Sam was no longer sure of who he could trust, least of all himself.

Spending the night freezing and strapped to a plastic mattress, he had an abundance of time to get lost in his own thoughts.

The world has yet again been turned on its head and he began to truly doubt his own perceptions of reality. It's easy to believe you've finally given up on him; you stuck around longer than he expected anyway. He always figured it was only a matter of time. It had never made sense that you were so committed and now you've finally washed your hands of him.

He's an idiot for letting any part of him believe you would ever do anything else.

And now he's alone, shivering in the black of night.

When they come for him the next morning, he knows it's going to be bad. There's little he can do as he's carefully wheeled out of the room, hands and feet secured to the frame by padded leather cuffs.

"Where are you taking me?" Sam asks, the panic quickly forming bile in this throat.

He gets no response, but soon enough discovers the answer as the bed is parked in small medical room. Dr. Goddard arrives promptly, flanked by two nurses who are engaged in a casual conversation about their weekend plans.

Everyone in the room goes on about their business like Sam's not even there. A cart is wheeled next to his bed, the wheels squeaking horribly as it's brakes are locked in place.

"What are you going to do to me?" Sam yells, teeth grinding as he strains against his bonds.

"There's no need to overreact. It sounds very dramatic, but the truth is I've used this kind of therapy for thirty years with great results. I'm sure you've heard of electro-shock therapy, but it's not nearly as barbaric as some others in my profession would have you think."

"Don't touch me," Sam snarls. He yanks his body to one side as a nurse approaches him with a pulse oxygen saturation monitor.

"If you're not going to cooperate, we'll just sedate you, Jared. You're forcing my hand."

"No!" Sam panics, thrashing to no avail as one of the nurses sticks his arm with a quick poke. While his mind continues to race, his body rapidly falls heavy until he's unable to move his limbs. He watches in desperation as a connection point is place on each temple.

"I want to speak to someone that can actually do something." Your voice is getting louder by the minute.

As a rule, you're rather demure. It's rare for you to make a scene because someone is always watching and you prefer not to attract attention. But as you stand at the reception and information desk at McLean Hospital, you're ready to throw a fit if someone doesn't start giving you answers.

"Ma'am, you're going to have to calm down." The girl working the desk clearly has no idea what she's doing. "I'm trying to pull up his information, but it's in a file I don't have access to."

"I don't give a shit," You hiss. "Go find someone who can access it and do it now!"

You're agitated and spoiling for fight as you tap your foot on the hard tile floor. This has to be some kind of a joke. For the last six months you've been in daily contact with Dr. Goddard and his team, only to be complete shutout over the last twenty four hours.

Yesterday's meeting with Dr. Harold ate at you all night and when both of refused to take your call this morning, you drove straight here.

"Miss Goodchild," Comes a warm voice from behind you. You turn to find a handsome, bespectacled man in his late forties. He extends his hand and you just look at it. "It's such a treat to meet you. I heard rumblings you might have ties to a in-house patient but we don't like to violate privacy by talking about those things-"

"Who are you?" You cut him off.

"Doctor Bernard Thompson, President of the Board of Directors. Let's step into my office, shall we? I'm sure we can get things sorted out."

You follow him down a short hallway that leads into his spacious, modern office. Ignoring your level of agitation, you stiffly take a seat in the chair across from his desk.

"I don't mean to be rude, but I'm confused and frankly becoming concerned. Yesterday, I was told there was incident with my fiancé. Dr. Goddard did call last night to explain that Jared was in isolation and I'm not allowed to speak with him. Now, no one is returning my calls. I'm not comfortable with no contact, Dr. Thompson. I need to be able to at least talk to Jared over the phone."

"I understand your concern, but we have rules in place when certain behaviors are exhibited. I may not even be able to overrule a no-contact order. Dr. Goddard runs a tight department but I can assure you he sees some of the best results-"

"I must not be making myself clear." You stand up, taking a moment to chose your words and gather courage. "I'm not asking for an exception. I'm telling you I want to speak to my fiancé and it needs to happen now."

"Miss Goodchild, please, let's just take breath. How about I pull up his file and we can go over the details while I put in a request for Dr. Goddard to come and speak with you. It's hospital policy to go over detailed treatment plans to avoid this very thing. I'm sorry if that hasn't happened."

Powerless to do anything else you wait what seems like eternity for as Bernard clicks through files on his computer. He's babbling about protocols when he stops short, leaning closer to his screen. You can see the light from the screen reflecting in his glasses when he looks up at you.

"According to what I'm reading here, when you spoke with Dr. Harold yesterday she went over the course of treatment for Mr. Padalecki."

"She didn't get into specifics. I agreed to give Dr. Goddard the freedom to adjust his medications…she said that it's the same treatment as when he was first admitted."

"Well, this isn't my case and I don't know the treatment details. I trust that you and Goddard have your fiancé's' best care in mind. " He stops, reading the screen, concern apparent at whatever he's seeing. "I just want to be sure that you understand both the benefits and possible side effects of this kind of therapy. To be honest, it's not something I was aware we were administering onsite. I know this kind thing can be hard, especially when you're a caregiver making medical decisions, but this sort of treatment can be...looked at differently in hindsight. I would hate to second guess Dr. Goddard without knowing the full details of this case, but while electroconvulsive therapy has shown to be effective in some-"

"Excuse me." You're not sure you heard him correctly. "Electroconvulsive therapy?"

Thompson is semi-distracted, reading through the rest of Jared's file as you stand up, ready to lunge over the desk.

"It says right here, Dr. Harold cleared it with you yesterday-"

"I-I would never agree to that." You're short of breath as anger rises becoming heat in your cheeks. "I have no idea what kind of shit you people are trying to pull here, but I want to see Jared now or I swear to God my first two calls will be to my lawyer and CNN."

Five Years Ago

The afternoon after your initial meeting, you were sitting across from Jared in the corner of a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop. Hidden under a ball cap and baggy sweatshirt, you picked at the edge of the muffin in front of you as he rambled happily about Texas heat and the juxtaposition of working in Vancouver.

Having a finely tuned judge of character meant your intuition normally sent up red flags when it came to new people. As you watched Jared's animated features, the way he laughed and smiled, there was nothing telling you to hold back.

He was handsome, funny and a great listener. He'd spent hours the night before talking about nothing, determined to keep your mind off of whatever had been bothering you. And he was true to his word - he never pushed you to answer a question you didn't feel comfortable answering.

"You okay?" His question snapped you to attention.

"Yeah, sorry, my mind is somewhere else today." You waved him off, sipping your latte.

"I'll take partial responsibility for that. I kept you out pretty late last night." His smile was all teeth, a bright beacon in a land where almost everyone was faking it. "We don't have to do this now, if you're tired-"

"No!" You rushed, more quickly that you should have. "I'm having a good time. I'm usually better company. I'm just out of practice, I guess. I don't get out much."

"Just say the word, I can keep talking 'till you're sick of me." His chuckle faded as he honed in you. "I'm not trying to push, but if you want to talk about what was bothering you last night, I'll listen. No strings attached, complete confidentiality."

Instead of replying, you twisted your hands in your lap while trying to decide how much you truly believed in your instincts.

"I don't trust very easily." You admitted, playing with the ornate ring around your middle finger. "I've been screwed over one too many times, by people I knew a hell of a lot better than you."

"I get it." He shrugged, sitting back in his chair. "And you don't have any real reason to trust me...but you you can. I have a lot of faults, but I'm loyal. I'll understand if you don't want to get into it, you don't know me."

But that was just it. While your logical mind didn't know him, you heart felt like it did. As if he'd been lurking the background your whole life and chose last night to finally step forward. Jared didn't feel like a stranger. Quite the contrary, it seemed like he'd always been with you.

"Are you going to hurt me?" The question tumbled out before you could stop it, taking you both off guard. You weren't a hundred percent sure in what capacity you were asking the question, but the implication was clear. The two of you had some sort of future together - perhaps friends, perhaps more - but you couldn't feel that far ahead yet.

Jared sat up, shifting his weight from side to side. He hesitated, but only for a second.

"No." He shook his head, reaching out and placing a hand palm down on the table top. "Never."

"I'm surrounded by people who distort the truth to get what they want from me and I can't have another person in life that's going to do that." Unsure of why you were dumping this admission on him, you wished you could take it back. He must've thought you're a primadonna.

"I won't." His promise was so simple that no one would understand why it felt so powerful. But his intent was tangible, tactile, as he stared you dead in the eyes.

You took a breath, running a finger around the edge of your coffee mug.

"I'm just so tired. I have to be careful of everything I say, everything I do. Every. . I can't eat what I want or wear what I want or go where I want, not without the world taking notice. It never used to bother me like this. I liked the attention for a long time, I revelled in it. Now it just...makes me feel sick."

"It's got to be hard." His forehead scrunched together, mouth twitching as he choose his words. "I don't know if I could deal. I have a hard enough time with my own situation."

"I brought this on myself." You shrug. "I should have made different choices."

"What happened last night?" He inquired again.

"I was once again reminded that people are shit." You pause and make the final decision. You know this is just the beginning of your journey with him, you can feel in your bones.

You tell him everything. You tell him about Ruth and the years of work you've poured into getting her story told. You explain about Porter, Rachel and the film, and the request for you to lose weight. When you're done, he just looks at you visibly bothered as his shoulders square off.

"Fuck that." He recoils, tapping his finger on the table. "Fuck them. You should never let anyone tell you that you need to be more of anything. Especially when you're perfect to begin with."

"Jared-" You felt the heat in your cheeks.

"You're beautiful, just look at you..." He's just as worked up as you were last night, sliding to the edge of his chair. "That's bullshit."

"Yes, but it's also life. My life. When I'm working and on location, I get lost in the bubble you know? I forget about the real world and then I come back here...it gets harder every time. I came to LA to chase my dreams. It's ironic how much I hate it here now."

Jared looks at you, starting to speak yet pausing before he continues. "You should come to Vancouver. Just for a week or two, just to get away. I love it up there, it's different."

"I can't just go to Vancouver-"

"Why not?"

You didn't have a real answer to that one.

"Because," you laughed, throwing up your hands. "Because I don't know you. I can't run away to Canada with some guy I've known for twenty four hours."

He grinned and peered at you with a look you'd come to well over the years.

"Why not?"

Present Day

You're flanked by Bernard Thompson and two other board members as they scurry down the hall toward Jared's room. If you were anyone else, you'd still be sitting in an office waiting for answers. But they're scared now. You have the power to make any grievance with the hospital very public and very messy.

You've already fired your warning shot.

The thick steel door is sealed closed and you wait with baited breath as a nurse fumbles at the keypad. You push forward, ignoring the request for a staff member to enter first, only to find a scene that stops your heart.

Jared's small, empty room smells of sweat and urine. The foul odor is only a precursor to the horrific sight of him on his back, strapped to a gurney with a bite plate still in his mouth. His hair is wet, matted to his forehead and there are tears leaking from the corners on his eyes, trailing slowly down his temple.

"Oh my God." You gasp, as the world spins.

"Unstrap him!" Dr Thompson shouts, moving forward himself to unfasten a buckle. "What the hell is going on here? Where is Dr. Goddard? Someone find him now!"

With the exception of Thompson, everyone else is the room seems to be frozen. But you're not. You're instantly pulling at the buckles on the cuffs, freeing one wrist, then the other as Jared turns you to with glazed eyes.

"Are you okay?" In hindsight it's a ludicrous question, but it's all you can think to ask.

Jared blinks, one of his eyes clearly hemorrhaged as red leaks all in all directions.

"I've been better."

Sam is in and out of consciousness for the next several hours. He can hear your voice calling to him from somewhere in the ether, and then the next thing he knows he's warm. Wrapped up like a baby and laying on a soft surface as fingers press into the side of his neck, checking his pulse. There's a series of muted voice, a conversation proceeding without him and then he slips back into the dark.

When his eyes open again, he momentarily thinks he's died.

As he opens his eyes, he's expecting to be bound and drugged in the claustrophobic hospital room that's been his home for months. But instead, his eyes flutter open to see an ornate lamp perched on a mahogany bedside table. Blinking himself awake, he takes a beat to just breathe in and out.

The mattress is soft, dipping under his weight as he rolls over to find you sleeping soundly beside him. Save for the hum of the air conditioner, there's only silence as he reaches out to touch your arm. He needed to know if you were real.

You jolt awake, eyes snapping open as you draw in a sharp breath.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep." You gasp, running a hand over your face and propping yourself on your elbows. "I wanted to be here when you woke up."

"You're here." He winces, a sharp pain shooting through his temple. "Where am I?"

"A hotel. You're safe." You grimace, reaching out to touch his cheek. He makes no move to stop you as you run a thumb along the line of his jaw, as if you too need reassurance that he's just as real. "I had a doctor, someone from Boston General, come up to make sure you were alright. She thinks you're going to be fine. She wanted you to be admitted but I said no."

"I don't remember how I got here." Sam confesses, letting his eyes close at the feeling your fingers stroking his jaw.

"I'm so sorry," You whisper, inching closer. "I didn't know what they were doing. I was trying to help you and I let them hurt you. This was my fault."

"I'm afraid I'm dreaming." His honesty prompts your lip to quiver and he reached up cupping your hand. "Do I have to go back?

"God, no. Never. I am so sorry, baby."

Sam's not sure what the right thing to say is. There's a part of him that want to comfort you - you're clearly in distress - but he's still in a fog and he can't get his thoughts in order.

"I think I need to sleep." He flops back onto the pillow, resting a hand on his chest and closing his eyes.

"Of course, you should get some rest." Your voice is hesitant.

When he feels you moving away from him, he asks, "Where are you going?"

"I, um, I-I didn't know how comfortable you'd be with me sleeping here..."

Sam turns his head to look at you perched on the edge of the bed.

"Stay with me," He mutters as heavy eyelids droop closed. "I don't wanna be alone."