"It is the evening of the day
I sit and watch the children play
Doing things I used to do, they think are new
I sit and watch as tears go by."
As Tears Go By by The Rolling Stones
Springtime in Kansas means changeable weather and rainy days, but it also means intense greens and children filling up the playgrounds that are almost abandoned over the winter months. The breezes are still chilly. And Sam pushes his hands further into his pockets, hunching into his jacket a little as he sits waiting on the bench by the playground where Doctor Smith had asked to meet him this morning. It's day three officially, but only day two of having had his brother legally committed. Sam's glum, and gloomy, and missing Dean intensely.
Sam's pretty sure he's a scary figure right now, and he hopes the mommies here with their pre-school aged children don't think he's some kind of creeper hanging out in a playground.
The fresh air feels good, though, and Sam gets a pang of guilt knowing that his brother isn't allowed to go outside right now. They've declared Dean a flight risk because he told them he was leaving, go figure. The bench is hard, and Sam shifts uncomfortably – weight loss seems to be one of his symptoms from the trials, and he has never had any extra padding since he was about sixteen. He watches the kids playing, and his thoughts drift to his childhood and waiting in playgrounds for Dean to come get him after school. The trials are taking a toll on his health, worrying about Dean is too, and he lets out a noisy sigh before realizing that the doctor has joined him, quietly sitting at the end of the bench watching him. "Oh, Doctor Smith, I didn't realize you were here. Sorry."
With a reassuring smile, the doctor waves that away. "That's quite alright, Sam. You were doing what I hoped you would if we met here, or at least I'm pretty sure you were."
"And what is that?" Sam asks a little sharply, but he is actually curious. Sometimes when he is talking to Dean's doctor he gets the feeling that she considers him as much her patient as his brother, but he'd like her to concentrate more on helping his brother.
Doctor Smith turns penetrating brown eyes on him. She waves her hands at the group of children playing. "These kids are pre-kindergarteners, Sam. They are four to five years old, here at the school waiting for parents or guardians to collect them." She lets him watch them play, hearing the babbling, giggling, and occasional whining. "What were you doing at this age?"
Sam doesn't hesitate. "The same thing, I guess. I was in pre-school. The other kids' mommies or daddies, or grandparents would come get them. Dean would come get me and walk me home every day." It's an uncomplicated memory for him. Dean taking care of him had been long established by the time Sam was four or five. He doesn't remember it being any other way. He shifts in his seat. "Doctor Smith, while I appreciate your concern, I wish you would focus more on my brother."
"Sam, I am focusing on your brother. I wanted you to look at these kids because at this age, your brother became your pseudo parent." The doctor pauses for a moment to let Sam look at this scene through that knowledge. "Now, he is certainly not the only child who has had too much responsibility placed on him too young. It's unfortunately common in children of addicted parents. Nor am I trying to negate how difficult it was for you, but at this age you were still a child. Weren't you?" Clearing his throat which suddenly feels tight, Sam nods his head.
"Would you say that Dean has continued in his caretaker role throughout your life?" The doctor probes and Sam has to blink back tears. He nods again. Doctor Smith pats his hand. He does seem to need taking care of. "Since your brother spent the morning session with me today being angry and telling me I don't understand, I need you to help me understand, please. I want to help him, but he is building a wall to keep me out. When we finish here, we'll go have a family counseling session with your brother. Okay? But, I need your help getting the background because Dean is not cooperating right now." Sam snorts at that. That is exactly what he expects from his stubborn jackass of a big brother.
The doctor explains that the test results are back and inconclusive on PTSD. She is currently using a diagnosis of general anxiety disorder, stress, and depression to treat Dean. What she needs from Sam is all the background she can get, including whatever he can remember about their mother and father and what he knows about Dean's year in the war zone. She also wants Sam to tell her about Dean and Sam's relationship, and whether Dean has ever relinquished his caretaker role. When Sam looks puzzled, she clarifies. "Who has he ever allowed to take care of him?"
"Dean takes care of me, and it's that, but deeper," Sam tries to explain. "He defines himself by how well he does that, like it's his prime directive. Dad did that to him. I used to think it was just about me, but then Dean let something slip. My brother was cleaning up dad's messes before I was even born. Not too long ago, my brother told me the only happy ending he can see for himself is for me to get married and have kids. He said he doesn't see anything ahead for himself but to go out fighting. I tried to get him to trust me more to get through what we're doing right now, but…" Sam trails off. "I guess I don't really have a great history of being trustworthy for him."
Doctor Smith still feels like she has more holes than background, so she tries again. "What can you tell me about what it is you do? How stressful it is; how dangerous? Your brother, well, he laughed at me when I told him he can't treat every work emergency as though the world hangs in the balance. I'd like to understand his perspective better."
Sam considers for a moment, and he finds himself getting angry, not so much at the doctor, but at the world that has never appreciated what he and Dean have sacrificed for it, and probably never will. This world that doesn't see his brother as the big damn hero he is.
"How dangerous?" Sam snorts. "We both should be dead more than a few times. I can't remember if it was Kipling or Orwell, or neither, but there's a quote about people being able to sleep peacefully in their beds at night only because 'rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.' Well, mostly people think about the military when they hear that quote, but they should think about my family. This is our family business. This is what our dad did, and what he trained us both to do like we were soldiers after my mom died because she didn't just die in a house fire. My mom was killed by some pretty evil sonsofbitches."
"Dean was learning marksmanship when most kids are learning to ride bikes. He didn't just raise me – he was my trained bodyguard. He managed to keep me out of it a little longer, ignorant of it even, but I wasn't even a teenager before it sucked me in too. There are things that have to be handled quietly, quickly, efficiently and kept out of the news. Things the government can't be involved in, and the military isn't equipped to handle; but if they're not done, then, yeah, it would be catastrophic for the world. That guy you're treating, my big brother, has literally saved the world more than once. And, lady, I'm not some silly kid who doesn't know the meaning of the word."
"He was tortured, about five years ago, and when he came back he was different, but still every bit as determined to put every damned person who has ever needed help ahead of himself. And, no, he didn't get professional help; he didn't even get unprofessional help. He got plopped right back in the middle of it all. Most people don't even believe the things we do are needed, so it puts a crimp in being able to get help. The, uh, guy who got him out might be the only guy my big brother has ever allowed to look after him. But that's the same guy who betrayed him later, and who just recently beat him and stole something damned important from him. His other friend, his war buddy who just died? Well, he was playing for the other side before, so I didn't trust him even though he got my brother back. Dean trusted him. Dean's pretty good at figuring people out."
"And, yeah, the thing we're working on right now, it is life or death for thousands of innocent people. So my brother is probably right, we shouldn't be so worried about anything except getting him on his feet and back out there doing what he is the best in the world at, saving people who don't even care whether he lives or dies. But you know what, Doctor Smith? I'm tired of giving everything, and I think my brother deserves better." There's a hitch in Sam's voice as he says this. "I don't know how he's held on as long as he has, and when he went catatonic…Well, Dean shattering is the last thing I ever expected. He has always been the strong one. I'm the waffler, the one who tries to quit, screws things up, makes it worse or falls apart, or who gets seduced over to the dark side. Dean's the only one who has never wavered in his commitment." Sam has to stop and cough. It takes some effort for him to catch his breath again, and he sits there quietly, appalled at himself for saying everything he just did out loud. Sam pushes his hair back and sighs. "I'm sorry. I've said too much," he begins.
Doctor Smith holds up her hand to stop him. "Don't be. This was obviously something you needed to say, and it's something I needed to know. It … complicates … things as far as your brother's recovery, and it makes me very sad for the both of you." The doctor sits quietly for a moment beside Sam, both of them watching the children play. Sam feels wetness on his cheeks and only then discovers he has been crying. Without a word, Doctor Smith hands him a tissue and gives him a little longer to regain his composure.
After the brief pause, Doctor Smith turns back to Sam. "This other guy your brother trusts? Is there any way he can get here to help? Dean is going to need someone to help take care of him - to get him to eat and rest, and to talk to when he's worried about you."
Sam shakes his head. "I tried to reach him, but I haven't heard back. I know it sucks but it's going to be just me and Dean."
The doctor stands up and gets ready to leave. "I'll see you in a few hours, Sam; and I know that you'd rather I just looked after your brother, but it seems like that is going to be up to you soon. You need someone to talk to too when you're worried about your brother, so you don't get so angry and unload on him. He's not going to be up for that for a while. Oh, and Sam, I expect you to fulfill the hug quota." Sam looks at her puzzled.
"At least four a day until further notice… Hugs are therapeutic, Sam. They convey a sense of safety, and they build self-esteem. They also help people overcome feelings of loneliness, anger, and isolation. I am prescribing hugs." Doctor Smith says this very firmly and with the mom sense that has always cowed the boys.
"Are you trying to get my arms broken?" asks Sam, a small grin pulling at the side of his mouth.
"Harrumph. Suck it up, Sam. It's medicine." And she walks off.
