Blue Skies From Rain Part 4 - Chapter 21

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They were pulled out of art therapy just as Miss Windle had finished standing in front of the class to tell them to draw how they felt. Randy had been at the table next to theirs, all by himself, and had raised his hand right away. If felt a little sad to Sam that no one wanted to share a table with Randy, but he didn’t say anything to Dean, because Dean would say that Randy had made his own bed and now he had to lie in it.

When Miss Windle called on Randy, he complained that he didn’t know how he felt, and Sam was distracted from Miss Windle’s answer by Dean’s snickering and by the door opening. An orderly stood there and asked for Sam and Dean. At Miss Windle’s nod, they went with the orderly down the hall. Sam didn’t recognize the orderly, but then, sometimes shifts changed, and anyway, he didn’t care who it was, he was with Dean.

He didn’t touch Dean though he wanted to because it was enough to be walking shoulder to shoulder, down the hall. That brought a memory, another one of those strange echoes, of how they’d done that a lot, before. Before, when Sam knew who he was. Him and Dean, walking together, along a road lined with tall golden grasses, with speckles of white seeds drifting in the air, warm and lazy and casual, with no particular place to go.

The orderly stopped in front of Dr. Logan’s office and knocked, and Dr. Logan said “Come in,” and the orderly opened the door and stepped back.

Dr. Logan was standing behind her desk, and was on the phone. “He’s on his way?” she asked. Then she listened for a minute, said goodbye, and hung up.

“Well, Sam and Dean,” she said, smiling at them. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a tidy bun, and her glasses looked liked they’d recently been cleaned. The whole office was neater than Sam had ever seen it, with books in their proper places on the shelves, and the papers stacked in nice piles on the desk. There was something shiny about her, as well, and it wasn’t just the sun coming in the windows. “Take a seat, gentlemen, and it will just take a minute, but we have company today.”

They sat down in the unmatched chairs on the other side of her desk, and Sam took the one nearest to the window so he could get a bit of sunshine on his legs and arms. Dean took the one by the door, relaxing into the seat, head tipping back as he looked at Dr. Logan.

“Who’s the company?” asked Dean.

“Someone who says he knows you,” said Dr. Logan. She sighed, as if pleased with herself. “It’s kind of exciting; actually, he says he knows who you are.”

Sam looked over at Dean, who shrugged his shoulders and made a face at Sam, pulling his mouth downward. As Sam shrugged back, there was a knock at the door, and both he and Dean turned their heads to look. When Dr. Logan said come in, the orderly on the other side of the door opened it and stepped aside to admit a man in a suit who was obviously not an orderly or a doctor or anyone connected with the hospital. The black suit he had on was just too nice, too crisp around the edges. He had sleek, dark skin and hard, dark eyes, and when those eyes focused on Sam, they smiled. But it wasn’t a nice smile, it made Sam feel prickly inside. And maybe it was uncomfortable for Dean, too, because he sat straight up in his chair.

“Gentlemen,” said Dr. Logan, “I would like you to meet Special Agent Victor Henriksen. He’s with the FBI, and he’s brought paperwork that might be able to tell you who you are.”

“Oh,” said Henriksen, “they know who they are.” His head made a side to side motion as he talked. “Sam and Dean Winchester, felons extraordinaire.”

“Not felons, surely,” said Dr. Logan, “but Winchester? Is that both their last names? Are they related?”

Those dark eyes shifted over to her, slicing through the air as they went. “I told you this on the phone, doctor, if you were paying attention,” said Henriksen. “But you obviously weren’t, so pay attention now. They don’t have amnesia and they know exactly who they are.”

The air snapped as Henriksen looked back over at them, first at Sam and then at Dean. Then he took a step towards Dean, who sat in his chair like he was glued there, hands gripping the edge of the seat, arms tense, little tremors moving up and down. Dean didn’t look up at Henriksen, but his mouth and jaw moved as he swallowed. Maybe he was trying to keep his mouth shut so he wouldn’t say the wrong thing, but then, Sam knew all about that, so he decided to help Dean out.

“I don’t know who I am,” said Sam, looking right at Henriksen. “And I don’t remember you, either.”

Henriksen didn’t move, but his whole body was poised, leaning slightly forward. His mouth curved upwards but it wasn’t a smile.

“But I remember you,” said Henriksen. Now his voice smiled, slipping into it like it had been oiled. “I remember you, and if you say you don’t remember me, then you’re faking it.”

“Oh, they’re not faking it,” said Dr. Logan. “They both have retrograde amnesia, and we’re treating them for PTSD, with therapy and meds and-”

“Lady,” said Henriksen, keeping his eyes on Sam. “They have been fooling you since day one, and if a whack or two on the head from some crazy scheme disoriented them, then from soon after. They’ve been eating your food and sleeping in your beds and using the money of the taxpayers of this blessed country of ours to take a little break in your oh-so-fine institution.”

“No,” said Dr. Logan. She sliced her hand through the air and then pointed at Sam and Dean. “Their symptoms are real. They were completely disoriented when they were brought in, soaked through like they’d been wandering hours in the rain, and a car was found running idle a mile away-”

“Oh, the car.” Henriksen dismissed this with a shake of his head. “The damn car. Not at hand, not close by, otherwise they’d be in it and very far from here.”

“No,” said Dr. Logan again. “You obviously didn’t read the files I sent you; otherwise, you could see what the paramedics said, and what the police reported. Dean was in a coma for a week, you can’t fake that, not with all the tests.”

“These boys know how to fake it in all kinds of ways you can’t even begin to dream of, Dr. Logan,” said Henriksen. “They’ve got you fooled, and you’re so fooled you can’t even see it.”

Sam looked over at Dean who was so tightly wound up that there was sweat along the length of his neck, and Sam couldn’t understand why. They had amnesia, and if part of their memories were coming back, it was because of the care they were getting in the hospital, not that they’d been lying. Well, maybe they’d been lying a little, but not like Henriksen was saying. What concerned Sam more was the idea that Dean had been in a coma. He knew what a coma was, remembered reading about them. He didn’t like thinking of Dean going through that, being asleep but not asleep, alone in his head, with no one able to get through to him, and not able to get out.

Dean must have felt Sam looking, because he looked back at Sam, his eyes round, his face white, so white that his freckles stood out against his skin. Sam realized that Dean was scared and about two seconds away from freaking out. Maybe Dean did remember Henriksen, maybe just a little. Otherwise, why would he be so worked up? A visit to Dr. Logan was something they’d both done many times, plus the orderly was waiting outside the door, which meant that the conversation with Dr. Logan was expected to go smoothly. It was Henriksen who was making Dean this way. Sam looked up and let himself glare. Hopefully Dr. Logan would be able to convince Henriksen and he would go away and leave them in peace so they could get better.

“Agent Henriksen,” said Dr. Logan. Some of the shininess was gone out of her voice. “If you’d read the files on Sam and Dean, you’d know-”

“And if you read the FBI files,” said Henriksen, interrupting her. Looking as if he didn’t give a damn about that. “Then you’d know. You’d know they’re wanted for murder, and bank robbery, and grave desecration, and kidnapping, and more murder, why, the list just goes on and on. I didn’t even send you the report on the fine citizens we interviewed who insist that Sam and Dean saved them from a ghost or a black dog or a zombie. Can you believe that? A zombie? Not to mention the windego, those kids in Colorado wouldn’t even talk about that, but there’s more to that story. Only it’s not worth my time, you see, because-”

“Well, we know about the zombies,” said Dr. Logan. “And the vampires and so forth, we have the boys in therapy for-”

Sam watched Henriksen’s eyebrows shoot right up his forehead. “Vampires, is it now. Well, that’s a new one.”

There was a little pause in the back and forth between Dr. Logan and Agent Henriksen, but the stillness in the room didn’t erase the hard, stiff tension. Sam could see it, each of them had files, and neither one had wanted to read the other one’s files. Each one of them thought they were right, and each one wanted to claim Sam and Dean as their territory. It was easy to see this, now that Sam could take a breath. He wanted to put his hands on Dean and pull him out of the office before Dean got even more upset, but that was not how things went in the loony bin. You had to be polite and wait your turn, you had to respect people who had titles or badges. Even if you didn’t really respect or like them, you had to pretend you did.

“But anyway,” said Henriksen, before Sam could think of something clever to say to get them out of that office, “it doesn’t matter what the people say, it only matters what the evidence has left behind.” He was looking at Dean, now, his chin tucked down like he was fond of Dean, though the angry sparkles in his eyes said he wasn’t. “The evidence shows that these guys are violent, unpredictable killers-”

“Not Dean,” said Dr. Logan. Sam thought she sounded shocked, because yes, while Sam knew he had a tendency to be unpredictable, Dean was always the well-behaved one. Henriksen hadn’t read the files so he didn’t know that. Dr. Logan was right to correct Henriksen. “Dean is gentle, Dean-”

“Lady,” said Henriksen, his voice cutting through the air with a snap. “This one’s a natural born killer, right here. He’d just as soon rip your heart out if you got in his way, and he could do it with his bare hands. He would and he has, especially if you hurt Sam. Hell, if you even only touched his Sam, he’d be on you so fast because Sam’s the only thing he loves in this world and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for his brother. Nothing.”

Beside him, Dean boiled to a stand, grabbing for Henriksen, shoving him. “Shut up,” he said, grinding his teeth together. “You just shut up, shut the fuck up.”

It was the wrong move. Sam knew that even before Henriksen snapped into action and twisted Dean into an arm lock and shoved him face first against the wall. Sam heard Dr. Logan gasp and realized that he’d stood up, his whole body quivering, focused, and his body was telling him things that his mind was completely shocked by. His feet wanted to move and his hands wanted to grab Henriksen and rip him off of Dean. They wanted to hurt Henriksen, in a way that was almost foreign because he wasn’t violent like that, even though he used to be. Before Dean.

Henriksen tightened his grip on Dean, locking off part of his air as his arm moved around Dean’s throat. Dean had his eyes closed, and his mouth was open, and he didn’t move. Pressed against the wall, he couldn’t move. Sam could, but he didn’t. He didn’t know what to do. If he attacked Henriksen, like his body wanted to do, then Dr. Logan would see that Sam was once again out of control. She would be disappointed because he and Dean had been doing so well-and anyway, Henriksen was lying about them being brothers. He was just saying that to be mean. Everyone knew that Sam’s brother was dead.

“You see this, lady?” asked Henriksen. His voice was laughing, but his expression remained still. “The only thing keeping that one from tearing me apart is because I have this one in a headlock and could snap his neck. They’re both killers.”

“They’re not killers,” said Dr. Logan, protesting, though it seemed to Sam that her voice sounded unsure. Because, yes, Sam was standing up, his whole body was tense and ready to go.

“Yes, they are. They’re both killers, and killers need to be in custody. Which is what I’m here to do.”

That was what the meeting was about, Sam realized. Henriksen worked for the FBI and had paperwork to prove who Sam and Dean were, and was going to take them away. The FBI was powerful, more powerful than the hospital, and there was nothing Dr. Logan could do. It was in her face already, in her slumped shoulders, in her arms crossed across her chest.

“You’ll need to do the necessary paperwork,” she said, her voice low.

“I’ve done the paperwork,” said Henriksen, “and it’s on its way.” Then he focused on Dean as he tightened his grip a little before he relaxed it. “You and your brother going to take it nice and easy till the bus gets here? Or do I need to show Dr. Logan how an experienced FBI agent keeps his prisoners in check? Starting, of course, with Sam.”

Sam jerked backwards, his whole body stiffening at the threat. He watched as Dean nodded, giving in.

Henriksen relaxed his grip and looked directly at Sam as he let Dean go. But the threat was still there, and Sam knew that he had to sit down or Henriksen would have him in a headlock next, and then it would get messy from there because Dean would go ballistic, worse than he had with Randy. So he sat down, and Dean pulled away from Henriksen, breathing hard. But he didn’t sit down. He came over to stand next to Sam’s chair, not touching Sam, but there, close by. It was the fact that he was shaking that told Sam that they were in deep trouble. Henriksen was going to take them away from the hospital, and Sam didn’t think he was the type who would let Sam and Dean share a room.

The thought of being without Dean made his head feel swimmy and he didn’t want that. He wanted to be with Dean always.

The phone rang, and Dr. Logan looked at it like she didn’t know what it was, like she’d never seen a phone before. It rang again and Henriksen tipped his head towards it.

“You going to get that? I can’t get bars way the hell out in bumfuck, so I gave them your number.”

She picked up the phone, and said, “This is Dr. Logan,” and waited a minute while the other end of the line talked. Then her jaw jutted out. “It’s for you,” she said, holding out the phone.

For a moment, Henriksen paused. He looked at Dean, then at Sam. “You boys don’t move,” he said. He didn’t sound threatening, but then, maybe he didn’t need to.

He walked over to the phone, his body swooshing past them, cooling the air just a fraction. Sam felt sick to his stomach, watching, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Henriksen.

“Yes?” said Henriksen into the receiver as he put it next to his ear. “I told you where it is. Bath, Illinois. Right off of 136-no, southwest of Peoria, northwest of Springfield.”

There was a long pause, during which Henriksen listened as his face grew long and his jaw tightened, mouth turning down in a scowl. “Then it better be here tomorrow,” he said. “Or someone is going to find themselves transferred to Detroit. And frankly, I don’t care who.” Then he slammed down the phone and glared at them all.

“Seems to be,” he said as he grit his teeth, “we’re unable to get a bus out here to this backwater town in Podunk till tomorrow. Which means, doctor, that you need to keep these boys locked up and secure until I come back for them. Do you think you can manage that?” Before she could say anything, he added, “Maybe you should put them back in a coma or lobotomize them or some shit because that’s the only way-”

“I’ll keep them secure,” said Dr. Logan. But she sounded faint and it was obvious that she wasn’t used to dealing with the likes of Victor Henriksen. That she wanted him out of her office almost as much as Sam did. For Dean’s sake as much as his own, because Dean looked so white, he looked like he wanted to throw up.

“Twelve noon,” said Henriksen. He sucked his lower lip for a minute as he looked at Sam and Dean together, his head moving back and forth as if he wanted to refute what he saw. “Twelve noon and you boys are all mine.” Then he nodded at Dr. Logan and walked to the door, his heels clicking on the linoleum. “I’ll have the paperwork and the bus,” he said, “and you have these boys ready to go.”

Then he opened the door and walked out, slamming the door shut behind him. Sam could hear his voice as he walked down the hall; he seemed to be talking to someone else as he went, but Sam didn’t care. Henriksen was gone. Though that didn’t seem to matter. Dr. Logan was still tense, and if Sam turned his head, he could see the cotton shirt over Dean’s stomach moving with quick, small quivers.

“Well,” said Dr. Logan. “I guess that’s that, then.” She looked at them.

Behind him, Dean moved closer to Sam, brushing his fingers along the back of Sam’s shoulder, low, where Dr. Logan couldn’t see. Sam knew what they had between them was a secret, because hospitals didn’t like you doing that, so he didn’t reach back for Dean. Instead, he sat up straight like he was really interested in what Dr. Logan had to say. When really, all he wanted to do was for them, him and Dean, to leave the office and go back to their routine. To the bad food, and the heat in the laundry room, and the puzzles in the Day room that they never got to finish. So that, when the chime sounded for lights out, he could have Dean to himself, all to himself. That’s what he wanted.

“I’ll give the FBI your paperwork when they come tomorrow,” said Dr. Logan, “including the suggestions for care and your list of meds. Hopefully someone will understand how important it is for you to-” She broke off midsentence as she looked out the window at the sunshine and the green lawn. The she shook her head. “I never figured you for brothers because you told me you weren’t, so I never thought to run any DNA tests-”

“Dr. Logan?” asked Dean, his voice coming out raw. When she looked at him, her eyebrows raised, he said, “We’re not brothers, okay? Henriksen is wrong about that, he-”

“So you do remember him, then.” She looked straight at him as she said this.

The room got very still. Sam realized that if Dean did remember Henriksen, even just a little bit, then what Henriksen had been talking about, the vampires and the zombies, was probably true too. Or at least, the people Henriksen had talked to seemed to think it was. Sam would rather believe them, believe Dean, than some FBI agent anyway. Especially since Henriksen didn’t seem to like them very much.

“I remember some,” said Dean. Sam felt him move a little bit, like he was shrugging, but he kept his eyes on Dr. Logan. “I remember talking to him, and, well, he likes to yell, so….”

“I see.” Dr. Logan looked at her desk, at the piles of papers and folders. Her hand reached out to push the edge of one of them back into line with the others in the stack. As she took a deep breath, she looked up. “Well, there’s nothing I can do, really, beyond making recommendations, because it’s all really out of my hands. I’ll send you boys back to your room, that ought to be secure enough, and someone will bring you supper and your meds. And tomorrow, you’ll leave the hospital. Not in the way I anticipated it, but, still. That as they say is that.”

The way she looked made Sam think that she had expected that when they left the hospital it would be on a more positive note. That the experiment would have resulted in them getting their memory back and happy reunions with people who cared about them. That’s the way she had wanted it to go. Not like this. Not delivered into the hands of a man who obviously hated them.

“Okay,” she said now. “And when you get there, wherever he’s taking you, insist on your rights. Insist on therapy, okay?” She walked to the door, fast, and opened it, and motioned to the orderly waiting there that he could take Sam and Dean back to their room.

Sam stood up and started moving, Dean close behind him. When he got to her he stopped, knowing that Dean would bump into him a little. And he did, but that was okay, because Dean was warm all up and down, and that helped Sam to feel better.

“Thank you,” Sam said to Dr. Logan. Her mouth fell open a little, like she was surprised. “Thank you for everything.”

“Yeah,” said Dean behind him. “Thanks.”

She didn’t say anything, but Sam watched her pull her shoulders back and take a deep breath. She nodded, and then Sam started walking again, Dean beside him as they went through their hallways to their room. It was getting towards suppertime, Sam could smell cooking meat wafting through the damp, cool air. He wanted to stay in the hospital with Dean, but he knew they had to run away. Because leaving with Henriksen? That would be worse.

Chapter 22

Blue Skies From Rain Master Fic Post