A/N: This is part of the 100 Themes Challenge (you can see my journal on dA if you want more details, or drop me a note). The story was inspired by an fabulous photo manip done by NiKtaDark (over on dA). As always, reviews = love! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Not mine, nope, don't own 'em... yet... (insert evil laugh here).
He wanted desperately to go back, to get his brother, to save him from the place he dreaded the most. It was wrong that Sammy was stuck in the darkness, suffering. It was his job to suffer, his burden to bear, he was supposed to be the one, not Sam. Never Sam.
He looked around the room slowly, trying once again to find some way to get free. It was a small room, brightly lit with its soft white walls reflecting the light of the single bulb. There were no windows. The only avenue of escape was the single door which was currently locked from the outside. He wasn't worried though; he'd gotten out of more secure places than this. He just had to wait and watch, his opportunity would present itself.
He'd lost track of how long he'd been here. How many days had passed since that horrible moment in the graveyard? He could feel the bruises on his face and body, a reminder of the struggle that had been fought that day. It couldn't have been too long then. Bruises heal and these still felt fresh.
He started to call for Cas to come…the Angel would help him get out of here. He wouldn't be stopped by locked doors, they'd never stopped him before. He called out for the Angel until his voice was hoarse from the effort. Anger began to build inside of him. How dare he not come when he was needed? The heat of anger cooled suddenly as if a blanket of ice had been thrown over him. He remembered now… Cas was gone.
Everyone was gone. Cas, Bobby, Dad… Sam. There was no one to help him this time. He was well and truly alone. No, not alone, he just had to get out of here, then he would get Sam back. They would be together again…they would.
He could hear voices outside the door. Demons… it had to be. He wasn't sure why they were keeping him here or what they wanted. He didn't have anything left to give. Other than his miserable life, everything had been taken from him already.
He backed slowly away from the door, cursing the bindings that kept him from freeing his hands. If they came in he wanted to be ready. Being helpless was not his style and they would find that out the hard way. They might have restricted his hands but he still had the ability to stand, to kick… to fight. Let them come, he was ready.
When no one entered the room he slumped to the floor. The adrenaline rush that had been keeping him going was finally exhausted. Damn it… what did they want with him? Why didn't they just come in and get it over with already? He had to get out of here and his only chance would be if someone opened that damn door.
Every second that passed was an eternity that Sammy was suffering through below. He knew how bad that suffering could be. He'd been there, he'd served his time. The thought of what his brother was going through fanned the flames of his anger into a rage. He struggled back to his feet and slammed his body into the door.
"Let me out of here! You want me? Come in here and take me! What the Hell are you afraid of? What are you waiting for?"
Unable to use his hands he slammed his head into the soft padding of the door. Using his teeth he began to tear at the cushioning, ripping it from the door piece by piece. Once he had cleared a large enough piece he once again began to beat at the door with his head. This time the sound wasn't dampened, this time there was a loud bang with each new contact.
He could feel the warm trickle of blood that had started to make its way down his face. He knew there should be pain to accompany that blood but, for now, he felt nothing but the combination of anger and panic that was fueling his outburst. No one was coming. They didn't care. They were going to leave him in here to rot. He was never going to get to Sam. He would never save him. He had failed. Again.
"Sammy… I'm sorry… so sorry… my fault…"
As his reserve of energy slowly depleted he found himself on his knees in front of the door. It was useless…hopeless… sobs wracked his body as he called out for his brother, alternately apologizing and begging forgiveness. He'd given up praying a long time ago. There was no point, no one was listening. But… now… as he felt the last of his hope dying, he prayed. He didn't pray for himself, he didn't care if he ever got out of here now, he prayed for Sam. He prayed that someday, somehow, his brother would be free. He prayed that when that happened, he would find some way to forgive him for everything that had gone wrong. He prayed that he would know, always, that he was loved.
"Our Father… who art in Heaven…," he choked on the tears as he recited the words he had learned so very long ago. Back when he had a future. Back when he had his Mother, his Father… Sammy… Back when he had a family. Before his whole life had gone to Hell.
Dr. Thomas Morrison stood outside the door of the isolation room. He could hear his patient quietly reciting the Lord's Prayer within. He checked the chart that hung next to the door and noted that a new outburst of self-inflicted violence last night had been the cause of his most recent need for restraint. He shook his head sadly as he turned to the new orderly.
"This is one my toughest cases. Paranoid Delusions mixed with hallucinations. I thought we were making some progress but it looks as if he's had another break from reality."
"What's his story doc? Is he dangerous?" The orderly looked a bit nervous. He'd transferred here earlier that week and was still trying to familiarize himself with the cases that would be assigned to him.
"Only to himself. Sad story really. Dean Winchester. Lost his parents in a house fire when he was only four. He and his younger brother Sam were sent to live with their Aunt and Uncle in North Carolina. Five years ago he was driving his brother to his Freshman year at Stanford University when they were hit head on by a drunk driver. He barely survived the injuries, Sam died instantly. The trauma was apparently too much. He suffered a psychic break and began to have delusions about his life, his past. Most recently he has been insisting that Angels were going to come and help him rescue his brother from Hell. Seems that even in his delusions he blames himself for the loss."
"Why is he in isolation?"
"He manifested a delusion of having some type of conflict with his brother. I'm not exactly clear on the details. Trying to get him to talk about it only increases his anxiety at the moment. From what I gather it involves some physical altercation between them wherein he suffers at his brother's hand. Goes along with his need to punish himself for the accident. Unfortunately, in order to keep the delusion going, he reinforces his reality by causing himself harm. Most recently it was banging his head on a table, fracturing his left orbital bone, before the orderlies could get to him and stop him."
It was a sad story, but everyone in here had a sad story. The orderly knew better than to get personally involved with a patient. He understood the need for distance. Still, he had a younger brother himself, he could relate to the feeling of loss that this patient had suffered. He wondered silently how he would have reacted in the same situation.
"Do you think he'll get better? Maybe get out of here someday?"
"Maybe, in time. With therapy and the right medications there's always the chance." The doctor placed the chart back on the wall, sparing one last sad look at the locked door before taking a step towards the next room. "Now, this next patient is…"
Inside Bedford County Sanitarium Dean Winchester knelt on the floor of Isolation Room Three. It wasn't his first time in isolation and, sadly, wouldn't be his last. He had lost his parents and had dealt with the loss in the only way he knew how, protecting his baby brother. When he had lost Sammy, he had lost his only reason for living. When he awoke from his coma, following the accident, he was devastated to find his brother gone.
In that moment he created for himself a reality where there was hope; where arsonists were yellow eyed demons and kind doctors were Angels sent to save humanity; a reality where evil could be overcome through Holy Water and silver bullets. A reality where justice came at his hand, not a court that allowed a drunk driver to be free after ten years while his little brother would spend the rest of eternity in a cold wooden box. He created a reality where he could be the hero he had always wanted to be to Sammy; where he could still find a way to save him. It wasn't such a bad reality…