driving?"
"It's dark. All I can see is the road in front of me. The window is down and the wind coming in is cold. Music is playing, an old rock song I think. There is a friend by my side. We're driving in silence, yet I have never felt so whole. I don't even remember where we were driving to. It's one of my strongest memories."
Dean couldn't decide what the look on the Doc's face was as he spoke, a strange mix of peacefulness and melancholy. "Who was the friend?" He asked.
The Doc looked back at Dean, his face closing over, "just someone I used to know."
The Doc looked towards the door as footsteps and the sound of a trolley drifted in.
"I should go. You'll need your breakfast if you're going on that walk."
He stood and walked out before Dean could say anything else.
Dean stared at the door after he had gone. Something about the memory the Doc had shared stirred something in him. He had no idea what though. Whatever it was, he lost the train of thought as the orderly came in with his breakfast.
.........................
Dean had pushed himself too hard on his walk. He had no intention of telling his physio that when she asked if he would like to sit outside for a while though.
He watched as she walked away. She was in her late twenties, cute and kind of flirty. He would probably be interested if he could be bothered. He had been out of sorts since he had spoken with Doc this morning though. So he watched her walk back inside instead, she glanced back at him before going through the door, flashing him a shiny smile that most likely got her whatever she wanted.
He almost resented her energy at the moment. He had barley walked a hundred yards. His knee ached; his back was drenched in sweat. He had tried to ignore the injury to his knee, the loss of memory a little more concerning, but he realised now how bad it was. The doctors had told him he would probably limp for the rest of his life. The limp he could live with, the pain was another matter. He hoped as he healed more, the pain would recede.
He rubbed the knee absently as he leant back on the bench, trying to tell his tense and tired muscles to relax. As the cramps subsided, he realised how nice the breeze was against his sweaty skin. He was right, he had missed it.
He wondered what else he missed. Pretty girls with flirty smiles maybe? For some reason he didn't think he had been the relationship kind of guy. Hell, he could have been celibate for all he knew. Or a workaholic stooge with no social life. Or a socially awkward thirty-something living with his mom, though presumably she would be looking for him if that was the case. Maybe she was some frail little old lady, still sitting at home waiting for him to come back from shopping.
He sighed. He could go around in circles all day wondering who he had been. It didn't help.
He lent back and closed his eyes instead, emptying his mind and just enjoying the feel of the sun on his face. The warm rosy haze made him feel the best he had in what felt like forever. He felt a shadow pass over his face. He opened his eyes and looked up to see Doc standing in his sunlight.
"How was the walk?" Doc asked.
"Awesome."
Doc raised an eyebrow at him.
"Okay, tiring."
Doc sat down on the bench next to him. "You look better though. Guess the fresh air was good for you."
"I feel great."
"So, are you up to talking about how you were when you were admitted?"
Dean tensed, "I told you I don't remember that."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Hmm okay," Doc said, though Dean could see he didn't look convinced.
They sat in silence for a moment. Dean hoped that was an end to the questions.
"How are you sleeping?" Doc asked though.
"Fine."
"Really?"
"What, I have dreams. Everybody has dreams," Dean said defensively.
"Not everyone has nightmares," Doc countered, apparently not content to let him shrug it off today.
"I didn't say they were nightmares."
"You didn't have to," Doc said simply.
"Right, 'cause you're a shrink and I'm an open book."
"You are hardly an open book, Dean. You're complicated, and it's hardly surprising you're having bad dreams."
"Yeah, why's that?" Dean asked, trying to sound annoyed rather than anxious.
"You've been through a lot."
"Yeah, but I have no memory of what it is I've been through."
"Maybe not, but that in itself must be daunting."
Dean just looked at the Doc, finding it hard to argue with his logic.
"Do you remember your dreams?"
"No," Dean lied.
"I'm here to help you Dean," Doc said, looking genuinely concerned.
"They're just dreams, Doc."
"Maybe," Doc replied almost cryptically.
Dean closed his eyes, trying to enjoy the sun again and ignore the Doc's questions. He wondered if he got under the skin of his other patients as easily. If he saw so much of them too, even the bits they didn't want him to see.
"You ready to go inside?"
Dean opened his eyes with a start; he hadn't heard the physio come back.
"Yeah sure, was just finished talking to the Doc."
"To who?" she asked.
He looked to his side. The Doc was gone.
"No one, never mind." He let her help him up.
"You did great today, I don't think it will be long before you'll be ready to leave."
"Leave?"
"Sure, your knee is coming along nicely. Once the other doctors are happy with your progress, I'm sure you will be fine to go."
Right, just have to pass the shrink brigade, he thought to himself.
"Piece of cake," he said with a smile.
He was rewarded with another shiny, bright smile. Yeah, he could definitely be interested, he thought. He couldn't help looking around to see where the Doc had gone though.
.........................
Blood on his hands. It wasn't his. He could feel himself screaming. Calling someone's name. Then something happened, but before he could see what it was it was gone. He was in a hospital. Watching on as doctors tried to save someone, but he couldn't see their face. He was in darkness trapped under ground. Someone had saved him, but he didn't know who....
Dean woke up sweating. He stared up at the ceiling, breathing heavy. The dreams never made sense, fragments that didn't seem to fit together properly. They terrified him, not just the images themselves, but the thought that they were some remnant left over from who he had been.
What sort of life had he led?
He wished the nightmares would go away. Each time he woke up he wanted to remember who he had been less and less.
Every day the doctors and nurses looked at him, pitying him. They would tell him he would remember, that it would all come back to him. He just needed time to heal, to get past the trauma. That it was okay to remember, they would help him through it.
They had no idea.
He rolled onto his side, throwing off the sheet. The room was hot and stuffy. He was scared, and that fear was the one thing that seemed familiar, like he had dealt with horrifying situations his whole life. What had he left behind that was worth going back to?
He lay awake for hours, refusing to go back to sleep. He watched the outline of the window gradually lighten as dawn neared. He watched the sky slowly fade from black, to grey, to pink and finally into pale blue.
They could push and prod all they wanted he decided. He wouldn't remember, he couldn't. He would start over with this fresh slate. He would just have to convince them that he was stable and well adjusted, and capable of living without his memories.
He repeated that over and over to himself until the orderly arrived with his breakfast. He convinced himself that it was the best thing, and he could do it. As long as he didn't have to see the one person who was able to see through him.
He spent all day looking for the Doc, hoping he wouldn't have to see him, but feeling somewhat disappointed when he didn’t. For the first time in days he didn't run into him, just the other doctors who were so easy to manipulate, it was like throwing a stone at a pond and hitting water. He would have them convinced in a matter of days, two weeks at the outside, that he was ready to leave, and go back to the real world.
He didn't need to remember. Who he was didn't matter.
.........................
Three weeks later...
Dean woke screaming. Something was wrapped around him, he couldn't move. The door to his room burst open as orderlies rushed in, the night doctor behind them.
"Hold him down."
"No! I'm not going back. I can't. He'll rip me to pieces, bit by bit till there's nothing left. I won't go back!" Dean screamed as they tried to hold him down. "I can’t go back to Alistair!”
"Dean, it's ok. No one's going to hurt you," the doctor said soothingly, turning to a nurse and giving her an order before she left the room.
"You don't understand, I can't go back."
Dean thrashed against the orderlies, managing to almost get out of the bed before the three men wrestled him back onto it just as the nurse rushed back in. She handed a syringe to the doctor.
"It's okay Dean, you're safe here," the doctor said gently, as he jabbed the needle into the soft skin of Dean’s thigh.
"He must be remembering what happened to him," Dean heard someone whisper as the room started to blur.
He could feel the drugs flood through him. He felt them start to restrain his feet and hands before the room blacked out.
.........................
He woke several hours later. They had moved him into a padded room. He was alone. The nightmare was still there, at the edges of his thoughts. He had tried so hard to push away who he was, but the harder he tried to keep it out, the more it seemed to break through.
He could still feel the drugs in his system, but they were distant, just a sort of numb feeling.
"You can't push who you are aside, Dean. The memories, they're who you are."
Dean opened his eyes. The Doc was sitting on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest with his arms resting loosely on them. His head was cocked to the side as he watched Dean where he lay on the floor. Dean hadn't heard him come into the room.
"Hi Doc. I was avoiding you."
"I know. But you can't avoid me forever."
"Guess not. Truth be told, I kinda missed you."
The doc blinked at that, taking a moment to digest what Dean had said he guessed. The doc swallowed, frowning now in undeniable concern. When he spoke again his voice was quiet and careful.
"Dean you can't push the dreams, the memories aside, it's killing you bit by bit. They," he said as he pointed to the door, indicating the doctors Dean could hear outside, "will keep you locked up in here until you show them you're okay, and you won't be until you talk about it."
"They don't understand, they can't."
"What about me?"
"What?"
"What about me? Talk to me."
Dean looked at the Doc for a moment. He couldn't say why, but he thought, just maybe, the Doc was the one person who would understand, who could help him.
Dean sighed and he rubbed a hand through his hair making it stick up in all directions. He really had no idea where to start. He was angry, afraid, frustrated. He had tried so hard to remember, and then tried equally hard not to remember. Neither seemed particularly successful.
The dreams he thought. It was the dreams. He had ignored them as best he could, but they kept coming, every night. If these dreams were in fact his memories, or fragments of them at least, then what kind of terrible life had he led? The dreams were full of such loss and horror, that he had shied away from analysing them.
"I can't sleep Doc, I'm scared of closing my eyes."
"Why?" Doc asked quietly, like he was afraid any loud noises would startle his patient back into repressed silence.
"My dreams, only they're not really dreams, they're memories. Or at least little bits and pieces of memory that make no sense whatsoever. It's like some sadistic kid took a big puzzle of all my memories and tossed the pieces on the wind. I can't find all the pieces, I can't put them back together, it's like trying to put together a million piece puzzle when I don't even know what the picture on the box is."
Dean glanced briefly at Doc, certain he would see some non committal yet totally judgmental shrink expression, but the Doc just looked sad and understanding.
"All the fragments just seem to be of some dark horrid life that I don't think I want to go back to," Dean finished.
Doc looked away for a moment like he was collecting his thoughts, his eyes solemn and unblinking.
"Maybe if you can fit some of the pieces together, just a few, what you find won't be so dark. Maybe once you put some of those pieces back together, you'll find something worth living for hiding in the spaces in between."
"You think maybe once I start to remember, what I left behind won't look so bad."
"There must have been something you left behind that you miss, that you need," Doc answered with a shrug. "You're only seeing fragments, you don't know what you'll find when you put them all together. There’s a bigger picture, Dean, there always is."
Dean looked away, studying the padded floor like it held all the answers. This was why he had avoided the Doc. He was the one person who made any sense, the only one likely to bring his memories out. For the first time in weeks he wondered if that would be such a bad thing. He had wanted to run and hide, to pretend that he had been given a fresh start; telling himself that ignoring who he had been wasn't the coward's way out. He would never get a clean slate though. His past would always haunt him; there was no running from it.
He glanced up at the doc out of the corner of his eye, at least he wouldn't have to face it alone, he thought.
"Thanks Doc," Dean whispered.
"I'm always here for you," Doc answered.
They sat together in silence until Dean fell asleep again. The dreams didn't seem so bad this time. He even thought he saw the Doc in them, but couldn't quite remember when he woke.
.........................
Dean sat on his bed looking out the window. They had let him back into his room after two days observations. Now that he wasn't fighting the dreams he was much calmer. He had actually slept the last few nights straight through without waking drenched in sweat.
The dreams still made no sense, but he was holding onto the hope the Doc had given him, that in time he would find something in them that he wanted to remember. He was eating better too, and had even started to participate in the group sessions at the Docs urging.
He heard a knock at the door, and looked up as the physio came in, all bright and bubbly as usual.
"You ready to go for a walk?"
"Sure," Dean answered, smiling politely. He wasn't sure he was up to her level of perkiness this morning, but he was looking forward to getting outside.
His knee still ached, and he wasn't exactly going to be running a marathon anytime soon, but he was feeling much stronger. He got through his whole session without any assistance from the physio.
"I don't think we need to do any more sessions. I'll leave you with some exercises to strengthen your leg, but I think you're good to go."
"That's great," Dean said, his smile not quite matching hers.
Her cheery and flirty nature was really not what he needed today. She was lovely, but Dean barley had the energy to be polite. Now that his injuries were on the mend, all he could think about was getting out of here.
"You seem much better, not just the leg, I mean you seem..."
"More sane?"
She blushed and looked down for a moment. "You seem more settled," she said as she looked back up at him.
"The Doc’s been really helping me," Dean said with a shrug, not really wanting to talk about it.
"That's great, which Doctor?"
"Novak."
The bridge of her nose crinkled for a second as she thought, "don't think I know him, he must be new."
"I don't know," Dean replied, not really sure how anyone could miss the Doc, with his untidy hair and his bright, inquisitive blue eyes.
"Well I hope you get to go home soon," she said as she looked at her watch, no doubt late for her next appointment. "Bye Dean, maybe I'll see you around." She gave him one last smile before leaving.
He almost breathed a sigh of relief when she waved goodbye and headed back inside, somehow strangely irked that she didn't know who the Doc was.
He stayed outside for a while, all too aware of the orderlies supervising those patients who were out in the courtyard. He had only been allowed to come outside at all because of his supposed breakthrough in group therapy. He found the other doctors next to useless, but they seemed to like his new take on life since his 'episode'.
Frankly he didn't care what they thought, the only one who had been the least bit helpful was Doctor Novak. He knew he needed to satisfy the other doctors if he wanted to be released though, and he hoped that wouldn't be too far away.
Between his outburst when he had woken from his nightmare, and the bits and pieces he had shared from the fragments of memories he had, the doctors were under the impression that he had escaped an abusive relationship. He had no idea if that was true or not, but it seemed as likely a theory as any. He didn't really have much to go on.
It had been almost four months since he had been brought in to the hospital. The odd flash of memory in a dream was still all he had. The doctors had admitted it was likely he would never get his memories back now. He was ok with that. As long as they deemed him able to function, and not a danger to himself or others, and could be released, he was happy.
He sat down on one of the benches as far away from anyone else as he could get. He watched as two birds fought over a morsel of food, relieved for the moment of quiet. The constant hovering of doctors, nurses or orderlies, was more than a little annoying. He relished in the idea of being released and disappearing into the city somewhere, just another person on the street, rather than the topic of nurses' gossip as they tossed around theories of who he was.
He wasn't surprised when he looked up to see the Doc. He had a habit of finding Dean when he was somewhere quiet and alone. Dean was grateful for it; it was like the Doc had an innate sense for when he wanted to talk.
Doc sat down next to him, it should have been uncomfortably close, yet somehow he didn't mind. Almost like the doc belonged there, or had always been there. Dean didn't know why, and was feeling too mellow to bother trying to figure it out.
"So I hear talk you might be getting out of here?"
"Yeah, apparently. Nothing is set in stone, but at least they are doing a review, gotta be a step in the right direction, right?"
The Doc just nodded. He rested his elbows on his knees, and cradled his chin in his hands. He seemed to be enjoying the sunshine and quiet as much as Dean.
"God I hope I get out of here. If I stay here much longer I may just go crazy on principle." Dean said as he leant onto his knees, subconsciously mirroring the Doc.
Doc looked at him out of the corner of his eyes. "You've come a long way, it'd be a waste to go crazy now," he said completely deadpan.
Dean looked at him for a moment, "Doc was that a joke? There's hope for you yet. Not much hope, but a glimmer at least."
Both men shared matching half smiles as they sat in silence. Something about this place seemed to discourage any actual happiness.
"In all seriousness, you're ready to get out of here Dean. You’re right, being stuck in here won't help you."
"How about you go tell the other doctors that, save having to do this whole interview thing?"
"Doesn't work like that."
"Hmm. Worth a try."
"You know what you have to tell them if you want to get out of here?"
"Yeah I know. That I'm beige and boring, and there's nothing exciting or dark lurking around in my head. I'm vanilla and drive a Volvo," Dean said with a cocky smile.
Doc just tilted his head in that way that had become so familiar.
"I'll be fine. You don't have to perch on my shoulder and watch over me."
"Sure I do. That's my job," Doc replied.
Dean looked over at Doc suddenly serious, "Thanks Doc, really."
Doc smiled back at him seeming lost for words. Dean wondered how often he heard someone say thanks for pulling them out of this hell.
"Good luck Dean," Doc said as he stood, he paused for a moment holding Dean's gaze before leaving.
Dean watched him walk away and wondered, if all went well and he got out tomorrow, if he would ever see the doc again. He felt like he owed him more than a simple thank you.
.........................
Continue to part 2...
.
"You think you know my brother better than I do?" Sam asked sceptically.
Castiel took a step closer, his cold eyes glaring up at Sam, his smaller stature in no way belying the power boiling within him. "Maybe not the you that's in the pit, but the you that would serve your own brother up to a vampire, just to see what would happen..." Castiel paused for a moment, shocked by the feeling of anger that twisted around him. "Raphael took all Dean's memories, he's defenceless. I won't abandon him," he finished.
"That's funny, then where have you been for the last year and half?"
Castiel flinched, though his eyes never faltered. He had been busy, that sounded flimsy even to him.
He couldn't understand how Sam could argue leaving Dean wherever he was though. That he would be safer if they didn't try to find him, reasoning that with no memories, angels or demons wouldn't bother to find his brother either. Castiel couldn’t guarantee that was the truth anyway, just because Dean had no memories did not mean he was out of danger. If anything he could now be in greater peril, defenceless as he was, Dean Winchester was still a wanted man by every angel, demon or other monster who's plans he had put a crimp in over the years.
The lack of a soul now seemed to shine from the younger Winchester, more an emanation of emptiness perhaps; Castiel wondered how he hadn't seen its lack the moment he first saw Sam after his return. It was all Castiel could see now when he looked at Sam. He briefly thought Dean was right in doing anything to get Sam’s soul back, except Dean wasn't here to argue that particular case anymore. He most likely didn't even remember he had a brother.
"This isn't how Dean would want things to end, and you know it," Castiel glared at Sam for a moment longer, before glancing over at Bobby who gave him a slight nod.
Castiel teleported away, appearing on the side of an abandoned road. He knew Bobby would stay with Sam and watch over him, allowing Castiel to search every inch of the earth for Dean, every conceivable place Raphael may have sent him. Raphael's last words kept a discordant beat in his head, “I’ve taken every memory of who he was, you'll never find him,” he had taunted as he wiped blood from his hands absently.
He closed his eyes briefly, trying to shift his unease aside. He didn't know how his brother had found Dean; he had recognised the Enochian sigils though, that had been fading on the floor around the cooling pool of Dean's blood. The spell was designed to destroy all of Dean's memories. His mind shied away from the fact that the spell was probably irreversible. He opened his eyes and stared down the open stretch of highway, trying to collect his thoughts, and concentrate on the fact that at least Dean was still alive, somewhere. The emptiness of the road unfurling ahead echoed the strange feeling curling around him.
Dean was lost, and he had no idea where to start looking for him.
.........................
Two months later...
Water droplets slid lazily down the glass, obscuring the view and making the world outside look hazy and distant, like a watercolour painting that was only half finished. It didn't seem real; like he could reach out with his fingers and smudge it.
It had been raining for days. The distant drone of the rain against the roof so constant it was hypnotic. The outside world had disappeared, shrouded by the downpour. It was comforting having the world shrink down to just the four walls around him, the blurry shapes of the world outside matching those in his mind. He was a lost man, and it seemed fitting that the world had become lost with him.
He heard the door behind him open, a soft clatter as plates were set down on a tray. He closed his eyes against the intrusion, thought he heard a man mutter something about lunch, before the door quietly shut again. He opened his eyes and looked back out at the blurry shapes.
The window was fogging from his breath, the glass cool against his forehead where he leant against it. He breathed out deeper, widening the fog. He reached up and wiped it away, almost disappointed when the world didn't smudge.
He thought he felt a slight breeze, a shift in the air in the room. He wondered idly if a window was open, but was too lost in thought to bother checking.
He watched as a hazy figure rushed across the lawn below his window, hurrying to the car park in a desperate bid to avoid the rain, but failing miserably. He wondered why they bothered at all. He thought the gentle caress of the cool rain against his skin would be welcome, but he wasn’t at liberty to test that theory.
He heard a soft noise behind him, someone clearing their throat.
"Mr Smith?"
He closed his eyes again, hoping that they, too, would just leave him be. The sound of the rain was soothing, he thought if he tried hard enough he could lose himself in it. The voice sounded again but it was more distant.
"Dean."
He jolted back to his surroundings, the name and voice carrying a weight he couldn’t help but react to. He opened his eyes and slowly rolled his head against the glass to see who had bothered him. The man stood just inside the door, watching him intently. Dr... Naman...Newman...no that wasn't right, he couldn't remember that either.
"Mr Smith, its Dr Novak."
Right, Novak, he thought, somehow still unsatisfied with the name.
"Hi Doc. Enjoying the weather?" he asked, slightly less annoyed at being interrupted now. He wasn't quite sure why, but he liked the Doctor, more than most of the other indifferent do-gooders in this place.
The doctor walked across the room, scuffing his feet slightly on the stark linoleum floor. He stood next to Dean and looked out the window.
"I like the rain," Dr Novak said quietly.
"Me too," Dean replied, looking back outside.
He could feel the doctor watching him, but the man was always so calm that it didn't bother him. It wasn't a look of pity or apathy that most of the other doctors or nurses had; maybe that was why he liked him. There was a quiet intensity about him, like there was so much more going on behind those eyes than he could understand.
"You always call me Dean," he said after a while.
He didn't remember his name, he didn't remember anything before two months ago when he had woken up in hospital. His chart said John Smith, a nice generic name.
"It seems more appropriate than Mr Smith," the doctor replied with an almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders.
A smile tugged at his lips, he had to admit he liked Dean better; John just didn't fit somehow. Familiar, but not his.
"So what's on the agenda today doc? Some ink blots maybe? They all look like aliens, or maybe tap dancing squirrels."
The doctor tilted his head slightly, like he was trying figure out how crazy his patient was, or perhaps just picturing tap dancing squirrels. Who knew? The doc had shown up two weeks ago, and Dean sometimes thought the doctor was stranger than his patient.
"No, no ink blots. I thought we would just… talk."
"Okay, though I'm not all that up to date with current affairs, you'll have catch me up."
Dean looked up at the doc, surprised to see an amused almost-smile. In two weeks he didn't think he had ever seen him smile. The guy could use some lightening up he thought; after all he was the one with amnesia, not the doc.
"Do you have any family, someone waiting for you out there?" Dean asked, nodding his head towards the window.
A brief moment of sorrow seemed to cross the doc's face, only a glimpse before it was gone.
"No. There was, but they're gone now."
"Hmm. I'd like to think there was someone out there waiting for me, but I don't remember. Kind of thought they'd have come looking for me by now, so I guess there isn't."
"Maybe they are still trying to find you," the Doc replied, a look in his eyes that Dean couldn't quite decipher.
"Maybe."
They both went back to looking out the window, the silence comforting.
The doctor seemed to stiffen for a moment, that sorrowful look back in his eyes.
"I have to go. I will see you again tomorrow Dean."
"I'll be here," Dean answered not looking away from the window.
The doctor turned and walked away, Dean heard him pause at the door.
"You should eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"There is pie. You like pie."
Dean looked around, the room was empty. His eyes fell on the plate of food. The pie did look tempting.
A nurse came in, carrying the usual handful of pills. He swallowed them diligently. She smiled absently as he handed back the medication cup.
"Hey, do you think you could change the name on my chart?"
She looked up, her interest vaguely piqued. "Did you remember what it was?"
"Not really. I just like the name Dean better. Someone told me it suited me more."
She smiled at him sadly, pitying his lack of memory. "Sure thing hun."
.........................
Dean sat in the common room, idly shuffling a pack of cards. The rain had finally cleared during the night. He had woken to rays of fresh morning light falling across his pillow. The staff seemed more cheery with the break in the weather, but he had cursed the light and simply rolled over and gone back to sleep.
His memory was just as blank as it had been for the last two months; the end of the storms hadn't brought a sudden breakthrough in his condition. He wished the dark clouds would roll back in, but the sky remained stubbornly blue.
He grudgingly stared at the other patients, he had wanted to stay in his room, but the nurses had insisted, talking in quiet, ingratiating tones that only served to piss him off. He was sure they did it on purpose. This place had such a sugary sweet coating with chewy drug centre, he was sure the air itself was likely to induce a catatonic state.
The common room housed a motley crew of inmates, from the catatonics who stared and drooled, to the bouncing maniacs, who seemed to spend all day leading the nurses on a merry chase as they tried to subdue them with idiotic platitudes or syringes. The less insane played cards.
He shuffled the cards again, flipping through them as he watched the loons, at least the bouncy ones were entertaining, and they tended to steer clear of his corner. The slower moving ones did too. He sometimes wondered what he had been in his past that leant his stare that handy, kindly-fuck-off, quality.
He had only been let out with the rest of the happy campers a few weeks ago, right after the doc first showed up. He had been deemed violent after what they told him was a psychotic break. They said he’d been rambling about demons and angels, and the world ending bloody. He didn't remember that, he just remembered waking up in the hospital sometime later.
Apart from the obvious psychotic ramblings, he had also been wounded. The doctors didn't know if the psychotic break was caused by the injuries or not, which was confidence inspiring. Hell, maybe he had always been a few cards short of a deck.
His wounds were mostly healed now, though he still needed crutches to walk. A smashed knee, broken ribs, broken wrist, bruised liver, and more cuts and abrasions than he cared to remember. No apparent head injury, which had the doctors confused. They had decided on some type of post traumatic stress causing the loss of memory, they insisted it may all come back one day. He wasn't holding his breath. It had been two months, and he hadn't even had a glimpse of who he had been before.
He rubbed absently at his leg. It still ached from the knee injury. His physiotherapist said it was coming along well, though he may never heal 100%, and he would likely have a limp for the rest of his life.
He mulled over the events of the last few weeks in his mind, when all you had was a short film to show for a lifetime, there wasn't a lot to sit and reminisce about to pass the time. He tried to let a particularly energetic patient distract him, but his mind kept wandering back to the inevitable question: who am I?
Some days he spent hours trying to remember even the smallest detail about his life, others, like today, he hoped he never remembered. He was sick of the see-saw of emotions. He just wished they would let him go back to his room, so he could go back to pretending the rest of the world didn't exist.
Sometimes he even wondered if it was worth hoarding the sleeping pills they gave him, and just putting an end to it all. Something told him he wasn't the sort to just lie down without a fight though.
He was tired though, he just didn't know from what. Days like today it felt like there was some burden, which if he wanted, he could just lay aside. Some weight he had carried for far too long. He just didn't remember what it was.
He sighed and tossed the cards on the table. Maybe he should join the energetic patient who was now standing on a chair trying to fly. Sooner or later they would give him a cocktail of something, and drug induced sleep was one way to stop the questions his mind couldn't answer.
Before he could decide if it was worth the trouble, the staff subdued bouncy and led him off. It looked like play time was over anyway, as the staff began to escort their patients back to their rooms. Being mostly ambulatory, he had the privilege of hobbling back to his room unescorted. Such small luxuries went a long way in a place like this.
He walked down the corridor, in no hurry to get back to his room now that he had the chance. He heard footsteps behind him and slowed to let whatever patient it was pass, so he could enjoy the rest of the walk back to his room in peace. When he looked up though, it was Dr Novak.
"Hello Dean."
"Oh, hi Doc."
Dean rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. How, exactly, do you start a conversation up with someone, when you have no memories and are currently the resident of an asylum. Not to mention that the Doc was a professional paid to swim around in his head, fishing for whatever lurked in its depths.
"So...rain’s gone," Dean stated, deciding the weather was about a good a topic as any.
"Yes," Doctor Novak replied.
Well so much for that line of conversation, Dean thought to himself. The doc really was one of those stare-at-you-intently-until-you-crack-and-spill-your-deepest-darkest-thoughts kinda people. Dean just stared back, determined not to fall for that old trick.
Of course the Doc just kept on staring, his eyes scrunched slightly as if he found something hidden inside Dean truly perplexing. The guy had no idea of normal social conventions. No wonder he's a shrink, shrinks are all fucked up, Dean thought to himself.
"You don't seem happy about the fine weather?"
"I don't really care," Dean said with a shrug, looking away from those damn staring eyes.
The doc tilted his head slightly, still studying him.
"The rain shrouded the world. You hoped that if it rained for long enough the rest of the world would disappear, and then it wouldn't matter who you were anymore."
Dean's eyes flicked back to the Doc’s, unnerved by the uncanny accuracy of the observation.
"It matters who you were Dean, who you still are."
"Yeah, to who?"
The doctor's eyes narrowed in frustration, Dean thought he was about to say something, but he looked away instead.
"Whoever I was, is long gone, they don't exist anymore," Dean said as he turned away, walking back to his room.
He didn't see the pained look on the doctor's face, or hear the whispered "Dean".
The rain came back shortly after dark. Dean sat up half the night, perched on the windowsill with his head resting against the cool glass. He let the sound of the rain wash over him, cocooning him from the world. He said a silent thanks to whoever was listening for the comfort it gave, never imagining that anyone was listening.
.........................
Weak rays of light woke him. He rolled over groaning, and he threw an arm over his eyes defiantly, wondering if they deliberately placed the bed so that the morning sun fell across his pillow. He hated mornings. He hated waking up. Whoever he had been before, he couldn’t have been a morning person.
"I'd have bought you coffee but they frown on that, apparently caffeinating patients isn't a good idea."
Dean looked out from under his arm. The Doc was sitting in a chair across the room watching him.
"I'd kill for a coffee."
"Do you think of committing violence often?" The Doc asked with a slightly confused look, his lips tilting in what may have been a faint smile, it was strangely endearing.
"It was a figure of speech," Dean clarified, not sure if the doctor was being serious when the smile disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared.
"Of course," Doc replied absently, his attention seeming to shift to the brightening blue sky outside the window, Dean thought it was more likely he was cataloguing every facet of his patient's personality though.
Dean let his arm fall back across his eyes. He really didn't feel like being shrinked, and certainly not by the only mildly likeable person in the joint. He gave up trying to get back to sleep and sat up, stretching his leg to try and relieve the stiffness, and rubbing a hand through his sleep-messed hair.
"You're in early doc," Dean asked, giving up trying to get his hair to settle.
"I'm always here."
"Married to the job huh?"
"Something like that," the Doc answered, giving Dean a look like he had missed the point.
Dean rubbed his knee. It always ached more in the mornings, until it loosened up a bit.
"How's that coming along?" Doctor Novak asked as he watched Dean's hands massage the injured leg.
"It's good, they say I might get to go for a walk outside today, give it a longer workout."
"Good thing it stopped raining then," Doc said with a hint of a smirk.
"Guess so. Be nice to get away from these four walls for a while." Dean replied as he looked out the window.
He hadn't been outside since he had been here. He had to admit he missed the feel of the wind on his face. Well he assumed he missed it, strange how he could miss something when he had no memories. In a complete one-eighty to how he had felt yesterday, now that he was finally getting to go outside, he suddenly wanted nothing more than to get out, to get away. He had a sudden feeling of claustrophobia, like he had been in the one place for too long.
For the first time in two months, it felt like some memory was trying to push its way into his mind. Some intangible thought that he didn't belong here. He glanced back to the Doc, who was watching him intently. He swore the guy could see inside him at times.
"You know what one of my favourite memories is?" The Doc asked as he looked away from Dean.
"What?"
"Driving," the Doc answered, his attention no longer entirely on Dean
"Driving?"
"It's dark. All I can see is the road in front of me. The window is down and the wind coming in is cold. Music is playing, an old rock song I think. There is a friend by my side. We're driving in silence, yet I have never felt so whole. I don't even remember where we were driving to. It's one of my strongest memories."
Dean couldn't decide what the look on the Doc's face was as he spoke, a strange mix of peacefulness and melancholy. "Who was the friend?" He asked.
The Doc looked back at Dean, his face closing over, "just someone I used to know."
The Doc looked towards the door as footsteps and the sound of a trolley drifted in.
"I should go. You'll need your breakfast if you're going on that walk."
He stood and walked out before Dean could say anything else.
Dean stared at the door after he had gone. Something about the memory the Doc had shared stirred something in him. He had no idea what though. Whatever it was, he lost the train of thought as the orderly came in with his breakfast.
.........................
Dean had pushed himself too hard on his walk. He had no intention of telling his physio that when she asked if he would like to sit outside for a while though.
He watched as she walked away. She was in her late twenties, cute and kind of flirty. He would probably be interested if he could be bothered. He had been out of sorts since he had spoken with Doc this morning though. So he watched her walk back inside instead, she glanced back at him before going through the door, flashing him a shiny smile that most likely got her whatever she wanted.
He almost resented her energy at the moment. He had barley walked a hundred yards. His knee ached; his back was drenched in sweat. He had tried to ignore the injury to his knee, the loss of memory a little more concerning, but he realised now how bad it was. The doctors had told him he would probably limp for the rest of his life. The limp he could live with, the pain was another matter. He hoped as he healed more, the pain would recede.
He rubbed the knee absently as he leant back on the bench, trying to tell his tense and tired muscles to relax. As the cramps subsided, he realised how nice the breeze was against his sweaty skin. He was right, he had missed it.
He wondered what else he missed. Pretty girls with flirty smiles maybe? For some reason he didn't think he had been the relationship kind of guy. Hell, he could have been celibate for all he knew. Or a workaholic stooge with no social life. Or a socially awkward thirty-something living with his mom, though presumably she would be looking for him if that was the case. Maybe she was some frail little old lady, still sitting at home waiting for him to come back from shopping.
He sighed. He could go around in circles all day wondering who he had been. It didn't help.
He lent back and closed his eyes instead, emptying his mind and just enjoying the feel of the sun on his face. The warm rosy haze made him feel the best he had in what felt like forever. He felt a shadow pass over his face. He opened his eyes and looked up to see Doc standing in his sunlight.
"How was the walk?" Doc asked.
"Awesome."
Doc raised an eyebrow at him.
"Okay, tiring."
Doc sat down on the bench next to him. "You look better though. Guess the fresh air was good for you."
"I feel great."
"So, are you up to talking about how you were when you were admitted?"
Dean tensed, "I told you I don't remember that."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Hmm okay," Doc said, though Dean could see he didn't look convinced.
They sat in silence for a moment. Dean hoped that was an end to the questions.
"How are you sleeping?" Doc asked though.
"Fine."
"Really?"
"What, I have dreams. Everybody has dreams," Dean said defensively.
"Not everyone has nightmares," Doc countered, apparently not content to let him shrug it off today.
"I didn't say they were nightmares."
"You didn't have to," Doc said simply.
"Right, 'cause you're a shrink and I'm an open book."
"You are hardly an open book, Dean. You're complicated, and it's hardly surprising you're having bad dreams."
"Yeah, why's that?" Dean asked, trying to sound annoyed rather than anxious.
"You've been through a lot."
"Yeah, but I have no memory of what it is I've been through."
"Maybe not, but that in itself must be daunting."
Dean just looked at the Doc, finding it hard to argue with his logic.
"Do you remember your dreams?"
"No," Dean lied.
"I'm here to help you Dean," Doc said, looking genuinely concerned.
"They're just dreams, Doc."
"Maybe," Doc replied almost cryptically.
Dean closed his eyes, trying to enjoy the sun again and ignore the Doc's questions. He wondered if he got under the skin of his other patients as easily. If he saw so much of them too, even the bits they didn't want him to see.
"You ready to go inside?"
Dean opened his eyes with a start; he hadn't heard the physio come back.
"Yeah sure, was just finished talking to the Doc."
"To who?" she asked.
He looked to his side. The Doc was gone.
"No one, never mind." He let her help him up.
"You did great today, I don't think it will be long before you'll be ready to leave."
"Leave?"
"Sure, your knee is coming along nicely. Once the other doctors are happy with your progress, I'm sure you will be fine to go."
Right, just have to pass the shrink brigade, he thought to himself.
"Piece of cake," he said with a smile.
He was rewarded with another shiny, bright smile. Yeah, he could definitely be interested, he thought. He couldn't help looking around to see where the Doc had gone though.
.........................
Blood on his hands. It wasn't his. He could feel himself screaming. Calling someone's name. Then something happened, but before he could see what it was it was gone. He was in a hospital. Watching on as doctors tried to save someone, but he couldn't see their face. He was in darkness trapped under ground. Someone had saved him, but he didn't know who....
Dean woke up sweating. He stared up at the ceiling, breathing heavy. The dreams never made sense, fragments that didn't seem to fit together properly. They terrified him, not just the images themselves, but the thought that they were some remnant left over from who he had been.
What sort of life had he led?
He wished the nightmares would go away. Each time he woke up he wanted to remember who he had been less and less.
Every day the doctors and nurses looked at him, pitying him. They would tell him he would remember, that it would all come back to him. He just needed time to heal, to get past the trauma. That it was okay to remember, they would help him through it.
They had no idea.
He rolled onto his side, throwing off the sheet. The room was hot and stuffy. He was scared, and that fear was the one thing that seemed familiar, like he had dealt with horrifying situations his whole life. What had he left behind that was worth going back to?
He lay awake for hours, refusing to go back to sleep. He watched the outline of the window gradually lighten as dawn neared. He watched the sky slowly fade from black, to grey, to pink and finally into pale blue.
They could push and prod all they wanted he decided. He wouldn't remember, he couldn't. He would start over with this fresh slate. He would just have to convince them that he was stable and well adjusted, and capable of living without his memories.
He repeated that over and over to himself until the orderly arrived with his breakfast. He convinced himself that it was the best thing, and he could do it. As long as he didn't have to see the one person who was able to see through him.
He spent all day looking for the Doc, hoping he wouldn't have to see him, but feeling somewhat disappointed when he didn’t. For the first time in days he didn't run into him, just the other doctors who were so easy to manipulate, it was like throwing a stone at a pond and hitting water. He would have them convinced in a matter of days, two weeks at the outside, that he was ready to leave, and go back to the real world.
He didn't need to remember. Who he was didn't matter.
.........................
Three weeks later...
Dean woke screaming. Something was wrapped around him, he couldn't move. The door to his room burst open as orderlies rushed in, the night doctor behind them.
"Hold him down."
"No! I'm not going back. I can't. He'll rip me to pieces, bit by bit till there's nothing left. I won't go back!" Dean screamed as they tried to hold him down. "I can’t go back to Alistair!”
"Dean, it's ok. No one's going to hurt you," the doctor said soothingly, turning to a nurse and giving her an order before she left the room.
"You don't understand, I can't go back."
Dean thrashed against the orderlies, managing to almost get out of the bed before the three men wrestled him back onto it just as the nurse rushed back in. She handed a syringe to the doctor.
"It's okay Dean, you're safe here," the doctor said gently, as he jabbed the needle into the soft skin of Dean’s thigh.
"He must be remembering what happened to him," Dean heard someone whisper as the room started to blur.
He could feel the drugs flood through him. He felt them start to restrain his feet and hands before the room blacked out.
.........................
He woke several hours later. They had moved him into a padded room. He was alone. The nightmare was still there, at the edges of his thoughts. He had tried so hard to push away who he was, but the harder he tried to keep it out, the more it seemed to break through.
He could still feel the drugs in his system, but they were distant, just a sort of numb feeling.
"You can't push who you are aside, Dean. The memories, they're who you are."
Dean opened his eyes. The Doc was sitting on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest with his arms resting loosely on them. His head was cocked to the side as he watched Dean where he lay on the floor. Dean hadn't heard him come into the room.
"Hi Doc. I was avoiding you."
"I know. But you can't avoid me forever."
"Guess not. Truth be told, I kinda missed you."
The doc blinked at that, taking a moment to digest what Dean had said he guessed. The doc swallowed, frowning now in undeniable concern. When he spoke again his voice was quiet and careful.
"Dean you can't push the dreams, the memories aside, it's killing you bit by bit. They," he said as he pointed to the door, indicating the doctors Dean could hear outside, "will keep you locked up in here until you show them you're okay, and you won't be until you talk about it."
"They don't understand, they can't."
"What about me?"
"What?"
"What about me? Talk to me."
Dean looked at the Doc for a moment. He couldn't say why, but he thought, just maybe, the Doc was the one person who would understand, who could help him.
Dean sighed and he rubbed a hand through his hair making it stick up in all directions. He really had no idea where to start. He was angry, afraid, frustrated. He had tried so hard to remember, and then tried equally hard not to remember. Neither seemed particularly successful.
The dreams he thought. It was the dreams. He had ignored them as best he could, but they kept coming, every night. If these dreams were in fact his memories, or fragments of them at least, then what kind of terrible life had he led? The dreams were full of such loss and horror, that he had shied away from analysing them.
"I can't sleep Doc, I'm scared of closing my eyes."
"Why?" Doc asked quietly, like he was afraid any loud noises would startle his patient back into repressed silence.
"My dreams, only they're not really dreams, they're memories. Or at least little bits and pieces of memory that make no sense whatsoever. It's like some sadistic kid took a big puzzle of all my memories and tossed the pieces on the wind. I can't find all the pieces, I can't put them back together, it's like trying to put together a million piece puzzle when I don't even know what the picture on the box is."
Dean glanced briefly at Doc, certain he would see some non committal yet totally judgmental shrink expression, but the Doc just looked sad and understanding.
"All the fragments just seem to be of some dark horrid life that I don't think I want to go back to," Dean finished.
Doc looked away for a moment like he was collecting his thoughts, his eyes solemn and unblinking.
"Maybe if you can fit some of the pieces together, just a few, what you find won't be so dark. Maybe once you put some of those pieces back together, you'll find something worth living for hiding in the spaces in between."
"You think maybe once I start to remember, what I left behind won't look so bad."
"There must have been something you left behind that you miss, that you need," Doc answered with a shrug. "You're only seeing fragments, you don't know what you'll find when you put them all together. There’s a bigger picture, Dean, there always is."
Dean looked away, studying the padded floor like it held all the answers. This was why he had avoided the Doc. He was the one person who made any sense, the only one likely to bring his memories out. For the first time in weeks he wondered if that would be such a bad thing. He had wanted to run and hide, to pretend that he had been given a fresh start; telling himself that ignoring who he had been wasn't the coward's way out. He would never get a clean slate though. His past would always haunt him; there was no running from it.
He glanced up at the doc out of the corner of his eye, at least he wouldn't have to face it alone, he thought.
"Thanks Doc," Dean whispered.
"I'm always here for you," Doc answered.
They sat together in silence until Dean fell asleep again. The dreams didn't seem so bad this time. He even thought he saw the Doc in them, but couldn't quite remember when he woke.
.........................
Dean sat on his bed looking out the window. They had let him back into his room after two days observations. Now that he wasn't fighting the dreams he was much calmer. He had actually slept the last few nights straight through without waking drenched in sweat.
The dreams still made no sense, but he was holding onto the hope the Doc had given him, that in time he would find something in them that he wanted to remember. He was eating better too, and had even started to participate in the group sessions at the Docs urging.
He heard a knock at the door, and looked up as the physio came in, all bright and bubbly as usual.
"You ready to go for a walk?"
"Sure," Dean answered, smiling politely. He wasn't sure he was up to her level of perkiness this morning, but he was looking forward to getting outside.
His knee still ached, and he wasn't exactly going to be running a marathon anytime soon, but he was feeling much stronger. He got through his whole session without any assistance from the physio.
"I don't think we need to do any more sessions. I'll leave you with some exercises to strengthen your leg, but I think you're good to go."
"That's great," Dean said, his smile not quite matching hers.
Her cheery and flirty nature was really not what he needed today. She was lovely, but Dean barley had the energy to be polite. Now that his injuries were on the mend, all he could think about was getting out of here.
"You seem much better, not just the leg, I mean you seem..."
"More sane?"
She blushed and looked down for a moment. "You seem more settled," she said as she looked back up at him.
"The Doc’s been really helping me," Dean said with a shrug, not really wanting to talk about it.
"That's great, which Doctor?"
"Novak."
The bridge of her nose crinkled for a second as she thought, "don't think I know him, he must be new."
"I don't know," Dean replied, not really sure how anyone could miss the Doc, with his untidy hair and his bright, inquisitive blue eyes.
"Well I hope you get to go home soon," she said as she looked at her watch, no doubt late for her next appointment. "Bye Dean, maybe I'll see you around." She gave him one last smile before leaving.
He almost breathed a sigh of relief when she waved goodbye and headed back inside, somehow strangely irked that she didn't know who the Doc was.
He stayed outside for a while, all too aware of the orderlies supervising those patients who were out in the courtyard. He had only been allowed to come outside at all because of his supposed breakthrough in group therapy. He found the other doctors next to useless, but they seemed to like his new take on life since his 'episode'.
Frankly he didn't care what they thought, the only one who had been the least bit helpful was Doctor Novak. He knew he needed to satisfy the other doctors if he wanted to be released though, and he hoped that wouldn't be too far away.
Between his outburst when he had woken from his nightmare, and the bits and pieces he had shared from the fragments of memories he had, the doctors were under the impression that he had escaped an abusive relationship. He had no idea if that was true or not, but it seemed as likely a theory as any. He didn't really have much to go on.
It had been almost four months since he had been brought in to the hospital. The odd flash of memory in a dream was still all he had. The doctors had admitted it was likely he would never get his memories back now. He was ok with that. As long as they deemed him able to function, and not a danger to himself or others, and could be released, he was happy.
He sat down on one of the benches as far away from anyone else as he could get. He watched as two birds fought over a morsel of food, relieved for the moment of quiet. The constant hovering of doctors, nurses or orderlies, was more than a little annoying. He relished in the idea of being released and disappearing into the city somewhere, just another person on the street, rather than the topic of nurses' gossip as they tossed around theories of who he was.
He wasn't surprised when he looked up to see the Doc. He had a habit of finding Dean when he was somewhere quiet and alone. Dean was grateful for it; it was like the Doc had an innate sense for when he wanted to talk.
Doc sat down next to him, it should have been uncomfortably close, yet somehow he didn't mind. Almost like the doc belonged there, or had always been there. Dean didn't know why, and was feeling too mellow to bother trying to figure it out.
"So I hear talk you might be getting out of here?"
"Yeah, apparently. Nothing is set in stone, but at least they are doing a review, gotta be a step in the right direction, right?"
The Doc just nodded. He rested his elbows on his knees, and cradled his chin in his hands. He seemed to be enjoying the sunshine and quiet as much as Dean.
"God I hope I get out of here. If I stay here much longer I may just go crazy on principle." Dean said as he leant onto his knees, subconsciously mirroring the Doc.
Doc looked at him out of the corner of his eyes. "You've come a long way, it'd be a waste to go crazy now," he said completely deadpan.
Dean looked at him for a moment, "Doc was that a joke? There's hope for you yet. Not much hope, but a glimmer at least."
Both men shared matching half smiles as they sat in silence. Something about this place seemed to discourage any actual happiness.
"In all seriousness, you're ready to get out of here Dean. You’re right, being stuck in here won't help you."
"How about you go tell the other doctors that, save having to do this whole interview thing?"
"Doesn't work like that."
"Hmm. Worth a try."
"You know what you have to tell them if you want to get out of here?"
"Yeah I know. That I'm beige and boring, and there's nothing exciting or dark lurking around in my head. I'm vanilla and drive a Volvo," Dean said with a cocky smile.
Doc just tilted his head in that way that had become so familiar.
"I'll be fine. You don't have to perch on my shoulder and watch over me."
"Sure I do. That's my job," Doc replied.
Dean looked over at Doc suddenly serious, "Thanks Doc, really."
Doc smiled back at him seeming lost for words. Dean wondered how often he heard someone say thanks for pulling them out of this hell.
"Good luck Dean," Doc said as he stood, he paused for a moment holding Dean's gaze before leaving.
Dean watched him walk away and wondered, if all went well and he got out tomorrow, if he would ever see the doc again. He felt like he owed him more than a simple thank you.
.........................
Continue to part 2...
.