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lotrspnfangirl) wrote2015-05-07 03:03 am
lotrspnfangirl) wrote2015-05-07 03:03 am
Saving Grace -- Chapter Two
Title: Saving Grace (2/?)
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
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
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.
“Good Morning, Sam!” Charlie sing-songed, tugging on the blinds to allow the dim morning light to shine into the room.
“Morning, Charlie,” Sam muttered back, yanking the thin, scratchy blanket over his head.
“Come on, Sam… Up!” She said, tugging on it gently, smiling when she met his eyes. “You have to get up for breakfast.”
Sam wasn’t hungry, but knew better than to say so. Instead, he nodded, recited his birthday and took the medications handed to him like a good boy. Charlie patted his shoulder on her way out the door and Sam couldn’t tell if she was just being friendly, or offering him pity…
Sam made his way down the hallway, offering a small smile to Bobby as he accepted the tray that was handed to him. Az was sitting in the center of the room, his eyes watching Sam’s every movement, a smirk tugging at his lips. Sam bit his lower lip, forcing himself to turn around again.
Since the ‘incident’, Az had convinced most of the staff that Sam had been the instigator and had been hallucinating. Of course, take the manic depressive’s word over the schizo. He moved his way around the tables into the small side room reserved for the ‘special’ patients.
“Morning Sam.” A young nurse’s aide smiled at him from her spot at the end of the room. He couldn’t remember her name for the life of him. It didn’t matter… Aides, and usually nurses too, didn’t last here very long. He had been a resident here even longer than any of the current staff.
“Morning,” he muttered, dropping his tray on the first table and slipping into the chair. The sound made Becky, the only other patient in ‘Nutrition Group’, jump.
“No, no, no!” She screamed, eyes darting around the room wildly. Sam jumped at her outburst, watching her carefully. “They’re here! I heard them!” She screamed, picking up the butter knife from her tray and wielding it as a weapon.
Sam snorted. Whatever demons she was seeing, he highly doubted a butter knife would save her.
“Becky, you’re okay.” The aide was on her feet, offering a comforting hand to Becky’s shoulder, trying to pull her back. Trying, and failing.
“No! You’re with them! I know you are!” Becky screamed, shoving back away from the table and toppling the chair with her in it, to the floor. She was bucking against the ground, legs caught on the table and leg of the chair. She was screaming now, words turning into a blood curdling howl.
“Sam? I think you’re okay.” The nurse caught his attention and smiled at him, expression guarded. “You can join the others again.” Her eyes darted between her two patients and like a punch to the gut, Sam realized she thought Becky’s outburst would make him start acting crazy too.
He snorted, leaving his plate behind and slipping out of the room.
Hopefully with all of the commotion, they wouldn’t notice he hadn’t eaten.
Hopefully.
***
“I need you to tell them that I’m fine.” Sam threw himself into the arm chair, dangling a leg over the side. Behind him he heard the heavy door snap shut.
“Hello to you too, Sam,” Doctor Novak snorted, slipping off his glasses and setting them against his desk.
“Yeah, hi.” Sam sighed. “So, can you tell them I’m better and they can give me a goddamn razor? I look like I’m fucking 30.”
The Doctor chuckled and it made Sam’s blood boil.
“Well, are you fine?” He asked, pushing away from his desk and walking around it slowly to lean against the end. “I mean, really? It’s only been twenty days since you decided to take a blade to your wrists.”
“Yeah, well… It was a mistake, and I love my life, and I will never do it again. I don’t want to hurt myself, I just want to shave myself and not have to ask a nurse to do it.” Sam exhaled his reply in one breath, forcing his expression to one of complete innocence. “Please?”
“Sam.” Doctor Novak smiled, crossing his arms across his chest. “You’re very good, you know.”
“What?” Sam shook his head, not understanding. Usually, if he confessed his love of life, was apologetic, looked sincere, he was given back the things that had been taken from him.
“How many times have you used that exact speech?” Sam blinked at him.
“I thought you said you didn’t know me,” he muttered darkly, collapsing into the chair.
“Well, I don’t. I’m only starting to. But I do know you’re a smart young man and you’ve been around this block more than once. You know?”
“Obviously. So it that a no, Novak?”
“Well, Winchester…” He smirked, pushing off the desk to sit in the chair across from Sam. “I think there needs to be some ground rules. I want you to be successful, and I want you to be able to take care of your basic needs. You shouldn’t need the assistance of the nursing staff, but you also aren’t really trustworthy in that aspect.”
Sam sighed, looking down at his lap. He picked at the hem of his shirt. He really needed to stop doing that…
“Sam, this is the deal.” Sam looked up again, meeting blue eyes that were regarding him carefully. “I will let you have a razor in your room, during hygiene times. It will not stay in the room. And we will see how that goes for a few months. Does that sound okay?”
“Yes, Cas.” Sam replied, feeling somewhat relieved. He really did want the razor to shave. Waiting four days for a nurse to have time to shave him was starting to get old. He brushed the back of his hand against his chin, feeling the stubble there.
“I didn’t think you remembered.” Dr. Novak, Cas, laughed.
“I remember everything,” Sam whispered, tearing his eyes away and returning his attention to the hem of his shirt.
“Yes, that’s what I’m afraid of.” And Sam didn’t have an answer to that.
***
Sam opened his eyes, the darkness pressing down on him. He turned his head, looking at the dark corner of his room.
“Not tonight.” He shook his head slowly. He felt the anger fill the room. His temperature rose and he let his eyes fall closed.
He was tired, so tired of fighting.
He heard the movement, the squishing sound of a footstep in blood soaked carpet. It made his stomach roll.
“Come and get me then,” he hissed, pushing himself into a sitting position. “Do it. What are you waiting for?” He could hear his voice shaking; it matched the trembling of his body. “I’m here, I’ve been waiting, I’m ready.”
And suddenly he was alone.
He felt it like a shot to the gut. A sob escaped his lips as he curled in on himself, pulling the covers up over his head, burying himself into his pillow.
He was always alone, always left waiting.
***
Sam could still feel himself shaking as he slipped into Cas’ office, sinking down into the chair. Cas was already waiting for him, legs crossed and notepad balanced on his knee.
“Hey Sam.” He smiled, watching as Sam adjusted into a more comfortable position. “How are you today?”
“Tired.” Sam sighed, answering honestly. He could feel Cas watching him, studying him. He couldn’t bring himself to care.
He hadn’t cared about anything all day. He didn’t eat, even after Bobby warned him he would have to mark his breakfast as refused. He didn’t give a snarky reply to Charlie when she handed him his pills, earning him a confused glare and an extra set of vitals. He refused to share in group, another black mark added to his record.
“Did you have trouble sleeping last night?” Sam wanted to smirk at the ‘doctor voice’ he heard coming through.
“I don’t need a sleeping pill.” He glanced up quickly, meeting Cas’ eyes. “Just… I’m fine.”
“Alright,” Cas said, leaning back again. “Do you want to talk about what happened last night that made you so tired today?”
“I never said anything happened.” Sam felt his guard slowly raising; a shiver ran through him.
“I know you didn’t. But it’s obvious something did. In the two weeks we’ve been working together, you’ve never been this tired.” He glanced down at his notepad. “You didn’t eat this morning, you almost fell asleep in group. You’ve been off your game today, Sam.”
“Does every time I pass gas get recorded too?” Sam let the annoyance he felt drift through his voice. Cas smiled.
“There’s the Sam I know.”
Sam fell silent, letting his hands fall flat against his thighs. He braced his fingers against his muscle, flexing his fingers open and closed.
“Sam… Tell me about last night.” Cas’ voice was almost a whisper, but it carried perfectly through the room, sending another shiver through Sam’s spine. “Please.”
Maybe it was the please, or maybe it was the desperate need to not be the only one plagued by his monsters, but Sam swallowed once, twice, and then started to speak.
“It… He was there last night.” He started, letting his fingers fall still. “He comes at night sometimes, in the darkness. He doesn’t speak, but I can hear him breathing, watching me. He’s always… always covered in blood, in their blood.” He clenched his fists then, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his palm. “He knows I can see him, he know I can hear the dripping, gurgling… And he just stares at me. He stares, and he breathes, and he doesn’t come after me. Why doesn’t he come for me?” Sam looked up then, expecting Cas to be jotting away on his legal pad.
“How do you know it’s a he?” Cas whispered his question, leaning forward in his chair. Cas’ own hand was twitching on his leg, like he was going to reach out for Sam, to offer him comfort. Sam snorted. Cas was just as likely to sprout confessions of his own demons as to offer Sam comfort.
“Because…” Sam stopped, shaking his head. “Because he is. He’s… why? Why does that matter?”
“I’m just trying to understand.” Cas shrugged his shoulders.
“He, she, it killed my family. It killed them, murdered them, destroyed them. And I know he’s coming for me. He told me so, he told me that I wouldn’t be safe from him, that he would come. So what is he waiting for?” Sam felt his stomach lurch, eyes burning from unshed tears.
“I don’t know,” Cas replied, pushing himself out of the chair. Sam watched as he tossed the notepad onto his desk, running his hand through his hair, causing the dark brown hair to jut out into messy spikes. “I don’t know, Sam,” he whispered. They sat there in silence; the only sound was Sam’s heavy breathing and the ticking of the clock on the wall.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
Sam studied the muscles in Cas’ back, contracting as he flexed his arms while he leaned over the desk. It may have been minutes, or even seconds later that Sam pushed himself out of the chair. He hesitated, waiting for Cas to say something, to stop him.
Sam let himself out of the room, leaving Cas still standing over his desk, surrounded by the ticking of the clock.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
***
“Sam, would you like to share?” Terry, the group leader, smiled at him. Her teeth were pearly white, shining in the too-bright hospital lights. Sam wanted to knock them out.
“I don’t really have anything to share today,” he said, offering her the same sickly-sweet smile.
“Well…” She sighed, ticking off something on her clipboard. He heard the slight intake of the rest of the group. They all knew what the clipboard meant. “If you’re sure, Sam.”
“Well…” He felt something growing inside of him, thick black tendrils curling around his stomach, choking around his heart. “You know what? Yeah, I have something I want to share with the class.”
Terry’s eyes flew up as she noticed his tone, and Sam felt himself smile. There was something so satisfying about this woman, this over-confident, over-dressed, overly-happy woman being afraid of him that felt so good. The tendrils continued to grow, to feed the beast inside of him.
“I have exactly five months, five fucking months until I am done with all of this bullshit. I’ve been kept here, tortured and drugged, against my will because I was a child. But no longer. Five months, Terry, and I won’t have to look at your fake ass smile or your ugly mug again. I won’t have to pretend to care about the flavor of the groups’ problem. I won’t have to smile and offer my fake ass encouragement. Because you know what?” He pushed out of his chair and spun himself around to look at everyone in the group. “I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck. About. Any. Of. You.” He pointed his finger with each word, landing upon Terry last.
He dropped back into his seat, body shaking and forced a smile on his face again.
“Sam Winchester. You need to leave this group,” she whispered, voice shaking as she stared at him.
“Oh, are you going to make me?” He spat out, laughing. Beside him, Bulimic-Megan was pale, and looked like she was about to vomit. At least she was good at that.
He hadn’t meant to say the last part aloud. But Terry was in motion faster than he ever thought she could move. She grabbed his arm, fingers digging into his flesh as she yanked him up and started shoving him back away from the group.
Her fingers were like talons, her grip tightening as she was whispering hotly into his face. He couldn’t hear her words, he could only feel the heat of her anger, the force of her bones crushing into his. He felt his world spin.
“Stop,” he whispered weakly, trying to pull away from her. “Stop. Let me go.”
“Sam Winchester--”
“Sam Winchester!” His father’s voice thundered through the house and he felt Dean stiffen beside him.
“What did you do now, Sammy?” He whispered, letting his eyes fall closed. They were sitting underneath the comforter of Dean’s bed, playing with Sam’s GI Joe Figures. He loved when Dean played with him. Even if he knew Dean was only here because it was raining out and Tommy down the road was on vacation, he would take it.
He let the action figure fall flat against the mattress, his shoulder slumping as their father’s boots crossed the downstairs floor.
“I don’t know,” he whispered, pleading with Dean. “Come with me?”
“Sammy, I can’t. Dad hates that…” He watched Dean’s throat as it worked to swallow. Dean was thinking about it, and if he pushed… Dean would come.
“It’s okay,” Sam said quickly, reaching for Dean’s hand. “He probably wants me to get the mail or something.” He smiled, slipping out of the safety of the comforter and leaving Dean in its false embrace. “I’ll be right back, Dean.”
“Sammy?” Dean poked his head out, green eyes filled with unshed tears as he met Sam’s. “Just… don’t argue, okay?”
“I won’t.” Sam smiled and slipped out of the room. He slammed right into his father’s chest, palms flat against his father’s stomach.
“I called you, boy,” John Winchester snarled, gripping Sam’s arms and lifting him off the ground.
“I… I know, Sir,” Sam stammered, trying not to meet his father’s eyes. He didn’t want to see the disappointment there. Even at five, Sam knew he didn’t live up to his father’s expectations. He wasn’t Dean… “I… I got stuck…”
John snorted, dropping Sam from a few inches up so he could land back on his feet. Sam caught his balance quickly, using the wall as support, knowing better than to use his father.
“We’re out of milk.”
“Yes, Sir,” Sam said, nodding quickly. He felt himself tense as his father pushed past him, and John laughed.
“Are you scared of me, boy? Are you scared of your father?”
“No…no…” A crack landed across his face; Sam saw stars.
“You should be.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself.” Sam tore his arm away, shoving hard. When he opened his eyes, he saw Terry sprawled out on the ground in front of him. The anger he felt was instantly cool, turning to panic.
“Terry,” he whispered, his head shaking back and forth as he pleaded with her with his eyes.
“Help! Code Grey! Code Grey group therapy!” Her voice sent a chill through him as she continued to scream. He stood there, frozen. Moving, apologizing, breathing wouldn’t help him now. “He shoved me!”
Sam felt the pinch of the needle in his neck, and he welcomed the darkness.
***
Sam felt strange.
He swallowed hard, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth. His eyelids were heavy, and he fought to open them. He gasped as his eyes burned against the bright overhead light shining down on him.
Where the fuck am I?
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to open his eyes again, keeping his line of sight downcast against the glare from the lights. He blinked a few times as he took in his surroundings.
He was in a hospital, but it wasn’t his hospital. He wanted to snort. The idea that the hospital belonged to him as much as he belonged to the hospital was… well, comical.
His heart started beating against his rib cage. No, this definitely was a real hospital. He looked down at himself then, seeing his hands enclosed in mitts, his legs strapped down to the bed. Panic made bile rise up to his throat and he thrashed his body hard against the bed rails.
“Hey!” He tried to scream out, his voice catching in his throat, a mangled cry the only sound that greeted him. He needed to calm down. He was in a hospital, that meant he was safe, right?
The last time Sam had felt safe in a hospital…
He exhaled slowly, trying to calm his racing heart and collect his thoughts. He tensed when he heard voices outside of the door. He swallowed hard, preparing himself.
“He is my patient.” Sam knew that voice. He strained his ears, holding his breath.
“Sir, he has been admitted to our hospital for evaluation. According to his charts--”
“I don’t give a shit about his charts. Have you read the updated information I transcribed this past week?”
“Dr. Novak,” Ah. It was Cas. Sam wasn’t sure if he should feel as happy as he did right then, but he couldn’t deny the surge that went through him. “I trust you’re aware of what transpired at your hospital?”
“I am. And it will be dealt with. However, it is against my medical opinion that he be subjected to this treatment again. I did not clear this.”
“Well… I assumed that--”
“Whatever you assumed, it was wrong. Cancel the procedure.”
“You technically don’t have clearance at this hospital…” Sam missed the response from Cas, his tone dipping low. He waited another two heartbeats before the door was thrown open and his psychiatrist stormed into the room wearing low hanging sweatpants and a college sweatshirt.
“What the hell, Sam,” Cas whispered, running a hand through his hair, looking down at him strapped onto the table. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” Sam whispered, looking down at himself again. “I just woke up.” Cas nodded, moving to the end of the bed to pick up a chart, scanning it quickly. Every few seconds he muttered something, but his attention never returned to Sam.
“Mr. Winchester?” A woman walked into the room, carrying a clipboard. “I’m here with discharge paperwork… are you the responsible party for Mr. Winchester’s care?” She turned her attention to Cas and Sam tuned them out when a second woman came in to release his restraints.
Sam waited until he was alone with Cas before he slid his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, looking to his doctor for direction.
“Um,” he said softly when Cas stayed staring at the wall.
“Do you realize how much trouble I could get into for this?” He said softly, and Sam felt his stomach clench.
“I didn’t ask you to sweep in and rescue me.” He didn’t mean to sound so ungrateful, so short. He didn’t ask, but he wanted. Cas had shocked him, the strange comfort Sam found in him had shocked him. Even his dreams had started to subside… But the words were out there, and the tension was palatable.
“Get up.” Cas threw him a look over his shoulder and moved to the door. Sam obliged.
***
The silence in the room was suffocating. Sam could feel it, pressing down on his lungs, making is hard to breathe. He felt hot. A sweat broke out across his neck and his back. He swallowed hard, fighting against that too.
“Hello, Sam.” Cas sighed, glancing up from his spot on the desk to meet Sam’s eyes. “Go ahead and have a seat.” Sam moved quickly to the chair, nearly tripping over the rug as he did so.
He didn’t know why he felt so nervous. He had spent three weeks now with Cas as his therapist, and that was the longest amount of time he had ever had the same doctor. He should feel relieved, he supposed. Lately he found himself almost… excited for his therapy appointments. Not that being made to talk about himself, his dreams and revelations, was enjoyable, but he felt himself opening up, comfortable even.
Today, Sam just wanted to vomit.
“We should talk about yesterday.”
“I don’t want to talk about yesterday.” Sam knew he was being defiant. He knew he was being cold, he was letting the anxiety swirling around his stomach spill out of his mouth.
“I’m not giving you a choice.”
Ah. There it is. Sam knew how this worked; he’s been on the receiving end of this conversation many different times.
“Save it,” he spat, hands shaking against his sides. “Just tell me when I get to meet my new therapist.” Cas looked up then, confusion dancing across his face. Sam felt like laughing. He wasn’t stupid, and it made him angry that this man would assume he wouldn’t have figured it out.
“What? No, Sam.” Cas shook his head, watching him carefully from across the desk. The new distance between them was strange, and Sam was drowning in it.
“I’m not stupid,” he whispered, hot tears springing to his eyes.
“Sam.” Cas chuckled, and Sam raged.
“This isn’t funny!” He yelled, throwing himself into a standing position, crossing the distance so he was leaning over the desk, his face inches from Cas’. “You think I don’t know? You regret putting your neck out for me yesterday. You’ve realized that no matter what you do, you can’t fix this, you can’t fix me. I am damaged, I am fucked. I am a poor excuse for a human who will never, never be normal or a functioning part of society.
“I see him everywhere I go… blood dripping from his arms, eyes flashing when he meets mine because he knows, and I know, that I’m next. I don’t know what he’s waiting for…” Sam’s voice cracked and he slammed his fists onto the desk, a container of pens toppling and sending its contents to bounce to the floor.
“Sam…” Cas whispered, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. Sam felt his stomach wrench at the expression on his face.
“You know it, too,” he said, tears finally falling free. “And you’re afraid of me. You should be.”
“Damn it, Sam,” Cas said, closing his eyes. Sam could see him shaking too, his hands pressed against the wood of the desk, his knuckles stretched and white. He needed to leave.
With a shaky breath, Sam pushed off the desk and turned towards the door. Cas was there immediately, his hands gripping Sam’s arms.
Sam gasped, but his fingers were soft, heat radiating through them into Sam’s bones instead of the pain he was expecting. He looked up in alarm, waiting for the memories to raise their ugly heads, the roil of emotions and bile to come crashing through his system.
Sam was greeted with the unexpected.
Cas leaned forward, pressing his lips against Sam’s in a soft kiss. They were warm and soft, gentle and firm against his own. Sam gasped, his heart stopping in his chest.
“Oh my god,” Cas whispered, dropping his hands and stepping back as if Sam were on fire. And maybe he was… “I… We… Fuck.” Cas’ eyes were blown wide and he stared at Sam, a new fear in his eyes. “I’m sorry. That… that was unprofessional.” And the mask was back.
Sam just nodded, pushing himself around Cas, careful not to brush him as he fled to the safety of his room.
When he fell flush against the door, he allowed himself to lift his fingertips and trace them across his lips. If he closed his eyes he could still feel Cas’ lips, hot against his own.
Sam had never been more terrified.
Chapter Three
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