Song Remains the Same
Chapter 85 / Sunny Meadows
"They keep me between these hollow walls."
- Dream Theatre
Daphne Allen picked her way along the wooded trail and breathed in deeply—the early morning November air was crisp and invigorating and made her feel in-tune with her soul like nothing else really did. Her hiking boots crunched softly on leaves below and the only other sound was a few singing birds and a distant wailing sound that Daphne thought was a cougar or maybe a fire engine. Other than that oddity, it was peaceful, quiet, and calm here in the arms of Mother Nature.
Although many of her friends had been worried about her little self-proclaimed 'pilgrimage retreat,' Daphne was very certain that this was the right thing for herself. She wasn't afraid of sleeping outside or camping by herself, and why should she be? God was watching over her. God had angels guarding her steps. These few days spent without the distractions of civilization were for spiritual renewal and inner reflection. Solitude and meditation were lost arts in modern society, but she mindfully practiced both.
At thirty-five years old, Daphne was not like most other women her age. She was unmarried without children, she was not an accomplished career-focused person and she had no real desire to be. Daphne was a woman of strong faith. She saw God in everything and everyone. She believed in love, peace, faithfulness, and helping others. She lived a simple life and believed that all religions were true and equal, and that all roads led to the same God. She worked at a herbalist shop, believed in the healing powers within the mind, and spent her free time volunteering, seeking self-awareness, and practicing ashtanga yoga.
Lost in her thoughts, as much of a daydreamer as she'd ever been, she didn't notice the signs that said to 'KEEP OUT' and she wandered past them to what she saw beyond: shimmering water. Water was something she was drawn to because of her dreams and visions. She'd dreamt the same dream for so long it seemed like forever: finding a man near water like this, a man who was meant to become her husband. She hadn't seen his face in the dreams, only knew he had dark hair and would be found by her someday, naked beside water and in need of help. She believed in these dreams and anxiously awaited the day when her dreams would come true. God had picked this mysterious man for her and Daphne trusted God. She was lonely, too, and yearned for the day she would have her life companion.
Daphne looked out across the lake, which she realized was man-made—she saw fencing on the far side to keep people out. Why? She glanced around, and that's when she saw him. A naked, soaking-wet man who was huddled in confusion on the nearby bank, frowning as if he had no idea what was happening to him. He didn't see her. Daphne's heart leapt and she gaped openly at the sight of him—he looked hurt and disoriented, and it was exactly how she'd seen it in her mind so many times before. "Oh!" she exclaimed, and he saw her then. Daphne stared—he was devastatingly handsome in a way she hadn't expected or foreseen. "Oh my. Are—are you all right?" she asked softly, breathless from surprise and a certain sort of excitement too. He had been put in her path just as it had been foretold!
He frowned and looked around vacantly, in a daze. When he spoke, his voice was deeper than she'd anticipated. "I'm… I'm… I don't know. I was… I was swimming, I think and… I can't remember." He was very puzzled, and his voice softened as he looked down in confusion. "Something bad happened."
Daphne noticed he was clutching something tightly in one of his fists and she couldn't tell what it was. "Whatcha got there?" she asked softly, trying to gauge him as she chanced going a little closer.
The man didn't seem to realize he'd been holding anything at all and he looked to his hand, opened it up, then was perplexed. "A… a penny," he said, frowning softly to himself. "On a chain. Is… is this mine?" he stroked a finger from his other hand across the surface of it curiously and Daphne eyed him openly. He had this innocence to him that she picked up right away on and loved. He was special. She knew it already and her heart went out to him.
But his state of amnesia was a little surprising. "Did you hit your head, maybe?" she chanced.
"I… I must have," the man replied softly, his voice a little tense with anxiety or fear as his eyes flickered back and forth in thought. "I… can't remember my name. Or what I was doing before this. Or anything." He looked up fully into her eyes for the first time then, and the startlingly crisp cobalt made Daphne weak in the knees. Such intensity in those eyes, such mystery and depth. She was intrigued, already in love, and so enraptured by him that she couldn't come up with a reply. And then, from somewhere far across the lake, a louder high pitched scream wailed and the mysterious naked man immediately looked toward it, his features deepening with worry. "Did… did you hear that?" he asked, listening hard. "Does—does someone need help?"
Daphne only had eyes and ears for this wonderful, strange mystery of a man in front of herself. "Yes—you do," she chided sweetly, then averted her eyes coquettishly. "And some clothes."
The nameless man looked down at himself and seemed to realize his state of nakedness. "Oh." Appearing mildly vexed and embarrassed, the man awkwardly tried to conceal himself.
Quite honestly, Daphne didn't entirely mind—his body was toned and muscular without being overbuilt, strong. His skin color was sun-kissed and looked warm, inviting of a touch. And he was… anatomically very nice to look at as well. "It's um… it's okay," she said, her heart flipping around inside of her chest as she tried not to blush or stare. He was beautiful, so much more than the visions had shown. "I'm… I'm Daphne." She smiled at this confused, lost, handsome man. Would he believe her if she said she knew they were fated to be married? Would he believe her if she told him she'd seen visions of this very moment? Instead of telling him right away, she settled on something more vague as to not frighten him. He was gazing across the lake with a worried frown on his face as the inexplicable wailing continued at hardly-audible levels—whatever animal or child was making that noise was getting farther away. Daphne gently vied for his attention and crouched to his level. "Do you believe in God?" she questioned softly.
The man paused and looked at her then frowned deeply and let his eyes drop in contemplation. Daphne drank in the way his face worked, the way his expression changed. "Yes," he said slowly, looking back to her. He seemed very guarded and cautious of her. She saw how uncomfortable he was to be naked. "Yes, I think I do."
Daphne's gentle smile was growing wider and she felt like she was glowing from the happiness growing inside of herself. "So do I." Soon, she would earn this man's trust and love. It didn't matter who he was to her… he was a child of God, and that was enough for her. "He tells me to help people."
The man studied her carefully, his features still very confused. "People like me?"
She nodded graciously, filled with compassion for this man. Her intuition told her he was gentle, kind, and very special. He seemed childlike in some inexplicable way to her and it attracted her to him, made her feel great empathy and care for him, a beautiful sense of responsibility to assist him and comfort him. "Yes. People like you." She gently touched the bare skin of his shoulder. He felt warm and firm, and he made her dizzy. It had been a long time since she had been with a man. He was obviously startled at her touch and he flinched away from her slightly as a frightened child might as his eyes looked into hers and wondered if she could be trusted or not. Trying to focus herself, Daphne was gentle and patient and motherly, indicating he stand and walk with her. "Come on. Let's get you dry and into some clothes before you get sick."
Castiel the angel, having forgotten who he was and what had happened, apprehensively let this strange woman with kind but somewhat glazed over eyes lead him away from there by the hand. Away from his Alex, whose screams he'd heard echoing across the lake and did not recognize. Away from answers, away from where he belonged. He remembered nothing at all of who he was. All he had was a coin on a chain and the feeling that something very, very important was missing and that he was going the wrong way.
…Four Weeks Later
"Now, a psychotic break typically occurs when a person experiences an episode of acute primary psychosis," said a clinical male voice.
Alex blinked a couple times, jarred and confused. She came out of a complete mental fog, and the only thing she knew was that she had no idea where she was or what was happening.
She was sitting in a stark office facing a middle-aged white man at a desk. He wore an official looking white doctor's coat. It smelled like medical disinfectant in this place and even though there was a window letting in warm sunlight, the office felt cold, sterile, and immediately intimidating. The doctor was reading off of a clipboard to her and from the way he was talking, it sounded like he'd been talking for awhile… but she had no recollection of anything prior to this very moment. She had never seen him before in her life. He kept reading languidly in a monotone as a pen lazily twirled between two fingers. "Psychosis, Miss Smith, refers to an abnormal condition of the mind, and is a generic psychiatric term for a mental state often described as involving a loss of contact with reality." He glanced over the rims of his glasses at her. "You with me so far?" Alex said nothing, just stared at him with an increasing feeling of anxiety growing in her stomach. Why was he telling her this? Where was she? Sam? Dean? She looked around for them with her eyes only and they were not there. Only a watchful and serious nurse waited nearby against the wall. "Good," the doctor said, taking Alex's dumbfounded silence as confirmation. Her heart rate was increasing slowly as her anxiety rose. "Now, continuing. Many things can cause temporary psychosis such as the kind you've displayed while here with us." He flipped over a page on his clipboard.
What, what? 'Here with us'? Here where? And who was us? Alex was confused and afraid as her stomach churned harder and harder. She couldn't remember much of anything—the last thing she coherently remembered was killing Eve—but… hadn't that been a long time ago? Her mind felt insanely garbled and she knew it without knowing at all: something is really, really wrong here. She tightened her fingers into the arms of the chair she sat in, wondering if she should attack or run away or remain very still and quiet. Where are my brothers? Where is Castiel?
"So what causes temporary psychosis or a mental break?" the doctor continued. He sounded vaguely bored, like he was reading off a to-do list. "Environmental triggers, such as losing a loved one, excessive stress, or the interaction of strong social demands with a pre-existing vulnerability of self." He waved his hand a few times errantly as he listed off his facts to lazily emphasis himself. "Other causes that have been identified include lack of sleep, fever, brain damage, physical trauma, PTSD, hypnosis, etcetera, etcetera. Now, there are many misconceptions out there about what a psychotic break is, Miss Smith. It's simply when reality becomes unbearable, the mind temporarily breaks underneath the pressure." He paused and looked at her, waiting for her to respond.
All Alex could do was stare with an utterly confused, alarmed frown on her face. Why the hell is he telling me all this? Where am I? Her anxious eyes drifted to his desk where she caught a glimpse of a professional letterhead. Upside down, she read it. Doctor J. Alan Schulz, M.D., Sunny Meadows Mental Health Center. Her chest tightened as it began to dawn on her. Oh… my… god.
"Keep in mind, just because you've suffered psychosis doesn't mean you're psychotic." The doctor's disinterested, slowly-spoken words kept coming and Alex sat there stupidly, feeling sluggish and numb both mentally and physically even though her heart was racing and her throat was closing up. "Now, onto our next item. The term 'dissociation' describes a wide array of experiences from mild detachment from immediate surroundings to more severe detachment from physical and emotional experience—you've displayed both. In mild cases, dissociation can be regarded as a coping mechanism or a defense mechanism in seeking to master, minimize or tolerate stress—many people disassociate by daydreaming or what have you, and it's quite normal to see at low levels in many individuals lives, especially children, students, those with attention deficit disorder. However, in more severe cases disassociating ceases to be an acceptable coping mechanism when the individual cannot control what is happening to them or how often they are disassociating—this is where you are right now Miss Smith."
Me? What? Alex felt like his words were almost a foreign language and she looked around behind herself in growing alarm. He had to be talking to someone else. This was a joke or a bad dream or something—psychosis? Disassociation? The doctor droned on as Alex continued to grow more and more anxious and sick feeling. "Now, to our third diagnosis. Panic attacks are periods of intense fear or apprehension. They usually begin abruptly, may reach a peak within ten to twenty minutes, but can continue for hours in some cases. Experiencing a panic attack has been said to be one of the most intensely frightening, upsetting, and uncomfortable experiences of a person's life and may take days to initially recover from as you yourself can attest to. Repeated panic attacks are considered a symptom of panic disorder."
Alex stared at him in vague horror as he looked at her then over those huge, coke-bottle glasses of his and apparently waited for her to speak. She felt like her mouth was made out of cotton. "I… I don't…" she stammered dumbly. Her tongue was heavy. Was she drugged? "W-why are you telling me all of this?" she managed, ready to run at a moment's notice.
Gentle, patient, but somehow still clinically detached, the doctor set down the clipboard and folded his leathery hands across it as he looked at her evenly. "Because, Miss Smith, since you've been admitted here with us you've been displayed all three of the psychological conditions I've just described and one more we haven't even gotten to yet." He looked at her in deep observation. "…Do you not remember being admitted here?"
Alex didn't, and it terrified her. So she lied. "No, I, I remember," she said, swallowing thickly, thinking a million miles an hour and trying to piece together the puzzle she was presented with. The room was so hot and her head was light, her lungs couldn't seem to get enough air. "But… h-how long have I been here?"
The doctor seemed to see through her lie easily. "Hmm," he commented in response, saying nothing for a long moment as he sat back in his chair. "Two weeks, Miss Smith. And we've seen mild improvement but your panic attacks are still too frequent for our liking. And the disassociating is very beyond your own control, which we're working on. These things take time, but the medication should be curbing them." He turned slightly to the other person in the room. "Nurse, I think we might want to look at reevaluating her dosage."
Alex had only heard one thing out of everything he said. "Two weeks?" she repeated in a soft, terrified voice. "Where are my brothers, where is my h—?" she stopped short, confused and horrified as it began to flood her mind, the memories of what had happened—she remembered it all with startling, crippling suddenness. Cas working with Crowley, the lies and the breakup, learning about the lost baby, the way the shit had hit the fan, Cas killing her, the Purgatory souls, Sam broken, Dean and Bobby dead, Destroyer dragging her around the world and subjecting her to abuse and neglect… then nearly raping her using Castiel's body… and the panic overwhelmed her to the point that she couldn't breathe, she couldn't see, and all she could think was my brothers left me, they left me, why would they leave me?! "They wouldn't just leave me here," she wheezed, unable to breathe deeply or fully as she shot up to her feet and found herself canting sideways from dizziness. But the worst thing of all: "I can't remember—I can't remember!" She caught herself on the edge of the desk with both hands to keep herself from falling. The nurse was near, hovering carefully and ready to catch her fall at a moment's notice.
The doctor had stood up too. "More than likely, you can remember," he said firmly and clearly. "But as you told me yesterday, you don't want to."
Backing away from this stranger who kept talking like she knew him, Alex felt very much like a caged animal. "You have to let me out of here—" she rasped. "You have to let me see my brothers—!"
The doctor did not pursue her or present himself to her in any way that would be hostile or forceful. "Alex, we've talked about this," he said in a sensitive if patronizing way. "You signed yourself into this program of your own free will—your brothers were with you when you were admitted."
Alex's face fell. She didn't remember that and she was abruptly so afraid that she really had lost her mind. She backed up more, hitting up against a shelf and sending all kinds of knickknacks clattering to the floor. "You're lying, you're lying!" she accused, her chest heaving from effort to breathe right. This wasn't real, it couldn't be. And then she remembered the lake—Cas walking into deep, cold water as the Leviathans controlled his body yet again—and her heart seized up, she panicked and nothing else mattered—she had no sense of time or self, just a feeling like she would die if she couldn't get rid of some of the heart-stopping panic she felt. "He's drowning—he's drowning and we didn't help him, oh no—no no no—and the Leviathan—t-they got out! We have to stop them! Someone has to stop them!"
She made a break for the door and at this point the nurse moved into her way and stopped her—said something about calming down and 'taking deep breaths like we've practiced'—but Alex did not calm down. Cas was drowning and her brothers were far away and she couldn't be in this place. She fought hard, screaming her mind-numbing internal terror out so loudly she thought she might pass out from the effort it took to make the noise altogether. A moment of chaos ensued, and two more nurses rushed in, one big and male and strong—and then Alex was held down and she felt a needle jab into a vein and her panicked noises and delirious shouts subsided into an ironically soft, tired laugh. Euphoria and calm and nothingness washed over her, and she felt herself smiling contentedly as every bad feeling melted away into numbness and quiet.
She didn't care about anything anymore as the drugs shot through her bloodstream. She didn't know much, but she knew not caring was a blessed relief.
A Few Weeks Ago
Two very tired brothers stood in the doorway of the darkened study and observed their finally-sleeping sister. She had been sitting silently on the couch all day and half of the night. Finally, finally she had lost the fight and nodded off for the first time since Cas died… which had been four full days ago. Slumped and sprawled awkwardly with a leg hanging off the couch, she was hugging Cas's dirty, blood-stained trench coat in a wad to herself. The only thing that remained of him. She had refused to let go of it ever since she had gotten a hold of it.
Watchful of her and looking as beat up and sick as they felt, her brothers said nothing for a very long time. Sam had scratches on his face and a good bruise on his cheek, Dean had a busted lip and a black eye. Their wounds were from restraining her and pulling her back those four days ago. When Cas walked into that lake, something seemed to have completely broken inside of their sister. As the mindless panic had escalated and escalated, they'd ended up having to rush her to a hospital because she had clutched her chest and gasped that she was having a heart attack, that she was dying, and for a little while, Sam and Dean really thought she was going to die.
It turned out to have been a severe panic attack and she was given a prescription for anti-anxiety medication and the strong counsel to seek professional help. Dean of course had immediately condemned that suggestion—he was against 'loony bins' as he put it. There had been two more attacks since, each more terrifying than the last. Sam and Dean and Bobby were all completely beside themselves at her and they were sleep-deprived, on edge, and feeling half-insane themselves. When Alex wasn't having a panic attack, she spent the rest of the time being withdrawn and not mentally there, mostly unresponsive to the world around her.
It was terrifying to see her like that. Sam and Dean were both completely exhausted and at the end of their ropes.
"I've never seen her like this before," Dean finally murmured, and his voice was weary, tense, void of much hope. "I've never seen anyone like this." He leaned on one doorpost and Sam was opposite of him. Bobby's house was quiet and dark, lit only by dim moonlight from outside
"Me either." Sam sounded similarly lacking in hope. He glanced at his brother, who let out a ragged sigh and retreated into the kitchen as he rubbed his face tiredly. Sam watched him a second, not moving from where he leaned against the office doorpost. Dean started some coffee, apparently going to stay up the rest of the night to make sure Alex was all right. "So… what do we do?" Sam questioned quietly.
Dean was surly and threw a sharp little look at his brother. "What do you mean, what do we do?"
Just as tired and on edge as his brother, Sam didn't mask his annoyance at Dean's tone. "We can't keep this up," he said, because he knew he sure as hell couldn't with the shape he was in. "I mean, we're not exactly experts on mental health, Dean," he pointed out curtly.
That earned him a pointed, rude look. "Oh, don't talk to me about mental health, Sam." Dean slammed the coffee carafe into the coffee maker with more force than necessary.
Immediately defensive and insulted because he knew where his brother was going with this, Sam pressed his mouth into a thin line and unfolded his arms. "Dean—"
"You're the one who decided to relapse on the demon blood, Sam!" Dean hissed in a forceful whisper, wheeling and abandoning the coffee making. "You're the one tripping Hell's Bells and seeing Satan everywhere!"
Even more irritated and insulted than before, Sam was wan and caustic. "Yeah, I didn't forget, Dean," he retorted, restraining himself to a soft, angry whisper as their sister slept nearby. "You don't have to throw it in my face—I'm fine as far as the demon blood goes, it's under control, I didn't drink enough to get hooked again… and I'm handling the Lucifer thing. Just because I'm having trouble doesn't mean my viewpoint isn't valid!" When all he got was an immature eye roll from his brother, Sam swung an arm out toward their sister angrily. "I mean look at the facts, Dean!" he exclaimed as loudly as he could while still keeping his voice low. "It's been four days since Cas died. She won't eat, this is the first time she's slept, she barely says anything, she's still having panic attacks…" his anger abruptly gave way to earnestness and slight despair. "I'm worried."
Dean was the one who seemed insulted now. "What and I'm not?"
Sam wet his lips, reigning in a confrontational retort and a huffy reaction. Their exhaustion and hopelessness was pitting them against each other, and right now they needed to try and stick together instead of fall apart. "I just think if we don't get her professional help she could get worse, and then what?"
Dean looked positively aghast. "'Professional help'?" he repeated, then quickly became furious. "You know what those con artists would do, Sam? Pump her full of pills and dumb her down to a damn diagnosis on a sheet of paper then lock her away where she doesn't bother society! Yeah, you're right, that's just what she needs!" He jabbed a finger toward her where she slept on the couch, trying to keep his voice down. "What she needs right now is family. You and me."
"Right, because we have our shit together," Sam replied sarcastically. "What can you give her that's gonna help, Dean?" he challenged, becoming almost scathing as he continued. "'Cause I got nothing and there's more to dealing with this stuff than with a shot glass!"
Deans face became stony at that remark. "That's low, Sammy."
Mild regret showed even though Sam tried to appear unaffected. "Well now you know how I feel," he said quietly, excusing his behavior with stone-for-stone psychology. He abandoned that train of thought and refocused the conversation because he was so tired he thought he might fall over and he didn't want to fight anymore. "I'm trying to say, you and me—we're not poster kids for well-adjusted and our track record for actually helping people is kind of horrible—we get half the people we try and help killed and I mean right now, look at us. I'm… I'm falling apart and barely managing, you're a mess—"
"I'm fine, Sam!" Dean interrupted roughly, momentarily raising his voice before remembering himself. His voice lowered back down to a harsh, hissing whisper. "I wake up, I do my job, I keep it together, and I'm fine because I have to be!" He set his brother with a defiant glare. "What's your excuse?"
Sam pulled an oh-please face at his brother. "You're not fine," he said, then softened as he thought about how scared Dean had to be. He wasn't admitting it (did he ever?), but Sam could tell. And he tried to be the bigger person, tried to reach out to him, tried to make his brother feel safe enough to be genuine. "Don't be like that, man. Don't shut out one of the few people left who cares about you. None of us are okay right now. After what happened…? How could we be?" Dean said nothing, just looked away and tightened his jaw. Sam waited, then when there was continued silence, he tried again to commiserate and connect with his brother. "This is my worst nightmare, Dean. All of it." His throat tightened as he thought about it. He was angry, so angry at everything happening but more than that he was miserable and grieving. It was almost like Alex was just… gone. And Sam had always feared this life would destroy her. What were they supposed to do now? It felt too late. "You know I've never wanted this life for her—I always wanted her out of the hunting and the killing and the danger because I was so afraid of something like this happening." Guilty and still silent, Dean's eyes were on Alex's sleeping shape in the other room. Sam pointed at her and let his voice convey how strongly he felt on the subject matter. "What she's doing right now? It's not normal grieving. It's not. After everything she's been through, it's a wonder she's not on a bridge somewhere ready to jump off."
Dean's eyes snapped back to Sam and he looked positively shocked, indignant, and angry at that conclusion, like he couldn't believe Sam would say that. But Sam knew some things that Dean didn't, like a miscarriage. It was serious with Alex and Sam knew he had been almost mentally broken many times in his life. In all honesty, Sam had never known how Dean and Alex could hold it together like they did. He wasn't sure how much loss and trauma someone could take, but Alex had been subjected to devastating amounts in a very brief amount of time and Sam was ill at the thought of not helping her through the emotional shit-storm she'd been thrown into. But he didn't know how to help her personally—he was so fucked up and seeing Lucifer regularly now, sometimes as Nick, sometimes as Alex, sometimes as himself… and it was the most horrific and isolating thing Sam had ever known. He had told Dean parts of it, but he was ashamed of the things the Alex manifestation of Lucifer made him see and he couldn't bring himself to tell his brother about that. Sam swallowed thickly and looked at Dean in all seriousness, refocusing his thoughts onto his sister's dire condition. "So if you don't man up and let go of your stupid pride or whatever this is and get her some help, then I will," he promised intensely, a little more confrontational than he meant. "Because I will never be able to live with myself if she needed what you were too proud to let her have."
Sam apparently set his brother off with that statement. "This isn't about pride, what are you talking about?!" Dean's face was twisting up in flabbergasted fury as he shook from how upset he was. "Don't you dare imply I don't care or I don't see how bad this is! Do you really think I'm that damn selfish? You and Alex are my job, you're my life, I keep you safe and alive and okay!"
"Well just in case you haven't noticed neither of us is okay!" Sam retorted hotly before his eyebrows pressed into together into an earnest, pleading expression. "And you know what? You're not the savior of the world, Dean! You're human like me, like her, like Bobby. You don't have all the answers. No one does, and if you keep putting that insane pressure on yourself the next thing you know you'll be the one losing your mind!" He was left mildly breathless from his impassioned appeal and unstable emotions.
Dean's expression was dark and hard to read. "Okay, look," he said in a flat and authoritative tone. "Maybe I don't have all the answers, but I have one and it's this: No. No psych wards, no crazy houses, no. Not now, not ever."
Sam's jaw tightened. "You need to be more open-minded."
"I'm open-minded as hell!" Dean retorted sourly.
"Right," Sam replied flatly. "Well, at least you're humble."
"Gimme a break," Dean muttered, shaking his head and walking off a few steps to cool down. He stood there with his back to Sam for several beats and then without warning, he turned around and his face was completely open and vulnerable and wretched, startling Sam. "I just—why would she love him, Sam?" he asked, voice wavering and breaking. "Why? Especially after what he did? I thought I knew her, man. I thought she was smarter, I thought she was stronger." Dean looked almost near tears as he turned his face toward the window and tried to get control over his emotions. Sam felt for his brother deeply and identified. "It's like Cas destroyed her, Sam. Like he did something no one can ever fix and I just… this is my fault. How could I have allowed it? How could either of us have ever allowed it?" He looked at Sam with eyes that were lost and full of defeat.
Sam shook his head, out of answers. "We didn't know," he said softly.
Dean, at his wit's end, gave a soft pssh sound. "Speak for yourself. I knew it was a bad idea," he said with sick certainty, not taking even an ounce of comfort from what Sam had said. "I always knew that. But I was trying to be the 'bigger person' and trying to 'be respectful.'" He emphasized those terms with a voice laced in utter distaste. "Bunch of bullshit. I should have known better."
Filled with empathy and sadness, Sam shook his head softly. "Dean, Alex was always gonna make her own choices," he said. "You couldn't control that any more than you could stop me from going away to college." Dean shut his eyes briefly and turned his head down at that sore subject. Even after all these years, Stanford still got to Dean. Sam soldiered on, feeling badly about bringing it up. "But why are we so surprised at who she chose?" he asked. "I mean, look at the life she lived. How she grew up. Dad taught us to follow orders and accept emotional abuse as the norm… she was raised to roll over and take things, to love people who controlled her. It… it makes sense that she'd gravitate to that, right?" He sighed softly as Dean's face held in a sickened, stunned expression, like he'd never thought of it like that before. Sam indicated himself and Dean vaguely. "None of us have had any luck in the romance department. Seems like the Winchesters just don't win in that area." Dean looked miserable and ill as Sam let his eyes go toward the study again where Alex was. "I just wish we would have known what Cas was capable of," he said quietly, confusion bubbling up. He could never have predicted this and was so confused about how it had all turned out. He also felt angry, bitter, disillusioned, and most of all, sad. "I… I really actually thought he was good enough for her for awhile there. He… he really did love her in the beginning." And even when he'd last seen them together before Cas returned the souls to Purgatory, all Sam had seen from Cas was this wretched, despairing love in the angel's eyes. Sam didn't understand. He wanted to be furious, but all he could currently bring himself to feel was defeated and forlorn.
Dean's face was like a mask. "You don't kill people you love," he replied tightly, and there was so much anger and self-loathing beneath that mask. Shaking his head as he fought off a sick expression, he looked near tears again. "I wish I could go back in time, man. I'd find a way to keep all this from happening."
Sam knew Dean always held himself responsible for everything and wished he knew how to tell his brother some things just needed to be let go for his own good. "You can't fix everything, Dean," he counseled, already knowing Dean wouldn't even listen.
Darkening and hardening, Dean's reply was typical. "Well, I can try."
Sam was saddened and frustrated by his brother's reaction even though he had predicted it. "Look," he sighed, so tired he could barely stand. "Past is in the past. What about what we have to work with now?" He softened his voice just a little more. "She's not gonna be able to hunt like this. She's not. You know that. So what's our game plan?" She needed help and healing. How was she supposed to get that from one brother who was hallucinating the devil and the other one who was an alcoholic in denial? And what about the Leviathans? They had to lock them back up or kill them before they could just up and abandon hunting or whatever.
Dean looked like a war-torn, world weary man who hadn't slept his entire life. It seemed like one more thing on his shoulders would break him down completely. But he just took Sam's question in stride and thought a second, then began to spiel out a weary game plan. "We—we gank these Levi-a-whatsits—"
"Leviathans," Sam interjected tiredly.
Dean looked like he couldn't give two craps but he half-rolled his eyes and took the correction. "Leviathans—and then… I dunno." He let out a deep, stressed out breath and threw a loose hand up like he was out of ideas. "Take some time off hunting to get Al where she needs to be."
Sam considered. No mention of professional, clinical help for Alex, which he disliked. But he would just present that idea again to Dean at a later point. Or just take matters into his own hands if he had to. Sam avoided mentioning it and decided to point out the obvious. "Well that sounds good in theory but we don't know how long this Leviathan thing will last," he said. "Or how to kill them. Or how many there were in there. Had to be a lot to make Cas's body explode or whatever." He didn't want to be negative, but he couldn't find many positives either. It felt too big for just him, Dean, and Bobby. "I got a feeling this is gonna be a tough one," he said heavily, feeling the impossible weight and responsibility on his conscience. It always seemed to get darker and worse for him and his family. Where was the light at the end of the tunnel? It felt like no matter what they did, they just got sucked further down into a pit there was no escaping from.
"That's why this is priority one, Sam." Dean said it like this hunt was his one lot left in life. "You and me and whatever other hunters we can rally gotta take care of these goopey bastards pronto. Maybe James will help again, huh? I got a few others we can maybe call."
Sam glanced into the study again, worried as hell about what was going to happen in the foreseeable future. Part of him wanted to just take his sister somewhere that she could get real help now, another part of him was afraid maybe Dean was right and Alex needed them more than anything else. Sam didn't know and he was so afraid of making a mistake that would leave her mentally scarred forever. And honestly he was so mentally messed up himself… what if he couldn't make it much longer either? What if the hallucinations and the self-doubt and the incestuous visions the devil kept attacking him with got worse? Sam didn't think he could handle it. And yet, despite his own fears, he was even more fearful for his twin. "I just want her to be okay, Dean," he said, feeling younger and smaller than he was and so, so helpless. "She's fucking catatonic. Doesn't that bother you?"
Dean smiled tightly, an expression that had no joy or happiness to it whatsoever, only pain. "All of this bothers me," he said.
Sam straightened and swallowed a thick lump in his throat. He needed to try and sleep or he might crack in half too. It felt like not much else could be accomplished that night. And there would be nightmares. Unspeakable things he couldn't mention to anyone, ever. Trying not to think about that, Sam tiredly glanced his brother's way. "Gonna try and get some shut eye," he said. "You got this?"
Dean nodded tiredly. "Yeah. Get some rest, kiddo." Sam smiled ever-so-softly at that nickname. Sometimes, Dean didn't seem to remember that Sam was a full grown man. Sometimes, Sam forgot too. As he turned to shuffle out of the kitchen, Dean's voice stopped him. "Sammy." Sam turned, curious at the tone of voice Dean used. His brother seemed apologetic to some degree or almost embarrassed. "Sorry if I haven't said it already but… I know going through it alone—or, you know, without family—had to be hard." He looked at Sam and gave him a few little nods and approving, softer eyes. "You did us proud."
Warmed inside, feeling seen and appreciated for the first time in awhile, Sam felt himself smiling genuinely even through his worry and pain. "Thanks Dean. But I didn't do it alone."
Dean nodded. He knew. And maybe he said this next thing for his own benefit: "We're gonna get through all this, little brother, you hear me?"
Sam felt better because Dean telling him that always had a calming effect. "Yeah."
Dean waited until Sam's footsteps had faded away and he went into the study and leaned against the desk, studying Alex for a few minutes. Without someone watching him, Dean was finally free to despair, and despair he did. He felt more and more lost every day here lately. He was still in shock over what was happening and so, so sad. Sam was a mess, seeing Lucifer everywhere and barely sleeping, Alex was a broken shell and didn't respond normally to anything. Dean blamed himself for all of it, he knew no way of fixing things, and he was at a complete dead end inside. How was one brother supposed to know how to fix all these problems with his siblings? How was one man supposed to stow such impossible baggage and hurts and fears to stay strong? "I'm tired, Al," he whispered into the darkness even though she slept. He put a hand on his face and wished he didn't have to be the strong one, wished he had some damn answers, wished he didn't feel so terrified. "I'm so tired. I take care of you two but who takes care of me?" He shuddered at himself and then got irrationally angry with his feelings and pushed his sadness down into the fire of fury. "Fucking hell, where is the goddamn whiskey when you need it?" he raged in a coarse mutter, already heading to the kitchen to find his most necessary medication.
As he crankily fumbled around in the kitchen for alcohol, his sister stared up at the ceiling blankly. Alex had slept for maybe two minutes, then woken up again to the sound of her brothers arguing about what to do with her. She'd heard most of their conversation and as she stared into darkness now, she was overwhelmed with guilt, pain, and shame in a brief moment of clarity. Everything they had said had stabbed knives of pain into her already destroyed heart because it made her feel like she was burdening and hurting and wronging her brothers simply by feeling how she felt—her condition was making their lives harder and their problems all the more profound. And she was so terrified because she didn't know how to escape herself. How do I stop? Alex tightened her arms around the lump of Cas's trench coat and her heart ached in her chest because she knew how pathetic she was and how weak. Silent, hot tears dripped out of her eyes.
I don't like who I am anymore. I hate what's happened to me.
Why would they still love me or care? They should tell me how stupid and selfish I am, how far gone. They should leave me, lock me away somewhere. I deserve to be left. I deserve to suffer. I don't want to inconvenience them anymore. I don't want to be another mess they have to clean up.
I shouldn't even be alive. Not if this is who I am.
Alex remembered herself as once being a girl who knew how to get through life. She remembered herself being smart, strong, and good under pressure. Intrepid and ballsy and able to shoulder dysfunction and pain like a pro. And now, she had lost her grip. She'd been cracked before Cas because of a lifetime of pressure, loss, pain, and trauma. Then Cas rebuilt her, gave her insurmountable hope for the future, and softened her where she'd been hard and guarded. He'd taken her high and then suddenly disappeared, now she had crashed down under the weight of reality and was left destroyed. She couldn't look her family in the eye without knowing how inadequate she was, how much of a difficulty and a strain she added, how stupid she was. Alex despaired at herself, at what had happened, and how she had no idea of how to carry on or to cope.
How long had passed since Castiel walked into the lake? Alex didn't know, but even the word 'lake' made her throat tight with alarm. I'm okay, she tried to soothe herself. I'm not losing my mind. I'm fucking FINE. But Alex knew she wasn't. She remembered the past few days very vaguely… she remembered coming in and out of clarity between going to this dark, blank nowhere inside of herself that was safe, distant, and hollow in a way that comforted her. She remembered being in a hospital and feeling like she was dying from a heart attack. She remembered Sam having a couple episodes of near panic of his very own. She remembered Bobby trying to talk to her and Alex hadn't heard a word he said. But mostly she remembered shutting herself off to the outside world. Sometimes on purpose, other times without even realizing it which was scary. But at this particular moment, she was left feeling her feelings again and it was too much—it was like being covered in ants all over, and she couldn't shake off the emotions that were crawling over every inch of her and suffocating her to death. I don't want to feel.
But feel she did. She was filled with sorrow, she was angry, confused, hurt, torn in half, and ripped apart. She didn't know herself anymore. So many conflicting, opposing thoughts warred inside of her mind, leaving her to be riddled by the crossfire. She hated herself for loving the one who had broken Sam, who had killed Dean and Bobby and her. She hated herself because she knew those things happened to her family because of her when all was said and done. At the exact same time, Alex mourned Castiel's loss and refused to accept it… but she also thought he deserved to die. All at the same time. And all of those thoughts wrecked her so completely. She clenched his coat tighter, unable to despise him for long, even after he had done what he did.
What is wrong with me?
Wanting to blame someone besides herself for it all, Alex felt herself getting more and more physically riled up. Her breathing was getting more and more labored, her heart was beginning to speed up. She wanted to scream at and shake Castiel and demand to know how the hell he could ever even be capable of those atrocities, the things he had done to her and her family. But she would forever remain in the dark and left to guess. Because he was dead.
That thought made her throat constrict and she suppressed a sob valiantly. Her first love, however bitter. Her hopes and dreams had been tied to him. Her love and affection for him and her desire for him to be there with her even now flooded her heart and Alex shut her eyes tightly as her face twisted up in misery. How do I un-love you? You promised me the world and then left me and I hate you for that. You violated every trust I put in you, you hurt me and my family. You destroyed everything. So how the hell do I still want you here with me?
Memories of him saturated her mind and increased all the pain she was feeling a hundredfold. She wanted him to be there with her so badly, wrong or right. She could conjure his voice in her mind, she could imagine him holding her, and it absolutely murdered her mind and heart to do that to herself. Was this what it was like to be a drug addict? Dependent and addicted to the thing that was slowly going to kill you?
Alex tried again to suppress a sob because she didn't want Dean to hear. She didn't want anyone to know how much it hurt. She didn't want to bother her brother, she didn't want to be his burden. And then Alex began to think about her family—and she was taken back to those two weeks of knowing Dean and Bobby were dead and Sammy was by himself and Alex lost the ability to breathe. She was abruptly stricken by terror that she would lose them again—one or all—and Alex absolutely could not take someone else leaving. Unbidden, she remembered Dean laying dead and stiff on a motel room bed a few days ago and Alex was utterly petrified at the memory.
Her heart began to race at top speed as a sudden, suffocating feeling of panic and alarm gripped her tightly. She shot straight up, gasping for air like she was drowning. She threw Cas's coat away from herself, fell onto all fours to the floor and lost vision as another panic attack began. She heard Dean dropping things and rushing to her but she tried to push him away—she was scared to death of what was happening to her and didn't want anyone else to see. No no no no she heard herself saying over and over again.
Sam and Bobby found them huddled on the floor together a couple minutes later. They were both woken from the noise of it. Dean was trying to get Alex to breathe and calm down. None of them slept that night after all.
The Next Day
It had been five days since Emmanuel had been found lakeside by Daphne.
Because he had no name, no recollection of who he was or what his name might be, Daphne suggested a few days ago that he find a name for himself that was suitable and of his choosing. At her suggestion, he had visited a baby name website and done just that. He selected Emmanuel—'God with us.' It seemed right to him even if not much else did.
Daphne was very understanding and very kind to let an unknown stranger with amnesia into her life and home. Sometimes, Emmanuel wondered if he should find it odd or unsettling that she was so willing and even eager to open her home to him. But he had other things he found worrying about himself…
For example, he never grew hungry or thirsty, but he ate and drank when Daphne did so that she would not be afraid or think he was defective (which, he wondered if he was). He never slept—ever—at all. He seemed to have no need of showers or personal hygiene. He wondered if perhaps that lake had done something to him or if he were some kind of government experiment. He shared none of these concerns with Daphne, who coincidentally was the only human being he'd interacted with much for the past six days.
She gardened, she knit and practiced yoga, she worked at an herbalist shop (but had taken the past few days off to care for him). She enjoyed cooking for him, asking him many philosophical questions, and she spoke very often about her ideas on marriage and God. The purpose of those topics mystified Emmanuel, but he was too polite to question her.
Emmanuel sometimes caught sight of Daphne in the house with her back turned to him and he found himself feeling something strange. When all he saw was dark brown hair, something stirred in him. But then she would turn around and her face seemed wrong. Emmanuel couldn't say why he felt the way he did. He kept the penny he had been clutching when he dragged himself out of the lake close. When he grew anxious or confused, he slipped his hand into his pocket and held onto it. He wondered if he would ever remember who he was. Perhaps, as Daphne said, this could be God's path for him. A new slate. Although he wanted to know what he was. Who he was.
At the current time late afternoon on the weekend, he and Daphne had walked to the nearby gas station to buy eggs—Daphne fussed that they wouldn't be 'free range' but lamented that there was no time to go to some place of whole foods. Emmanuel wasn't sure. He didn't feel in his element half the time, he almost felt like life and culture and everything she did was alien to him.
As Emmanuel waited for Daphne to buy the eggs at the counter, he glanced at the little television in half-interest. "Scientists have no explanation for what astronomers can only describe as a surprise eclipse." Emmanuel was briefly intrigued. Daphne had no television at her house and she had told him she found news to be too evil and dark—she did not read papers or keep up with current world events. She had many books on mysticism and Buddhism, though.
Emmanuel browsed the candy aisle idly, not recognizing anything and wondering why. Perhaps he had been like Daphne in his past life… unwilling to eat anything that was not from Mother Earth's arms. And then he caught sight of a blue and white wrapped baked good and he felt a lurch of thrilling recognition and he immediately took hold of the crinkling plastic packet, staring as a smile grew on his face. "I… I like these!" he announced, breathless with excitement as he looked at Daphne, who had come to his side. She never went far. "I remember I like these!" He was elated because he had finally remembered something about himself. He knew he had liked these. Loved, maybe.
Daphne looked at the confection with a slight cringe. "Well, you shouldn't," she chided with a gentle smile, taking the Hostess Cupcakes from him. "There's more chemicals in these than anything else, Emmanuel." He watched her put them back, disillusioned. But… those… seem important. She took his hand, gently pulling him after her. But Emmanuel couldn't take his eyes off those cupcakes because somehow they seemed very meaningful.
On the walk home, they took a different way and passed a small patch of yellow wildflowers. Without any reason whatsoever, Emmanuel stopped, stared, and his eyes flooded with tears as he stared at those flowers with inexplicable feelings welling inside. He had an urgent, deep feeling he couldn't describe. He… loved these flowers. Loved them beyond understanding, felt deep sorrow at the sight of them and didn't understand at all.
"What is it, Emmanuel?" Daphne asked, deeply worried at his sudden expression of lost, dazed emotion.
"These flowers," Emmanuel said, looking them over and not sure why he was reacting so strongly to them. Then he realized why. "They… they remind me of something." But what did they remind him of?
Daphne wanted to know the same thing. "Of what?" she asked in gentle concern.
He was so frustrated and confused that he couldn't bear it. "I… I don't know."
Daphne sighed softly, smiling sympathetically and taking hold of his hand. "If they're upsetting you, come away," she urged, her tone meant to be soothing and comforting. But to Emmanuel, nothing could soothe or comfort him. Not while those sunny yellow flowers stared back at him. Emmanuel let her lead him away from there but he looked over his shoulder at those flowers several times as the feeling of urgency and despair deepened.
He thought of the yellow flowers and the cupcakes for the rest of that day and all through the night as he sat awake on the living room couch, trying to understand why he reacted like that. He held his penny, the one thing he knew belonged to him. He tried so hard to remember who he was… but no answer or explanation came.
Dean paused before he went out onto the porch. He had to prepare himself for this. He had to ready himself. With a deep breath in and then let out, he bit the bullet and toed the screen door open. He had a plate in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.
He approached his sister carefully. It had now been five days since Cas walked into the lake. And Dean didn't really want to admit to it or face it but… he did recognize that Alex was getting worse, not better. Still, he tried valiantly to fight reality because he literally couldn't stand having to stick Alex in the loony bin or admit how bad the problem was. She was hunkered down on the porch steps off the house. She was wearing her old jacket of his and it was oversized on her like it had always been. She stared into space with a slightly wrinkled brow and she didn't acknowledge his arrival.
Last night, Alex had thrown the trench coat away at the beginning of her panic attack and Dean had managed to get it away during the chaos then hide it in the trunk of his car. His logic had been out of sight, out of mind. Well… no. But when Dean went back to get it at Sam's frantic insistence because Alex had been going nuts, Dean found it had disappeared out of his trunk completely. Sam of course accused him of burning it or lying about not being able to find it. Dean had no clue what happened to it and wasn't lying. He'd had no choice but to explain it to Alex, who looked like she'd lost her best friend all over again when he said the trench coat was gone.
In the early hours of the morning, she'd dragged out this ratty old jacket out and put it on and now she was completely silent. Had been all day. Still wouldn't eat. Dean was worried sick. Even now, as he sat beside her, she seemed as Sam had said, completely catatonic. Dean tried to be lighthearted even though he felt utterly hopeless. "Hey, Mouse, whatcha doing?"
No reply except the slightest lowering and shifting of her eyes toward him. Dean felt his heart breaking all over again but he tried to be positive for her sake. He lifted the plate slightly for emphasis. "Brought you a sandwich," he said, trying to sound enthusiastic. "Put all your favorite stuff on there and no tomatoes. Can't have tomatoes on there, they ruin everything, right?" He gave a little chuckle and it took a lot to do it. Alex said nothing and Dean wanted to cry. "You gotta eat, Al," he pleaded, dropping his easygoing demeanor. "Come on. Starving yourself isn't gonna change anything. All it's gonna do is hurt you and worry me and Sam and Bobby. Can you just take a bite?" Nothing. Dean was getting desperate. "I'll pay you…" he shifted, fished out his wallet, and counted out all the bills he had in there. "Ninety-seven big ones." No response at all. Dean wet his lips, trying everything he could think of. "Hell, I'll get you a pack of smokes and light the damn things for you if you eat this thing," he said, gesturing at her with the plate again. She didn't look like she was getting any of what he was saying. "Are you even hearing me right now?" he asked, setting the plate down beside himself and staring at her profile in open, vast concern. She was glazed over, silent, and he had never seen her like this before, ever. She wasn't purposefully ignoring him, and that was what terrified him. "Jesus," he murmured tightly, trying to think, think, trying to figure out a way to get her out of herself, out of the pits of despair. Was Sam right? Dean didn't believe in crazy-doctors. But he also didn't know how to face what was happening to his sister. How was he supposed to know what to do now? Everything that had happened was his worst nightmare and when he thought about how he could have stopped this by listening to his intuitions about Cas all along, especially in the beginning… Dean wanted to hit something. Either that or put his hands up and give up on everything. Strap his loony toons siblings into a car and drive off a cliff.
He tried reaching out to her one more time, tried to get her to listen to him. "I get it, you know that?" He was gentle and tried to be very careful about how he worded himself. "Don't think I haven't wanted to give up and stop trying after some of the things I've seen and been through. And I probably would have given up too if it weren't for you and Sammy. I need you to get through this, kiddo." He looked at her unmoving, blank profile a minute longer and there was no change at all. Almost at the point of tears, Dean resorted to letting his emotions out. It had been bad enough seeing her growing up isolated, alienated, feeling insecure about herself. Now she was cracking into pieces and dying in front of his eyes? It was too much for him. "I can't see you like this, Al," he confessed miserably. "I need you to decide you'll be okay someday and start taking steps towards there. Please."
Finally, he saw that she heard him. Her eyes dropped to look at the ground and she said one single word, so soft he could barely hear. "Can't." But what he did hear was so much pain in her voice. Then, more: "Don't know how."
Dean didn't know what else to do. He put an arm around her and pulled her into his side. "C'mere," he whispered, putting his other arm around her tightly to surround her in a side bear hug. And Dean expected her to begin to cry, to grab onto him and sob, but she was slack in his arms like a dead fish. She stared at nothing, her face was blank, and his hug seemed to do nothing to her at all—it didn't anger her or comfort her, it didn't break through to her. And Dean was terrified because it was like she just wasn't there anymore.
How could he get her back?
And the more terrifying question: what if he never could?
Author's Notes: This is Alex's testing ground and lowest point. She is dealing with so many issues that have been repressed her entire life and Castiel was the catalyst that made the dam break. Lots of pain (but also growth) ahead. SRS support group anyone?