Saving Grace -- Chapter Four
Title: Saving Grace (4/?)
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. This chapter was beta'd by the lovely oldbatj! 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.
Silence fell over the room and Sam froze, waiting for his brother to make the first move. They were curled up in Sam’s twin bed, watching the lights flicker against the wall as their Dad’s truck went rumbling down the drive, gunning off in search of the closest bar.
Sam’s hand was going numb where he held the bag of frozen peas against his hip. It was doing more to freeze his hand than to ease the pain radiating down his leg. He tried to shift, quietly in case Dean had fallen asleep.
“I think I hate her, Sammy.” Dean’s voice broke the silence, cracking and twisting something deep inside of Sam. Sam reached for his brother, letting the peas slide off his hip only to fall forgotten on the mattress. He stroked his thumb over Dean’s cheek, wiping away the tear that was rolling down his brother’s face. “Who hates their own mother?” More tears and Sam couldn’t possibly brush them all away.
It was okay, he could be strong for Dean tonight. He opened his arms allowing his brother to sink into them as the boy fell apart. Sam shushed him, running a hand through his hair, just like Dean usually did for him. Dean’s sobs shook their bodies, and Sam tried to rock him, their size difference making it awkward and causing pain to course down his leg again.
“I shouldn’t hate her, but I do, Sammy. I hate that she does nothing. I hate that you got hurt again. I hate this, I hate living here, I hate that I can’t do anything, that I’m not old enough, that I’m not good enough to protect you. I hate--” Dean cut himself off, sobbing too hard to form words. Sam clung to him and whispered that it was okay, they were okay.
Finally, Dean’s sobs turned into shuddering gasps. He reached between them to wipe at his face, taking in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry, Sammy.”
“Don’t be.” Sam replied, squeezing his hands around Dean’s back. “I love you, Dean.”
“Love you too, Sammy,” Dean whispered, twisting them so they were laying side by side, hands clasped underneath the covers. Sam leaned forward once more, wiping the residual tears off his face and pressing a soft kiss against Dean’s brow. “Thank you.”
Sam smiled and let Dean hold on, glad he could be the strong one, even if it was just this once.
Sam reached beside him, the bed he was in cold and empty. Dean wasn’t here. He hadn’t been here in a while. It was Sam’s fault.
He closed his eyes, carefully wrapping his arms around his ribs, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his wrists. He didn’t need to open his eyes to see where he was. It wasn’t the first time he had been moved into solitary confinement for his ‘safety’. He let the tears fall freely, not caring if they were watching, not hoping that they were.
Sam felt empty; even the darkness had left him. He had never felt more alone.
***
“Don’t you dare tell me how to raise my boys! Sam! Dean!” Sam’s eyes flicked quickly over to his brother’s and were met with a wide-eyed, frightened stare. Sam racked his nearly four-year-old brain, wondering what the heck he and Dean could have done this time…
He looked around the living room; they had picked up the colored pencils and their shoes were lined at the door. He hadn’t even had a chance to get to the GI Joes yet today… Sam bit on his lower lip, mimicking the motion Dean did when he got nervous and allowed his brother to pull him up off the floor.
“Come on, Sammy,” Dean tried to give him a small smile, but Sam knew his brother was just as worried as he was. Lately, Daddy hadn’t been very happy with them at all… Their mother had tucked them into bed last night and after reading from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, she had started to cry. Sam had never seen his mom cry before…
“Momma?” Dean sat up, pulling on their mother’s shoulder to get her to face them. “Momma… what’s wrong?”
“You boys just need to be really, really good this week, okay?” She blinked back her tears, wiping her nose on the back of her hand and Sammy wanted to tell her she wasn’t supposed to do that, wanted to crawl out of bed and get her a tissue or at least a clean shirt, but her arms were suddenly around them both, hugging them tightly.
“Were we bad today?” Dean’s voice was muffled against her chest and Sam almost had to fight to breathe as Mary’s arms tightened around them.
“No, no… of course not, honey” she pulled back and smiled, a small and watery smile that had something hurting in the middle of Sam’s tummy. “But Daddy is stressed right now, and he’s going to be home more often. Okay? And we have to be really careful that we don’t bother Daddy while he’s working in the house. Okay?”
“Okay,” Sam agreed, anything to get his mom to stop crying. Dean however, had questions.
“Why isn’t he going to work? He said he was gonna be leaving next week for New York for a few days… then he--”
“Daddy doesn’t work there anymore, okay?” Mary patted Dean’s head, smoothing down his hair. “Daddy is going to get a new job but we have to give him some space and some quiet so he can do that, okay?”
Sam looked at Dean and when he saw his brother nod, he nodded too.
“Yes, Momma.” She smiled and tucked them both into bed, kissing their foreheads before slipping off of the mattress. “’Night boys.”
They had been on their best behavior since waking up that morning, even tiptoeing when they had to go anywhere near their Dad. Even Momma was being quiet as a mouse.
“Dean…” Sam whispered, following his brother into the hallway. “We listened to Momma… Were we being loud?”
“Shush, Sammy. Come on,” Dean tugged him forward and they walked side by side into the kitchen. Mary was crying again and Sam was suddenly scared. He looked up at his mother, her arms were crossed over her chest and she looked like she was trying to sink into the space between the cabinets and the fridge. Their Dad was standing beside her, his hands at his sides clenched into tight fists.
“Daddy?” Sam asked, and John’s eyes pinned him to the spot.
“Did I ask you to speak?” his father growled. Sam shook his head quickly and stared at him, eyes wide. “Your mother seems to think that I don’t know how to raise you boys, seems to think that I can’t handle being a father, handle staying home and watching you boys all day. What do you think? Do you think I’m a bad father? Sam? Dean?”
“No, Dad,” Dean stammered quickly and shook his head, Sam followed suit, afraid to speak again in case he wasn’t really supposed to. John laughed and it wasn’t a happy sound like Sam was used to. He looked up and saw his Dad was staring at their mother again, his face looked angry, scary.
“Sam, come here.”
Sam stumbled forward, tripping on his sock and almost fell straight into John’s knees. John’s hands were on his arm quickly, snatching him into a upright position, but his touch was anything but helpful. Sam heard himself cry out at the tight grip his father had on his arm, his fingernails were digging into the skin and into his armpit. Tears were suddenly in his eyes.
“Dad!” Dean moved forward and pulled Sam back; Sam thought his arm was going to be ripped off and he clutched it against his chest. He looked up, tears swimming in his eyes and marring his vision, and he suddenly wanted to run.
John moved quickly, back-handing Dean and causing the seven-year-old boy to fall to the floor. Sam stared, eyes wide as their Dad’s boot connected with Dean’s stomach. Their Dad was kicking Dean… and it didn’t make sense, not one bit of sense at all.
Daddy was supposed to sneak them extra dessert when their mom wasn’t looking, he was supposed to help them build tree forts in the back yard and dig up nightcrawlers in the garden to go fishing with in the morning. Sam wanted to scream, he wanted to cry and to run away as far and as fast as he could, away from the scary man who was screaming and kicking his brother.
But Sam couldn’t move. Mary’s arms were around his shoulders, holding him in place, forcing him to watch. Her tears were falling down into Sam’s hair, wet drops falling through his hair behind his ears and making him shiver.
All Sam could hear was Dean crying, pleading with John to stop. All he could see was Dean curled in on himself, clutching his stomach and crying; his face and eyes wet with tears and snot.
“This is all your fault,” John was suddenly right in front Sam and the little boy flinched in his mother’s arms, almost happy when he looked up and realized his Dad was staring at his mother and not at him. “I don’t know what the hell you let these brats get away with, but it’s changing now. We’re going back to doing things my way, Mary. You understand me?” Mary flinched, nodded, and then released Sam and left with John.
Sam fell to his knees and crawled, sobbing to Dean’s side. He patted Dean’s hair, wiped at his eyes and his nose. “We just have to be good, Dean, we just have to listen to Daddy.” Dean only sobbed harder, but Sam knew he heard him, knew he would nod if he could. Sam lay on the floor with Dean and hugged him and the two of them just cried and cried.
***
“Mr. Winchester?” He could hear the voice beside him, could feel the presence crouching down, his skin aware of the soft fabric of the scrubs grazing his fingers. But he didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. He kept his eyes closed and focused on his breathing. In and out. In and out. In and out. “Sam? Sam, I know you can hear me…” A sigh, and then the presence was gone.
In and out. In and out. In… and out.
***
“Doctor Novak… he isn’t responding. We’ve been able to give him his medications intravenously and he’s been on the IV for fluids since he’s gotten here… but it’s been four days. He hasn’t eaten, he hasn’t gotten up to go to the bathroom on his own, hasn’t uttered a single word unless he’s been asleep. And even then the dreams …”
“Thank you, Charlie,” Castiel Novak’s voice was warm and Sam wanted to open his eyes, wanted to see the look of disappointment and anger in those bright blue eyes, directed right at him. But he couldn’t. Couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t move, could only breathe.
In and out. In and out.
“Last time he went into a catatonic state we--”
“I’m aware, Charlie,” Castiel spoke again. “I know what was done last time, but it’s a last resort. It’s only been three days, and Sam’s body has gone through quite a bit since then. This is…” Castiel sighed and his voice dropped lower, as if he knew Sam could hear him, as if he knew Sam was listening. “I think that Sam’s has put himself into a catatonic state-completely voluntary, although I don’t think Sam had any real control over it. He…” Castiel sighed again, deep and long.
“Sam was starting to do so well…”
“I know, Charlie. I know…”
“If you need anything Doctor Novak, I’ll be right outside. Sam… I think Sam’s a pretty special kid, you know?”
“I do, thank you, Charlie.”
Sam heard the door close, and then shoes shuffling around the room and finally the drag of the chair being moved closer. Then he was blessed once again with silence.
In and out. In and out. In and out.
***
“Dean!”
“Sammy what did you do? What the hell did you do?” Dean grabbed Sam’s arms and shook him, though Sam knew his brother was scared, not angry at him, and he tried not to flinch away from the contact. He wouldn’t flinch from Dean, never from Dean.
“I didn’t mean to! I was aiming for the tree and then...”
“Shit! Sammy…” Dean closed his eyes tight and Sam knew what was going through his mind. Dad was going to kill him. Sam was going to be dead once John came home from the store and saw the garage door window blown out.
“I… I should run away,” Sam suggested suddenly, and Dean’s eyes flew open in shock.
“What? Sam… You’re six years old. What the heck…”
“You could come with me. We could do it, Dean. We could take the tent and live in the woods. I know how to get the nightcrawlers and we could eat fish and mushrooms and berries and stuff. We could just go camping for… for life. We could bring a sleeping bag and I wouldn’t even care if we had marshmallows because we would be-“
“Sammy, we can’t. We can’t run away.” Dean’s voice was soft, and Sam stepped back from him, hurt.
“Why, Dean? Why not? Why should we stay here? Dad hates us! You know he does! He hates everything about us, about having kids. What he does to us… You don’t see the kids at school coming in like we do!”
“Sam, stop,” Dean was shaking his head, moving closer to Sam. But Sam didn’t want it, not this time. He didn’t want Dean to comfort him and tell him that eventually they would free… that eventually they would be safe. Because eventually didn’t help him now.
“No, Dean! I don’t want to stop! I want to run away. I want to get away from this house and from Dad and from Mom. And if you don’t want to go with me? Then I want to get away from you too!” Sam didn’t wait for a response, he turned around and ran into the back yard, away from the garage window he busted by kicking his soccer ball too hard, away from Dean standing in the driveway with outstretched arms, away from the Impala that was slowly creeping down the street.
He clambered up the tree trunk ladder and threw himself into their tree house, the last good thing that John had ever done with them. Sam had been glad to start kindergarten, glad to get out of the house and out from under his Dad’s eyes, even though he was only in Mrs. Willis’ class for four hours a day. When he heard the other kids, laughing and talking about their moms and their dads, family fishing trips and baseball games and trips to the beaches and the zoo he wanted to cry. And Sam hated them, he hated every single one of them.
None of those kids ever wanted to run away. None of them were ever so scared they peed their pants at the dinner table because they had knocked over a glass of milk. None of them had ever climbed a tree in the backyard to escape their father taking off his belt, knowing that they would have to come down sometime and that their punishment would be so much worse, but holding onto the branch until it was way too dark to see anything anymore and were forced to trudge inside to take off their shoes and lay over their Dad’s laps with their pants around their ankles to count each slap of his palm or belt against their butts.
Sam hated them all, but he hated John the most.
Angry and scared, knowing when their father did get home he would be in more trouble than he ever dared to think, Sam started ripping things off the walls of the tree house. The posters of the Star Wars movies Dean loved, the pictures and pop up books off the shelves. He upturned the small wooden table John had built and tried to rip off the legs, screaming out at it when they wouldn’t budge and Sam’s hands received several splinters instead. Breathing hard, Sam threw himself onto the floor and pulled his knees to his chest and started to cry.
It felt like hours that he lay there, sobbing and alone in the wrecked tree house before he stopped. He had to go inside. Had to tell John what he did. No matter what he had said to Dean, it wasn’t fair to blame him or force his brother to leave. They couldn’t run away anyways, not really. They wouldn’t make it, and going back to John and their mom after that? Sam shivered.
Slowly, he crawled towards the ladder and opened up the hatch to start on his way down. When he got to the bottom he gasped when he almost stepped on Dean, his legs stretched out from where he was sitting, back against the tree.
“Dean?” Sam took a step forward, guilt swirling through his stomach when he saw his brother’s face - his eye was bleeding, cheek purplish and huge. Dean’s eyes were still bright, green and determined as they stared up and met Sam’s.
“We can’t leave now, Sammy. Not yet. But we will, okay? I promise you, I will get you out of here as soon as I am big enough to do so. We will do it right, okay? I’m saving up any money I get my hands on… allowance or birthdays or whatever, okay? And I’ll get us out Sammy, I promise, okay?” Dean’s voice was thick and he started to cry, wincing as the salty tears rolled over his swollen cheek. “I promise, Sammy. I promise.”
“Okay, Dean,” Sam dropped down beside his brother, folding himself under his arm and laying his head against his chest. He let Dean cry, let himself be held, and let himself hope that Dean could do it, could get them out of there.
“I’m so sorry, Sammy. I promise you… I promise.” Dean whispered his mantra and Sam nodded, stroking Dean’s leg in the process.
“I know you will, Dean. I’m sorry I made Dad mad… I’m sorry he thought it was you. I will be good. I’ll be really good until then, okay, Dean? That’s my promise. I promise you I’ll be good and you won’t get hurt because of me.”
“Okay Sammy,” Dean held Sam a little tighter and Sam prayed that he could keep his promise. If not for him, then for Dean.
***
“Doctor Novak?” Sam felt himself stiffen at the voice in the room. He had tried to keep track of the days, of the voices and the comments thrown in his direction. He had mostly been able to recognize Charlie and Cas, one time even Bobby. But this voice was new…
“Yes?”
“I’m Doctor Joe Burnett, from Johns Hopkins Research Hospital.”
“Ah, yes. What can I do for you today, Doctor?” Silence, a shuffling of feet.
“I… I specialize in Adult Psychiatry, focusing mostly on early onset psychosis and schizophrenia. We have an excellent program and end up seeing a solid sixty percent of our patients able to return back to a normal and functioning lifestyle.”
“That’s very impressive, and I’ve heard of your work and that of the hospital. It’s important, but I’m not sure what that has to do with why you’re here…?”
“Samuel Winchester… is a special case. And as he is reaching adult hood, we would like to--”
“No.”
“I’m sorry?”
“No, I will not release my care of Sam. He is my patient and it is going to stay that way.”
“Doctor Novak… I am sure you have done the best that you could within the means you’ve been given. A generalized hospital such as this… cannot possibly offer the same quality of treatments and attention that Hopkins can give Mr. Winchester. From his charts… he hasn’t had very much progress over the years, and it’s been quite a few.”
“He’s not an adult yet, Doctor Burnett and I will not release him from my care. I’m sorry but if you had a thorough look through Sam’s file, you would see that in the most recent month he has been making progress and I intend to see that through.”
Silence again and Sam could hear the beating of his heart echoing through his head.
“Doctor Novak… One month is nothing. That is nothing against you… I assure you I am not trying to question your abilities or competencies-"
“Good, then I think we’re done here.”
“Sam would benefit from--”
“He really, truly wouldn’t. I don’t believe Sam is schizophrenic and I highly doubt that admitting him into a program, that will not take the time to assess him or his needs, would be beneficial to no one other than your own pocket, Doctor Burnett.”
“He is a ward of the state, Doctor Novak, and fortunately a small town medical doctor, such as yourself, will probably have a hard time convincing any judge that you deserve and should retain medical privilege over this situation. After all, wasn’t it while he was in you care that the young man attacked a staff member, another patient, and tried to commit suicide?”
“I think we’re done here.”
“Oh, I believe we’re just getting started. Good afternoon, Doctor Novak. It’s been a pleasure.”
Silence. Sam once again was left to focus on his breathing, the beating of his heart. Thump, thump. In and out. In and out. Thump, thump. In and out.
“I can’t help you, Sam.” Castiel’s voice broke the silence and Sam’s heartbeat suddenly spoke up as he registered the words. “I can’t help you this way… I have no power here, Sam. None. I need you to wake up, Sam, I need you to move and talk and eat. I need you to help me help you.”
Thump, thump, thumpthumpthump.
“They’re going to take you, Sam. They’re going to take you out of here to some fancy hospital and you’re going to be pumped full of more drugs than you could ever possibly name. And you don’t deserve that, Sam, I know you don’t.”
Sam felt his skin prickle, a hand suddenly sliding into his own, a thumb rubbing small circles over the back of it. Thumpthumpthumpthump. Sam wanted to wake up.
“Please, Sam, please let me help you.” Cas’ voice was soft, breaking and cracking on the words and Sam felt his own interior cracking as well. He needed to wake up, he needed to open his eyes. Cas was asking him to, begging him to, and Sam not only needed to listen, he wanted to.
“I can help you, I know that I can. But you have to help yourself. No more of this crap… You can’t be hurting yourself and shutting down… You’re making it easy for them, Sam. Easy for them to write you off as crazy and you’re not. I know that you’re not… Please, Sam…”
Castiel sat beside him, thumb still rubbing in small circles, the presence both calming and frustrating at the same time. Sam couldn’t concentrate on his breathing anymore, only the warm, gentle circles that were being ghosted over his skin. When Castiel slipped his hand out of Sam’s and left to go home for the day, Sam could still feel his skin and the soft pressure of the circles.
Sam didn’t know why Castiel would believe in him, why anyone would. Sam, himself, didn’t believe he was anything but crazy. Maybe once, when he had first gotten to the hospital, he had thought they were the crazy ones. But now…
It was Sam’s fault that Dean was dead. That their mother was killed with him. Sam should’ve been good, should’ve listened to Dean. He had promised. Promised he would wait until Dean was old enough, promised he would listen and be good for their father. It was his stupid mistake, his stupid, stupid impatience and ignorance that had ripped their world apart and brought out the demon.
And his entire family was dead and gone because of it.
“You’re a worthless piece of shit, Sam. Do you hear me? You are the reason they’re dead. Dean died trying to protect you. Screamed and begged for your safety while he died; your name was the last thing on his lips. How does that make you feel, Sam? Knowing your brother died for you, when you were the one that started all of this in the first place? I wonder if you’ll scream for Dean while I rip you apart…”
Sam opened his eyes and screamed.
Chapter Five