Saving Grace -- Chapter Three
Title: Saving Grace (3/?)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Castiel
Summary: Sam has been in a mental instition for most of his life and has accepted the fact that he would never be out, would never be normal. When a new psychaitrist takes over his case, he begins asking different questions and Sam starts to think that maybe, just maybe, he can be saved.
Warnings: Angst. Suicide attempts. Self mutilation. Character Death (Winchesters). Angst. Angst. Oh, angst.
A/N: Based off the prompt by emmatheslayer and written for her! I own nothing, except the fiction. Huge thanks to my bestie keywielder for listening to me whine bounce ideas off of at three in the morning and for her constant input. Also to elwarre for betaing this for me! Any remaining mistakes are my own.
Prompt: Sam is in a mental hospital and Castiel is psychiatrist that sees how good and sweet he can be when he is in his right mind but Sam can never understand why he is drawn to Castiel and sticks close to him hoping he gets better.
Chapter One can be found here.
Fiction Index can be found here.
Sam stiffened as he heard the door to his room creak open. He knew he was being ridiculous, it wasn’t as if the door was slammed open. Nonetheless, he started shaking underneath the covers, squeezing his eyes tightly closed.
“Sammy.” He exhaled the breath he was holding, flipping himself on the mattress.
“Dean.” His older brother smiled sadly, pulling open the covers and slipping underneath them.
“You okay?” He asked, opening his arms so Sam could curl against his chest. He laid his ear over Dean’s heart, the steady beat calming him. He focused on matching their breathing; when Dean inhaled, so did Sam. They exhaled together.
“I’m okay,” he said after a moment. Dean squeezed his shoulders. He didn’t believe Sam, but that was okay. Sam didn’t believe himself either. “Are you?”
“Course I am,” Dean scoffed. “Just… couldn’t sleep.” Sam nodded, letting his eyes fall closed. “I’m sorry, Sammy,” Dean whispered after a moment.
“You didn’t do anything, Dean.” Sam pulled back, squinting at his brother in the darkness. The soft glow from the streetlights outside their window made Dean’s green eyes shine as they met Sam’s own.
“I know. I didn’t do anything, and I should have. I’m your big brother, I’m supposed to protect you.” Dean’s voice cracked and he shut his eyes.
“Dean…” Sam reached between them to pull Dean’s shirt up. The sudden movement made his brother gasp and they looked down at the large purple bruise that was spreading across Dean’s chest. “I didn’t protect you,” Sam whispered, running his fingertips over the spot, as if he could draw out all of the pain. They stared at the bruise together, both lost in their thoughts.
“Soon, Sammy.” Dean finally twisted around, pulling his shirt back down and holding onto Sam again. “Just two more years, and I’ll be able to get a job.” Sam nodded.
“Happy Birthday, Dean,” he whispered instead, letting his eyes fall closed again.
“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean replied. Sam allowed himself to feel safe, wrapped in his older brother’s arms. In two years, they could be free. Dean would be fourteen, and he had already been told by the Harvelle’s he could be a busboy at their restaurant once he was old enough. Sam would be eight then, plenty old enough to help Dean too.
They just had to make it two more years.
***
“Charlie?” Sam asked, pressing himself against the wall of the hallway as Charlie came out of a room, pushing her cart.
“Sam?” She asked, surprised. “Are you okay?” He shook his head quickly, but the nurse didn’t relax, just continued to stare at him. “I… Okay… What’s wrong? You’ve never searched any of us out before.” She laughed, almost nervous.
“I have to ask you for a razor.” He shrugged. “Doctor’s orders.”
“Oh!” She laughed and Sam didn’t know why it was funny. “Let me finish up in here and I’ll bring it in to you, okay?” He nodded, socks skidding as he turned on his heel and made his way back to his room. He busied himself with filling a plastic basin with warm water, glad that even if he didn’t have a shower, he still had his own sink.
He carried the basin over to the end of the bed, setting it down in the center. He pulled his shirt over his head, laying it over his pillow and climbed onto the mattress, careful not to upset the basin. True to her word, Charlie appeared with a razor, shaving cream and a few towels.
“Alright Sam.” She handed him the supplies. “You have to keep the door open, and I’ll come in a few minutes to see how you’re doing.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, slipping the plastic protector off of the blade and dipping it into the water. By the time Charlie returned, he was wiping the last remains of shaving cream off his face and folding the towels up.
“Let me see,” she said reaching for his face. Sam flinched and was grateful when Charlie released him. She smiled sadly, picking up the razor, trying to hide the fact that she was checking and counting each blade.
“I just wanted to shave.” He sighed, reaching for his shirt.
“I know Sam. Protocol.” She smiled sadly at him, taking everything with her when she left. Sam stood then, slipping the plastic protector from the blade into his pocket before leaving his room to go to the public bathroom. He planted himself in front of the mirror, leaning forward to look at his reflection.
He was pleased to find he hadn’t missed any spots, nor managed to nick himself. He pulled back slightly, studying his face. He had large, purplish circles underneath his eyes, his cheekbones hollowing. He was pale, hair falling in greasy, twisted strands into his eyes. He pushed it back, sighing. His eyes fell on his lips and he froze, lifting his hand to brush against them.
His thoughts immediately went to Cas, and their kiss from yesterday. He found his heart racing in his chest, a sweat breaking out across his body. He had less than an hour until he was supposed to see him again…
He reached for the faucets, turning the water on hot and at full blast, tipping his head down to wash at his hair. He didn’t know why it mattered… Cas had seen him in worse states than with greasy hair… His fingers dug against his scalp, massaging the roots furiously. As if it would help him get clean, as if he could ever, truly, be worth it.
He wrang out as much of the water as he could, flipping his hair back to slap against his shoulders. He stared at himself again, cringing at his reflection. On his way out the door he paused, fingers toying with the plastic cover before he pulled it out and flicked it into the trash.
He could always get another one if he wanted.
***
“Sam!” He heard Charlie calling from behind him and he stopped, hand hesitating on the door to Cas’ office.
“I have my therapy appointment,” he said, waving at the door.
“Not today, Dr. Novak called out sick.” She smiled at him sadly. “I can get you in to see Dr. Braeden if you would like?” She cocked her head and Sam shook his head quickly, trying to decipher the feeling that was swirling through him.
“No. I just… I can’t go to group, they told me to go to therapy instead.”
“Well, I guess you get an afternoon off then.” She smiled at him and Sam knew he was supposed to smile back. Three weeks ago, he would’ve been ecstatic. He would’ve jumped at any opportunity to be free of therapy, group and any other obligation the hospital deemed him worthy to have. Today, Sam felt empty.
“I’ll just… go back to my room.” She smiled at him as he passed and it made Sam want to scream.
He slipped back into his room, falling on his back onto the bed.
He wasn’t stupid.
Cas was avoiding him.
This was the end.
***
“Hello Sam, sorry I missed our appointment yesterday.” Cas was speaking, but Sam couldn’t move. He was frozen in the doorway, staring at a woman who was sitting in Cas’ usual seat, glasses pushed high up on her nose as she watched him carefully. She had short brown hair, flipping out at the ends.
“Who are you?” Sam asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked up at Cas to find the other man busying himself with paperwork on his desk, refusing to meet Sam’s gaze.
“I’m Doctor Mills.” She smiled, standing up to cross the room, hand extended. “I am in the undergraduate program at Stanford University, and working to finish my Clinical hours.”
Sam stared at her outstretched hand, then turned to look up at Cas.
“Why is she here?” Cas looked up then, an expression Sam couldn’t read crossing his features. He was guarded, blocking Sam out. Sam was surprised at how much that hurt.
“Dr. Mills is a student and needs clinical hours to complete her residency. I offered to have her sit in on our appointments, she can observe or take over, depending on the situation. I think it will help us all.”
“I refuse.” Sam crossed his arms, shaking his head at them both, ignoring the strange look that came across the woman’s face.
“Unfortunately, as a ward of the state…” Cas trailed off, he didn’t need to finish. Sam knew. As a ward of the state, Sam wasn’t given any rights. His ‘guardian’ would sign off on any procedure, any test, any piece of fucking paper that passed over whoever’s desk, without a care to Sam’s personal thoughts or feelings.
“Well, have the state come and fucking get me then,” Sam said, spinning on his heel and wrenching the door open. “And fuck you, Dr. Novak.”
Slam.
Slam. Slam. Slam.
“Sammy, I’ll be right back.”
“No, Dean, don’t go down there,” Sam pleaded, pulse jumping in his throat as the pounding continued. Slam. Slam.
“It’s okay.” Dean smiled, flashing two rows of perfect teeth. Sam ran a tongue over his own teeth, pushing into the empty socket where one of his buck teeth used to be. “I’ll be right back.”
Sam closed his eyes tight, listening to his bedroom door shut again. His heart pounded in his chest and he tried to count as high as he could until Dean got back.
35, 36, 37. Slam.
62, 63, 64. Slam.
Slam. 89, 90, 91, 92.
“Dean?” Sam’s eyes shot open as he heard the door open again, Dean’s feet immediately coming into view.
“It’s okay, Sammy. Daddy’s just hanging up pictures.” Sam’s eyes widened.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Dean’s smile widened and Sam couldn’t help but smile back. It was going to be okay.
***
Dear Doctor Novak,
You once told me you wanted me to write in a diary. I think that’s stupid. I would much rather talk to a real live person. So, your wish is my command.
I think you’re an asshole.
I think you’re afraid of what you did.
I think you want to do it again, and I think I want you to.
What is it that bothers you the most? The fact that I am your patient, and you’re my doctor? Or the fact that everyone around us thinks I’m batshit crazy?
Sincerely,
Sam Winchester,
Room 201 (incase you forgot).
Sam folded up the paper, a strange sort of satisfaction settling in his stomach. He had successfully avoided Cas for two of their sessions after seeing Dr. Mills sitting in the office, waiting for him. It was only a matter of time before Cas would actually have to report his absence… And Sam wasn’t going to force the hospital director’s hand in changing his psychiatrist.
He would participate. He would answer Dr. Mills questions. And he would make it completely unbearable for Cas to sit through.
Making his way to the office, he smiled at Dr. Mills and tossed the folded paper onto Cas’ desk, ignoring the questioning look he received.
“Mr. Winchester,” She looked up, shocked expression on her face. Sam nodded at her, sinking back into the chair. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“I had nothing better to do.” He shrugged, flashing her a smile. “I supposed I could grace you both with my presence.”
“Glad to hear it.” She smiled, and it was genuine. Sam didn’t know how he felt about that. He ached to look over at Cas, to see the expression on the other man’s face and know that he was the one that put it there. But he had to refrain, wait it out, and make him sweat. “So, Sam, tell me about yourself.”
“I’m not really sure what there is to tell,” Sam shrugged.
“Tell me about the things you like to do.” Dr. Mills smiled, her hands already flying across her notebook.
“I’ve been a patient here since I was seven years old.” Sam said, tone flat. “I live in a hospital, I go to group and therapy. There isn’t anything for me to do.”
She smiled at him, waiting. The silence that surrounded him was nothing like the comfortable silence he was used to in this office. He was suffocating, pressing down on him, choking him. Sam glanced up and over to Cas’ still form. The man’s hands were clenched around the letter, eyes staring into the paper, to the desk , to Dr. Mills - anywhere but to Sam himself.
This was a mistake.
Sam swallowed hard, feeling the panic rising in his chest. He let his eyes fall back on Dr. Mills, her sickly, sweet, smile still plastered on her perfect little face. She licked her lower lip, blinking calmly as she stared at Sam, her pen tapping against the pad of paper on her lap.
Something flashed in her eyes and it made Sam’s stomach turn. There was something about her that was making his head spin. He tore his eyes away, focusing his attention on the drawstring of his scrub pants. He could feel her watching as he dug his thumb nail into the plastic-coated end, breaking it apart until the string started to unravel.
“Do you want to talk about your family?” Sam’s eyes flew up at the suggestion. “January 24th today, wasn’t that your older brother’s birthday?”
“I don’t-” Sam shook his head , squeezing his eyes closed. It was Dean’s birthday. How could he forget? He swallowed again and she continued.
“Do you remember much about your brother?”
“I remember everything.” Sam could hear her talking, the sound of her voice slowly fading away.
Dean would’ve been 21 today.
He would’ve had Sam be the designated driver and Sam would’ve griped about being made to sit in the car while Dean went into every bar he could find.
Dean would be drunk, and laughing. Happy and alive.
Instead, Dean was dead, frozen in time in a pool of his own blood, green eyes staring up into nothing.
“Dean!” Sam threw himself onto the floor, eyes wide in shock as he took in the scene before him. Dean was laying at the bottom of the stairs, his body twisted in a weird angle. Sam grabbed his shoulder, ripping him back, and screamed.
Blood was everywhere. It covered Dean’s neck and chest, was pooling under his body. His skin was pale but his eyes… Sam felt himself start to shake as he stared down at his brother. Dean’s blood was soaking in through his shirt, tacky and cool as it slid against his exposed skin. “You promised, you promised!” Tears were rolling down Sam’s cheeks, falling onto his brother’s lax face. For once, Dean looked calm, completely at ease.
His green eyes were crystalline, clear, and shining in the dim light. A false representation of life.
Sam wanted nothing more than to join him.
Sam could feel the blood drying on his arms, stretching the skin as it cracked and peeled. He scratched at it, digging his fingernails into his flesh, desperately trying to get it clean.
“Do you want to hurt yourself right now, Sam?” He snapped to attention, eyes finding Dr. Mills staring at him, an eyebrow raised. He looked at her, confused. She waved her hand and he looked down at the thick, red welts he was leaving on his forearms.
“No.” He whispered, still scratching. Still dirty.
“Are you sure?” Sam blinked again, focusing his attention back on her, back into this room and not in the blood drenched foyer.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“You don’t look sure.”
“Jody…” Cas’ voice had a warning tone to it, but Sam didn’t care, couldn’t care. This was between him and Dr. Mills, Cas had made it that way. The rest of the room fell away.
“I am sure,” he said, shifting forward and forcing his hands to rest still in his lap. “I think I know my own head better than you do.”
She smirked. “Are you sure about that?”
“And what exactly does that mean?” He could feel Cas’ eyes staring at him, pupils blown wide. His mouth was open and he was saying something, but Sam couldn’t hear him. “Please, enlighten me then.”
“December 4th, 1990 tragedy struck Lawrence, Kansas as a family was ripped apart. Dean Winchester, 11 years old and Mary Winchester, 36 years old were found murdered in their family home. John Winchester, missing and Samuel Winchester, 7 years old, was found in the hallway covered in blood.”
Sam swallowed hard, eyes never leaving the cool ones staring him down. He was vaguely aware of Cas still sitting in the room and he forced himself not to think of the other man. He didn’t want to see Cas’ face as his bloody childhood was poured out in front of them. It was stupid, Cas already knew everything about him. But hearing it, having the words hang thick around them, made everything different.
“Samuel Winchester was checked out by the responders at the scene and no defensive wounds, or any injury, were found despite the boy being covered in blood from head to toe. He was spouting about how he watched his family get ripped apart by a monster, cried that his brother was supposed to save him and they were going to be free.
“The murder weapon was found on scene, tiny, tacky fingerprints pressed into the handle. When asked, Samuel Winchester replied that it had been the monster’s claws, jagged and messy that had torn into his family. He was jumpy, panicky that the monster would come back and finish him off.”
“Well, seems like you read my file.” Sam whispered, trying to keep his voice steady and the images rolling around in his head at bay. The knot in his throat was threatening to choke him and he struggled to breathe. “That’s not what I asked. I didn’t ask for my story to be reiterated. You said you knew my head better than me. Prove it.”
“You’re sick, Sam.” She said, eyes flashing and Sam swore he saw red. “I remember being a teenager, sick to my stomach as I watched the news that night, watched them bring this little boy covered in blood out of that house. I had nightmares about it, that my brother would snap and murder my family in the middle of the night. As rare as it it? It’s not impossible for schizophrenia to manifest in a young child. What was a normal ‘monster under the bed’ fear for other children, became reality for you. Until one day you snapped and saw your family as the monsters you feared so much. Your hallucinations, both auditory and physical manifestations, made you murder your family in cold blood.”
“Doctor Mills!” Cas’ voice was loud, shattering the silence that fell across the room.
Sam felt his heart stop in his chest, the knot in his throat suddenly gone, replaced instead with fire. He was shaking, fingers balled into fists. But she couldn’t stop; Sam recognized the fire behind her eyes and found it comforting. This he understood; this he knew how to handle.
“You’re a sick little boy, Sam Winchester. And I think you enjoy this, you enjoy the materialization of your faults in that of a fairy tale monster. You thrive from the attention you gain here. You have no-”
“Enough!” Cas yelled and Sam gasped, feeling a hand pressing against his chest, separating him from Dr. Mills. He didn’t know how he got there, standing up from his chair and inches away from Dr. Mills who was being held back by Cas’ other hand. Sam looked up, searching for Cas’ face. “You are out of line.” Cas’ voice was low, dangerous as he stared down the other doctor.
“I…” She shook her head, fear dancing across her face as she fell back into her empty chair. “I don’t know what just… oh God…”
“Sam, you can leave.” Cas let his hand fall, eyes stuck on Dr. Mills.
“But…” Sam immediately missed the warmth of the other man’s touch, longed to see the expression in his eyes.
“Go.” Sam swallowed down the hurt, the feeling of betrayal as Cas kicked him out of the room.
The one room he actually felt safe in.
Sam was a fool to think he would ever be anything except alone.
***
“I want to make a deal with you.” If Az was shocked, he didn’t show it. Instead, he leaned back against his bed, crossing his feet at the ankles, smirking at Sam.
“Didn’t expect to see you, Sammy.” Sam bit his tongue, holding back his retort.
“Are you going to deal with me or not?” Sam sighed, shoving Az’s legs over and sinking to the end of the bed. Az stared at him, yellow eyes blazing.
“I don’t make deals.” He whispered, a verbal punch to the gut. Sam let his eyes fall closed, sighing. “But… I think you havepotential, Sammy.”
“Potential for what?” Sam asked, shaking his head.
“Doesn’t matter. Here’s your deal, let me call you Sammy.”
“Seriously? That’s what you want from me?” Sam snorted, ignoring the nausea that rolled through him at hearing the name.
“Yes, that’s what I want. It has… a certain ring to it, don’t you think? A familiar sound, as if we were family.” Az spoke softly, his voice carrying through the room, sending a shiver down Sam’s back.
“Fine.” Sam nodded, “You can call me it.”
“What would you like, Sammy?” Az purred, smirking.
“You know what I want.”
Az smiled.
***
Sam sat cross legged on his bed, the scratchy comforter pulled up across his lap, when a knock came from his closed door. He looked up, expecting a nurse with new pills, or Az with more games. He did not, however, expect to see Dr. Cas Novak pushing into his room, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
“Hey, I… I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Cas ran a hand through his hair, pausing to scratch at the base of his scalp before looking up at Sam. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” Sam shrugged, staring at him. His heart was pounding in his chest. Part of him wanted to scream. To toss back the blanket and go to Cas, to tell him everything. The other part of him knew that it was useless. He was useless.
He was the reason they were dead.
He was the reason he was alone, and locked up in the first place.
“Okay, if you’re sure?” One of Cas’ hands slipped from his pocket and Sam watched as he inched it towards the door handle, desperate to release himself back into the hallway. Sam couldn’t blame him, not really.
“Fine.”
“Okay, well, good.” Cas nodded quickly, fingers finding the knob and turning it behind him. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
“Sure,” Sam shrugged again, tearing his eyes away. He knew Cas’ was hesitating at the door, so he twisted himself down into the covers, rolling onto his side and pretending he was going to sleep.
The door shut quietly.
Sam was alone.
***
“I was waiting for you.” Sam twisted the knife between his fingers, the blade reflecting on the moonlight that was shining in from the window. He could feel the eyes on him, the scent of blood slamming into him. He looked over to the corner of the room.
He was there, soaking in the darkness. Sam didn’t need to see him to know he was smiling, blood dripping down his face. Sam flipped the blade over again, waiting.
“I’m done with this.” Sam’s voice felt strange as he whispered into the dark. He rolled the words around in his head before letting them fall from his lips, his self proclamation to the monster that ruined his life. As he flipped the blade again, he couldn’t stop the pang in chest or the question that rang through his head: Are you talking to the dark, or to yourself?
And Sam didn’t know anymore. He didn’t know why he was fighting, what he was fighting. He let his eyes flit back over to the corner of the room, pleading with the presence there.
“I need this to end,” he whispered, tears clogging his throat. “They can’t fix me, and it’s my fault. I never should’ve left Dean… You killed him, we killed him.” The sharp sting of the knife cutting in his flesh should’ve made him jump, but he welcomed the pain and the warm blossoming of blood that came with it.
He dug the blade deeper against his arm, dragging it slowly and watching in the dim light as the blade split his skin apart as if he were cutting into a stick of butter. Blood welled, building up before falling in thick rivulets down his arm. He moved the blade again, pressing it at the base of his wrist and beside the first cut. This time, he gasped as the point broke his skin, and the burn as he dragged the blade up made the tears finally fall.
“This is what you wanted,” he whispered, pressing the blade flat against his mutilated flesh and watching the blood pool across the metal. “Isn’t it? Isn’t this what you wanted?”
His head snapped up and he was greeted with nothing. There was no one there but him.
“Maybe I was the monster all along.” He looked down at his arms, head starting to spin. His legs felt wet and warm and all he could think about was his brother’s body lying in his arms.
He shouldn’t have left Dean alone, hiding in the shed and pretending the monsters didn’t exist.
Dean shouldn’t have had to worry about him at all; Sam was old enough to take care of himself, and that’s what he should’ve done. Instead, he had let his older brother take the fall, left him alone when they had sworn, promised one another, they would never be apart.
Sam lied. Sam had run, and hid. And Dean had died.
It started in blood; it should end in blood.
It was his fault, after all.
***
He shouldn’t be in pain. He shouldn’t be feeling anything.
Nausea rolled through his stomach, but it felt miles away. His head was drifting, unattached. The pain in his arms was stabbing and burning, but he couldn’t pinpoint where they were. He felt pressure, fingers wrapping themselves around him, and he screamed.
“Don’t!” Sam’s scream morphed into a yell and he twisted away from the hands on his arm. He gasped, choking on the air he was trying to desperately to take in.
“Sam! What did you do?” Pain, a different kind of pain than what he was feeling, filtered through the voice and Sam struggled to place it. “Fuck, Sam. Stay with me… I knew I shouldn’t have-Can I get some help in here?” The voice grew louder, more panicked. The pressure on his arms increased and Sam wanted to scream again.
He wasn’t supposed to be in pain. Unless this was Hell…
He tried to pull away, gasping when his arms were jerked painfully above his head. More voices entered the room and Sam felt himself spinning again. Too much pain.
He tried to yell, to make them understand. He just needed his brother, Dean would make it all better, Dean would have to forgive him. Dean, I’m so sorry.
“Shhh, Sam. You’re going to be alright. Just hold on for me, okay?” He swallowed hard, forcing his eyes opened. Concerned blue eyes were staring down at him, relief fluttering through them when they met Sam’s eyes. “Oh, Sam…”
Cas… and then darkness once more.
Chapter Four