Blue Skies From Rain Part 2 - Chapter 4

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They went out into the hall. Greer stayed right by Dean’s side as Dr. Logan escorted them through two security gates, into another part of the building that Dean had never seen before. The walls were putty grey instead of tan and pink, though the smell of boiled sock and the brown linoleum floor was the same. The nearby shrieks were not the same, nor the utter stillness, no one was in the hall, talking, nor was there any muffled chatter. The orderlies watched them coming, alert and not at all casual.

Dr. Logan stopped them at a chest-high counter where she signed them all in. She was almost ignoring Dean as they walked through another set of doors but Dean had never felt more noticed than he did now.

“Hey, doc,” said Greer, pointing toward the source of the shrieks. Two orderlies were struggling with someone who dressed like Dean was, down to the pale cotton clothes and slip-on sneakers. He was tall, with dark hair that stood up in a distinctive mess, the angle of his jaw, the line of his shoulders-

It was Sam, Sam and he was alive. A white shock moved through Dean like a sharp blade, leaving him numb seconds before his whole body lurched forward to run to Sam. Dr. Logan put her hand on his arm, and it was like she had slapped him to make him stop, but Dean let her do it, though part of him was screaming at him why he would let someone keep him from his brother for even a second. It was the drugs in his system, all kinds of drugs, that left him soft.

Sam howled and pulled, trying to wrench his shoulders out of the orderlies’ grips. Heaving around like a horse twitching flies off with its tail. Then he got away, and came running down the hall towards them, sneakered feet slapping on the highly polished floor, hands spread wide as if to catch an invisible foe.

“I got him,” said Greer, taking a stance, getting ready.

Sam’s hair was cut short up over his ears, and his mouth was open like he had some amazing news to tell. For a second, Dean thought that Sam had seen him, was coming for him, but his eyes, as he came closer, reflected not the slightest bit of recognition. They were wide and wild, and it looked like he was about to bolt, and then he saw Dean.

He stood stock still for a minute, looking at Dean, his eyebrows twisting down like Dean was a puzzle he wanted to solve. And in that moment, Greer grabbed his arms in that grip of his and settled Sam against the wall as the two orderlies came close.

Dr. Logan made a motion at them and instead of grabbing Sam again, they stood down, even as Sam pulled and twisted in Greer’s grip. Greer held Sam so Dean could look at him. Dean soaked it in, the sight of Sam, as his mouth fell open. This moment, this moment right here was all that mattered, when he knew Sam was alive and if anything else was wrong, Dean could fix that, now that he had this.

Dr. Logan looked at Dean. “Dean, do you recognize this man?”

Recognize Sam? She might as well want to know if he recognized himself. But the more important question was whether Sam knew him. He didn’t seem to

“Sam,” Dean asked, trying to stuff back the panic rising up inside. Panic wouldn’t help. “Sam, do you know me?”

Sam blinked, his eyes dim, mouth twisting in that little frown of his forming between his eyebrows as he tried to focus and failed. “Is that my name?” he asked, not looking at Dean. His voice scratchy from shouting, and Dean shivered at hearing it, soaking it in like a gift.

“Is this your brother?” asked Dr. Logan.

The question brought thoughts of little Sammy sitting at Dean’s feet as they watched football, like it was the coolest thing in the world. Dean had been fuming because he had to babysit instead of go out with Roberta, who had to be a “C” cup at least. Sam offering to make pop corn, and Dean doing it himself in a less than gracious manner. Banging the pot on the stove, burning half of the pop corn. Sharing it with Sam, with salt only because they were out of butter. And still Sam seemed happy to be there.

“Is this your brother?” she asked again.

Sam was slack jawed, staring at Dean, agitation growing in his face as Greer held him. More of the fog around Dean’s head was breaking away as the memories poured in like someone had opened the sky. He knew everything, remembered everything.

Yes, he wanted to say. His mouth formed to say it. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, that’s my brother.”

There was a hard smacking sound as Sam broke free from Greer and slammed the orderly against the wall, and, moving fast, lunged for Dean, hands and fists and that awful howl of words bubbling from his lips through a thin film of foam, words that were meant to hurt mother fucker I will fuck you my brother is dead don’t you say my brother you’re not my brother, he’s dead and you are dead-but they didn’t explain anything. Dean shrank back, wondering if he would have to hurt Sam to stop him, he didn’t want to, he wanted to hug Sam and say hello and let’s go have a beer, but he might have to-Greer recovered himself and grabbed Sam up in his firm grasp before he even laid a hand on Dean, leaving Dean and sweaty and wide-eyed against the wall.

“This is getting out of hand.” Dr. Logan tipped her head at the orderlies, and between them they took Sam’s arms and one of them brought out a syringe, and rubbed Sam’s skin with a patch of disinfecting cloth before pushing the needle through his skin. “Get him calm, and I’ll come by later to check on him.”

As the drugs sank into his system, Dean could see the film over Sam’s eyes grow thicker, even as he struggled and yelped in the high register of a lost puppy. His eyes were suddenly on Dean, narrowing, trying to focus, trying to figure out what Dean knew that he knew: Dean was his brother, Dean was alive. And so was Sam. But Sam didn’t know him, not at all.

Watching Sam go was like watching part of himself being cut out after being suddenly reattached after weeks of thinking Sam was dead. Dean turned and pushed himself into the wall, soaking up the coolness of the wall, not watching, only listening to the scuffled footfalls getting further and further away. He couldn’t do this anymore. He wanted to go home.

“So, is that your brother, or not, Dean?”

The only person behind him now was Dr. Logan, and he could feel her standing there, knew she was looking at him. Wanted to throw up and go racing after Sam and yank them both out of this place before anything else happened that was hard.

And he had to think. Made himself think through the layers of the drugs and the echo of Sam’s scream in his head. The white spit on Sam’s mouth, the glare of his teeth, the collapse of his muscles when he couldn’t fight the drugs. The less anyone knew about them, the better. He had to keep secrets, only he couldn’t think of which one, which one, the one about his brother. She was asking about his brother. His brother Sam.

“No,” said Dean, shaky. He would be the one to get Sam out of there. He would take care of his brother. “But his name is Sam; he’s my friend. We were driving together and took a wrong turn. Something happened. That’s all I remember.”

“I see,” said Dr. Logan.

“Don’t worry, Dean,” said Greer, who had come back on feet so silent, Dean had not heard him. “He’ll get some Treatment, that’ll settle him down.”

Dean turned. Dr. Logan was looking at Greer with that you do realize you’re just an orderly expression on her face, but she didn’t say anything. Greer kept the peace, so he was valuable.

“Walk Dean and me back to my office, Greer,” she said. “And then I got a ping from Neland, something about the laundry room, if you could sort that out.”

With a touch, Dr. Logan directed Dean to follow her and he did, God help him, he did. But his muscles felt so slack and he couldn’t feel his feet, and his ears were ringing with Sam’s screams. Real now, instead of just a memory.

As they went through the myriad of security doors, she looked at him. “Do you need something to help keep you calm, Dean?”

They were almost to her office before Dean could reply. “No,” he said. “I’m good.” He was the furthest thing from good, but more drugs were the last thing he needed.

Dr. Logan waved Greer away, nodded at the orderly standing by, and took Dean into her office. It was nice to be able to remember having been there before, even though he felt sick as he sat in the chair and faced her. She fiddled with the files on her desk, standing there a minute in her white coat before sitting down and pulling a legal pad and a pen towards her like a security blanket she was just about to wrap around her.

“Due to confidentiality, I cannot, of course, divulge much of Jacob’s, I mean, Sam’s care to you. But I can tell you this, he’s not responding well, even though we’ve pretty much given him the same course of drugs and therapy we’ve given you.” She paused a minute. “We had to give him additional anti-anxiety meds. It’s not going well.”

It felt like she was talking to someone else, but she was looking directly at him. Dean made himself nod. Sat on his hands. Felt the blood thumping along the backs of his thighs.

“We’re quite worried.”

Dean was ready to kill her, the notion of it growing like a faraway hum of an engine, comforting and dangerous at the same time. They’d hurt Sam, they’d messed him up, they’d overdosed him with drugs, kept him in a room, done God knows what else to him-

“The good news is that he responded to you, even if just for a minute. He was still and calm and trying to focus, which was a miracle, given the amount of Haldol in his system and-”

She stood up and paced for a moment behind her desk chair, then she stopped and crossed her arms over her chest and looked at Dean. Behind her dark glasses, her eyes were intent, Dean could almost see the thoughts forming themselves in her brain.

“You, you’ve been doing well. We’re decreasing your meds every day, and you’re responding well in Group, and you do well in Work Therapy; you’re quite Neland’s new favorite these days.” This thought made her smile, and Dean made himself not smile back. Who cared about that, when Sam was alive?

“Here’s what I think, Dean,” she said, sitting down, putting her hands on the desk and clasping them together. “I think you’d be a good influence on Sam. It was only one minute of response time, but it was more than he’s shown since he’s been here. I think that’s significant.”

Her words were starting to run together, and he couldn’t figure out where she was going with this. Why was she talking to him like he could make sense of any of it? He needed to get to Sam, find out where Sam was, and get them the hell out.

“Other institutions have tried this, and it’s worked in a lot of cases, so we’re going to try it here. We’ll put Sam in with you, and you’ll show him how it’s done. It’ll be twenty-four hours a day, and like a track pony, you can keep him calm, give him someone consistent to relate to. We’ll monitor his meds, but you can be Sam’s keeper. Think you can handle it?”

Open mouthed, Dean looked at her, feeling like she’d just walloped him upside the head with a two by four.

“Well?”

Dean stood up, something clicking in his head, the words tumbling through, what he wanted to say, sign me up, 24/7, give me my brother, give me Sam,, I’ll do it, I’ll do it, sign me up, sign me up now-

“I take that as a yes?”

All Dean could do was nod, swallowing over the thickness in his throat, heart pushing against his chest.

“You seem to care for him a great deal, Dean. That’ll be good for Sam, and hopefully, we can figure out who you guys are and get you back to the real world, back to your people.”

She had other things to say, but his mind was dazed, his concentration broken. He watched her mouth move and thought about Bobby and Jo and Ellen and Ash. About Dad. Sam. People who could get them out of there, if he could contact them, but people he didn’t want knowing that he and Sam had ended up in a place like this. Hunters had to be strong, he didn’t want anyone knowing Sam had lost his mind. That Dean spent his days in what was essentially cotton pajamas.

Suddenly, Dr. Logan’s voice came in like the reception had suddenly gotten very clear. “I will tell you one thing, when he starts talking about the blue man with lightning hands, you shouldn’t encourage him. Tell us, let us know about this, because he seems pretty obsessed, and that’s not good.”

“Obsessed?” Dean felt his question croak in his throat.

“In addition to his ongoing monolog about his brother dying in a warehouse fire, among other things, he keeps talking about this blue man with lightning coming out of his hands. We’re working on that, but we can’t make any headway, so you’re to discourage him from talking about that, okay?”

She gave him a hard stare as if to make sure he was listening.

“And also, if and when his memory starts coming back, you’re not to prompt him. It’s important that what he’s getting back are his own memories, and not yours.”

Nodding, Dean stood up as she made that little wave with her hand that meant she was finished.

An orderly opened the door, and escorted Dean down the hall. He knew what was going on, what had happened. The blue man was, of course, the djinn; not for anything was Dean ever going to be able to forget the feel of the cold clasp of his hands, or the jolt of lightning that had sheared up Dean’s spine. It was no wonder that Sam was obsessing about it.

For a minute Dean considered that this, the hospital, and him and Sam being there, was a dream given to them by the djinn, but the light wasn’t right. The dreamy perfect feeling in the air wasn’t there, everything was too stark and real and honest and painful. It seemed to make more sense that what the djinn had done was make them each believe that the other one was dead. It was the perfect trick, the perfect cruelty, because if the djinn could implant dreams, then why not nightmares? It had broke then both, and they’d ended up in a mental institution. But while Dean had come back, Sam was still swimming in his own head, thinking Dean was dead, forgetting huge chunks of who he was. Lost and alone somewhere dark and Deanless.

Well, Dean could fix that.

The orderly led him down the hall to the dining hall for lunch. He stood in line and took the cup of pills and smiling at the lady. He didn’t really know what each of the pills was for, except that one of them was no longer Thorazine. He swallowed them and took the water, thinking that they both needed to get out of there, and in order to think clearly about how, he would need to get off the pills. Sam too, whatever he was on.

*

When they took him up from the Treatment table, he kept his eyes closed, mostly and wished he were somewhere else, only he didn’t know where that would be. He could barely stand and didn’t want to be touched. His skin was on fire. But the bristle-haired orderly was there making him put on all his clothes. Helping him. And then there was the other orderly, the skinny one with the cold hands. When the cold hands touched him, his skin twitched as though flies were alighting on him. He wished he had a tail to flick them away, could they give him a tail? He was about to open his mouth and ask for that very privilege, only half realizing that it might not be a good idea.

When the orderly tried to make him take a drink of water, he didn’t want it, had had enough of water, wasn’t thirsty. But the bristle-haired orderly’s hand was firm on the back of his neck and he could feel the rim of the plastic cup against his mouth.

“You don’t have to open your eyes yet, Sam, but take a sip. You need this.”

Sam’s muscles bunched at this but there was a warning hand laid on his arm, a cold one and he remembered the last time he’d refused the water. He had shoved and pushed and flung and ended up in restraints and darkness. Dr. Logan had been very disappointed.

“C’mon, Sam, it’s just water. You don’t realize how thirsty you are.”

“Jeezus,” said the other orderly. “Just get the tube, I’m off half an hour ago.”

“Knock it off, Edgerton,” said the first voice. Greer, that’s who he was. Sam was so bad with names. “He needs to learn this, you gotta take it slow.”

“What, drinking?”

“Oh, he knows how to do that, it’s the doing it for his own good part that he doesn’t get.”

There was a snort from Edgerton and Sam squinted his eyes open. The overhead light slicked like blades but he could see Greer, with his bristle-grey haircut, standing there with the shiny green wall behind him, his eyes grave and still. Looking only at Sam.

“C’mon Sam,” Greer said again. “It’s water. You want some?”

Maybe he felt thirsty. Maybe. But more than that, he knew that if he drank some stupid water, when he drank it, even a little bit, they would let him out of the room. The Treatment room with its shiny slick green-tiled walls and slanted floor with the drain in the center of the room. The metal tables and black rubber hoses. The ice water.

His mouth opened and Greer brought the plastic cup up and tilted. Sam sputtered as the water rushed over his tongue before he was quite ready but he swallowed it, drinking till the cup was half empty.

“Nice job there,” said Greer. “Dr. Logan wants to see you now, okay? That’s where we’re going.”

This was the part he didn’t like, even compared to the Treatment and the cold hands of Edgerton and the abrupt dose of water. Dr. Logan liked to talk to him to express her concerns about his issues and about how he should keep taking his pills, about how to be flexible. It was his least favorite thing, those talks. He’d almost rather be tied up in the dark. Almost.

But first he had to pee. A lot. He looked at Greer and thought maybe he should say something about that before it was too late.

“What is it, Sam” Greer had been watching him.

“Uh.” It was all Sam could manage. He took a breath and didn’t look at Edgerton, who obviously didn’t like him. “I gotta-”

“I am out of here,” said Edgerton, frowning. “You take him. I’m clocking out.”

“I’ll take him,” said Greer, not watching as Edgerton barreled out the door.

When they were alone, Greer gave Sam a small pat. “Can you make it down the hall? I’d let you use the john in here, but someone puked in there last night and it’s not been cleaned yet.”

Sam nodded and Greer opened the door into the corridor, where the air was slightly warmer and where the sun streamed through the banks of windows. There was a restroom on the first corner they came to. Sam remembered using it before, remembered Greer standing by the door, waiting as he waited now. He made sure Sam washed his hands when he was through at the urinal, and with a sideways motion of his head, gestured that Sam should move out into the hall.

When they got to Dr. Logan’s office, Greer knocked. A woman’s voice said “Come in,” and Greer waved with his hand. “I’ll be right here, Sam,” he said.

Greer was the muscle, Sam knew that somehow. He was usually nearby when Sam was with Dr. Logan. Sam had been told a hundred times that aggression was an inappropriate response to the doctor’s counseling, but when she was talking to him in that incessant, yappy voice of hers, it was hard to remember that.

The door opened. “Greer, you can join us today.”

Which meant that she was worried about him having another outburst. Greet stayed in the office and stood by the door while Sam moved forward and looked at the doctor. She sat behind her desk as usual, looking at him with narrow and critical eyes, her hair in a little bun. And there on the desk was his folder, laid open, notes spilling out, little paper clips glinting like tiny razors.

“Have a seat, Sam.”

Sam sat down, doing his best to be good, not thinking about acting out, even thought it might feel good for a minute, it was against the rules, and besides he-

“Sam, are you listening to me?”

Had she been talking?

“Uh.”

“You need to pay attention, this is very important. Now, other than your outburst, do you remember the young man in the hallway, the one who says he recognized you and called you Sam?”

She wasn’t talking much about the recent episode, but it felt like she was doing a dance he didn’t know the steps to. Was she trying to trick him, to trip him? Why was she talking about that guy? What was his name? Dean?

“Dean,” said Sam. “I remember.”

He steeled himself for her to start going on about Sam’s trying to kill Dean.

“Do you remember how you felt right before he said he was your brother?”

He stiffened even further. “That was a mistake, he shouldn’t have said that.” His voice felt thick in his throat.

“Yes, and he admitted he’d been wrong. But before that. There was a moment there where I felt that some connection had been made. What can you tell me about that?”

For a moment Sam thought about this, about the young man named Dean who said he knew him, who in the space of a second had changed him from Jacob into Sam. Thought about his intense green eyes and how his mouth had been open to say hello like he’d been waiting to say it to Sam all his life. How he’d stood there, looking a little pale against the pale blue hospital clothes but somehow bursting out of them. How he’d leaned towards Sam and something about him there. Expectant. Waiting.

That was when Sam had gotten a flicker of another where and another when, one of the strongest he could remember in forever. Forever being about three weeks. There’s been some hotel room, some dusty old place and he’d been saying, “You have to, Dad said so.” Only he couldn’t see who he was talking to, not even an outline or a shadow. It was like he’d been talking to himself. And then the memory was gone.

That was what the doctor wanted, the story about what had caused the calm before the storm. He didn’t want to tell her about the memory because she’d be all over him like crazy. And beside, he felt pretty sure the memory was of his dead brother and she was the last person he wanted to talk to about that anymore. Because it always led to more probing, more questions, more wanting to get inside his head. And that made him want to bite something. Or someone. Biting was definitely against the rules.

He’d forgotten the question.

“What?”

She gave a sigh of extreme patience and for a second Sam felt bad about being so difficult.

Then, from behind him, Greer said, “He has a hard time collecting his thoughts after Treatment.”

“I know that,” said Dr. Logan, her glare flicking over them both. “But as you know, Greer, that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be asked to try. Now, Sam. What can you tell me about that moment?”

What should he tell her? The truth? Or just a part of it? What did she want from him this time, exactly?

Greer leaned forward and laid a hand on Sam’s arm. It wasn’t a heavy or painful hand, but it was a warning. Sam squirmed in his seat and looked at the edge of Dr. Logan’s desk. Waited for Greer to take his hand away.

“He-he looked like someone I knew,” said Sam, able to talk when no one was touching him, his voice feeling croaky and unused. “Like I knew what he was going to say and then I didn’t.” There, now that was a nice smooth easy lie. Except part of it was true.

“Were you scared?” Dr. Logan asked, leaning forward.

Now that was an interesting question. He’d been confused and then enraged but scared? Not for a second. He shook his head slowly, looking at the doctor from under his bangs.

“No,” he said. “I wasn’t scared at all. He felt…familiar.”

Taking her glasses off with a little smile, Dr. Logan seemed pleased by this.

“This is good news. It’s good that you weren’t afraid because I have a little experiment that I want you to try.”

This did not sound good, not at all. Experiments were painful, but she was still smiling and her mouth was moving so he made himself listen, though it made him feel jittery all over again.

“…good that he knew you, a connection that could work, so what do you think?”

Again he’d missed so much of what she’d been saying but to admit it would irritate her all over again. But how could he find out what she was asking without admitting his ignorance?

“Sam?” The look in her eyes was fading from brightness into a hooded glare. She didn’t like him, never had, and Sam was just making it worse. So he did his best.

“Sometimes, experiments are scary.” There. That was good. Something honest and true but vague. It would slip right under her radar. And it did.

“That’s fine, but you said you weren’t scared of Dean, right? Didn’t you just say that, Sam?”

“Yes, but-”

“It’s very simple. You will go with Dean and share a room with him. You’ll join him in his activities and work therapy, and he’ll help look after you. You do just what Dean does. Listen to what he tells you. This will be good for both of you.”

Share a room with Dean?

“Uh.”

“You’ll be in group therapy before you know it, Sam. It’ll make your Treatment much more productive.”

Dean had probably suggested that to her or Greer, maybe. Somehow she’d gotten this idea into her head, just to mess with him. On the other hand, it might be nice not to be alone all the time. Solitary confinement and isolation was wearing very thin.

“Sam?”

“Uh,” he said. “Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, I’ll share a room with Dean. I’ll do what he says.”

“Thank you, Sam,” she said, sitting back in her chair. “I think this will beneficial for everyone all the way around, because you see-”

There was a knock on the door. Greer opened it and talked to someone, then closed the door.

“The fencing material is in. I told them to take it to the side loading dock, yeah?”

“That’s fine, thank you.” She paused to make a note on a pad of paper. Then she tapped her pen against if for a minute, and looked at Sam. “So. Dean. It’ll help him to have someone to look after. Do you understand how that works?”

Maybe. It sounded familiar, felt like something he should know. So he nodded and rolled his shoulders back in a shrug.

“Helping someone else,” Dr. Logan said now, “can take us out of our own troubles, you see? It’s a very healthy exercise.”

“Uh-huh.” He lost most of what she was saying but it was about helping Dean get better. Sam was just the tool she would use to do that. Fine. If it got him out of isolation, fine.

“Very good, Sam.” She shut the folder with a little pop. “Greer, put them both in the medium ward. I think it should be alright; keep an eye on them.”

“You got it,” said Greer, and he touched Sam on the shoulder. Sam looked up. Greer didn’t look angry so Sam must have said the right thing. As they left the doctor’s office and started walking down the hall, he just wished it didn’t all feel so much like a trap.

Chapter 4 cont.

Blue Skies From Rain Master Fic Post