Riding shotgun with Dean felt disturbingly habitual. Several times during the drive Sam sensed himself sinking into a feeling of familiarity, slotting into position between the seat and the door, angled and comfortable, as though his back had long ago created a timeworn groove in the Impala's body. The steady, low hum of the engine, the rich and earthy smell of the leather, the restless, perpetual sensation of speed, it all felt right somehow, as if he were synchronised to a frequency that resonated deep in his bones. One that had left him feeling out of step and at odds with everything else he'd done in his life, until he was sat right there, in that car, next to his brother.
Sitting there, it felt like home.
The thought horrified him.
He adjusted his posture, found a position less comfortable, less relaxed, shifting the papers and open files that were balanced across his knees as he forced his legs to contort into a shape less natural.
Dean sent him a sideward glance, sucked in his cheeks. Grinned almost.
"You missing the comforts of your douche-mobile?" he smirked, misunderstanding Sam's unease. "Don't worry," he appeased, though not bothering to censor the mocking tone from his voice. "We'll be there soon. Baby's flying."
"So long as she sticks to the tarmac." Sam muttered, unimpressed with Dean's humour.
Dean shook his head, then nodded to the files, changing the subject. They'd been lucky with where Gavin had been when he'd picked up his messages; he'd been visiting Stacey, so Ash had been able to make short work of pinning down her exact location. And it was alarming how easily he'd downloaded all the files after that.
"You been staring at them since we left," Dean remarked. "Thought Ash said there wasn't much to go on?"
"There's not."
"So? What're you looking at?"
"I don't know. Nothing, I guess… It's just… Stacey's preliminary diagnosis, it doesn't make any sense."
"She's a nut job Sam. Course it doesn't make sense."
"No, I mean she'd been seeing a psychiatrist for over a year. No one picked up on anything, and now, suddenly, they're saying she's got dissociative identity disorder, possible paranoid schizophrenia, PTSD. All of these diagnoses, all at once?"
Dean mulled it over. "I don't know about split personalities, but schizophrenia doesn't show till it starts showing, right? And PTSD, well, her kid… so... It's not surprising."
"I guess," Sam allowed, wanting to believe it but still unable to accept the logic. "Just feels off."
"That's why we're checking it out."
Sam hummed in non-comital agreement and Dean left it at that.
The miles rolled by, the state lines got blurred, and Sam kept slipping back into positions of distracted familiarity.
It was late in the evening when they finally pulled into the almost deserted parking lot of the private health care facility. Sam had managed to finally have a conversation with Gavin an hour or so before they arrived, but it had been brief. Understandably perhaps, Gavin was non-specific and scant with details about his wife's condition. The only thing Sam could report when he finished the short call, was that Gavin wouldn't be around. That made it easier; Stacey was the one they wanted to talk to, and Gavin would have probably stopped them if he'd known what they were up to.
As they stepped out of the Impala, Sam couldn't supress a shiver that travelled though him, and he couldn't honestly say it was simply the cool night air that had caused it. The building in front of them oozed money, but for all its sleek architecture and bright façade, it seemed cold and desolate, more like a robotics factory than a place for healthy human recuperation.
The inside of the building felt no warmer nor any more welcoming. A quiet blanket of drug induced sleep was slowly being meted out amongst the patients, and it almost seemed like a sickness in itself, one that was settling heavily as it slowly spread through the wards. As they made their way to the department where Stacey had been admitted, Sam looked into a few of the rooms. They were pleasant enough, personal even, but they all felt incredibly bleak to him.
He was looking off to the side once more when he felt Dean jab something at his chest.
"Take the ID!" Dean whispered, forcefully shoving a fake FBI badge towards Sam, something he'd done several times already.
"Jesus Dean! You're like a drug pusher!" Sam hissed back, flicking his brother's hand away. "Told you I'm not gonna use it."
"That's plain stupid! We're working a case!"
"She knows me! I can't pretend to be someone else when she knows who I am!"
"So what? It's not like anyone's gonna believe her! Hell! She's not gonna believe herself! She's a nut job!"
"Stop saying nut job!" he scolded, voice rising, then smiled awkwardly at an orderly who passed them in the hallway, waiting till the man was out of earshot before cautioning Dean again. "We're in a psych ward!"
"Exactly! Every other person in here's a nut job!"
Sam sent his brother a final warning glare as the two approached the main desk. As soon as the receptionist spotted them, Dean effortlessly slipped into a more professional persona.
"Agent Ellefson," he offered, announcing himself with practiced ease. "Here to see Stacey Dixon."
When he noticed that the receptionist was attractive Dean flashed his million watt smile along with the ID, and it took all of Sam's resolve not to roll his eyes.
His winning smile and easy confidence did the trick though, as the receptionist barely registered the credentials, eagerly returning his smile and lapping up his attention. She wavered for a minute however, as though confused.
"I'm sorry. Visiting hours are ov–"
"This is official." Dean cut her off, asserting just the right amount of authority that made him self-assured without seeming rude. "Someone from the field office would have spoken with Doctor…," he grabbed the files from Sam and quickly flicked through them till he got to Stacey's admission report. He scanned it as though searching for something. "Doctor Stevenson," he finished.
It had been a gambit, of course. Dean had allowed enough of the paperwork to be seen so that the receptionist would have recognised the reports as official and mentally validated the legitimacy of the documents, and by extension therefore, reinforced the official legitimacy of Sam and Dean.
"Oh, I wasn't told," she said. "But I'm afraid Dr Stevenson's gone for the day." Her eyes flicked towards Sam, perhaps realising that he hadn't been introduced, but Dean instantly leaned in a little closer to her, drawing her attention back.
"That's fine," he soothed calmly. "Rebecca is it?" He glanced down briefly to her name badge before locking eyes with her and smiling again. "I've always loved that name… Like I said, Rebecca, he's aware. Just have a couple of questions for Stacey."
"He really didn't mention anything. What's it regarding?"
"Missing person investigation. Stacey may have seen something, that's all we need to ask. It won't take long."
"I don't know. I really think–"
"A 6-month-old baby is missing."
Dean had lowered his voice when he said that, and Sam wondered if it had been for his benefit. Rebecca looked horrified and Sam had to look away, acting as though his heart wasn't cleaving at the words Dean had offered up so clinically, so professionally and impersonally.
"Oh my god!" she whispered. "That's terrible!"
"I know. And every second counts. Doctor Stevenson understands that. That's why we need to speak with Stacey. ASAP."
"Well…" The hesitation was enough, and Dean knew a little nudge was all that was needed now to sway her decision their way.
"Look I'd hate for you to disturb the Doc this late while he's at home. Especially when he already okayed everything. But this needs to happen right now… Here, why don't you take my card and if he has any questions in the morning or, say, if you need to get in touch with me… for any reason… you'll know how to reach me."
The final smile was like the final nail in a coffin, and Sam could practically hear her apprehension fall away as she reached out to take his card. Despite his misgivings, Sam couldn't help being a little impressed at how much his brother's professional game had improved.
Rebecca led them down a short corridor to a private suite at the end of the hallway.
"She's had her medication not too long ago," she told them as they reached her door. "She should still be awake, but not for very long."
"That's fine," Dean said, turning and blocking the doorway. "We can take it from here. Thanks Rebecca."
She looked a little startled, but nodded, giving a smile before turning to go.
"Could you have laid it on any thicker?" Sam volleyed as they entered the room.
"Got us in didn't it?" Dean hissed back. "And your precious identity is still safe."
The room was dimly lit, the soft lighting going some way to creating the sense of warmth which Sam had found lacking everywhere else. The privacy curtain was half drawn initially blocking their view, but after taking a few steps into the room, they saw that Stacey was still awake. Her eyes looked glazed, staring vacantly at nothing and as they approached her bed, she didn't seem to register or react to them at all. Dean fell back allowing Sam to take the lead, hovering a few steps behind his brother as Sam tentatively entered Stacey's field of vision, edging forward as though approaching a wounded animal.
"Stacey? Stace, hi. It's me, it's Sam."
Although her eyes drifted towards his face, it was as though she were seeing right through him, but Sam maintained his smile, encouraging her silently. Slowly, recognition began to seep into her features, into her eyes, and they focused, gradually, onto him.
"Sam?" Her voice, though barely a dry whisper, had been eligible and Sam nodded in response.
"Hey Stace. Yeah it's me. It's Sam. How're you doing?"
"Sam… Oh my god, Sam! Are you… are you real? Are you really here?"
"I'm here, I'm real."
"Sam… what are you doing here?"
"I spoke to Gavin, he told me what had happened. I wanted to come see you, see how you were doing."
She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut and tears welled up at the corners. When she looked at him again, it was as though she had expected him to have disappeared.
"My God. You are real. You're real. Oh Sam…" She hiccupped a sob.
"It's OK," he soothed, easing himself closer. "It's OK. You can tell me what happened."
"Sam, they think I'm mad. They don't believe me, but I swear Sam, I swear, I've been gone. It wasn't me."
"What wasn't you?"
"No. No, you'll be just like the others. You'll think I'm crazy too."
"I won't, I promise. You can trust me."
She bit her lip, wavering between the hope he was offering and the fear holding her back. There was a chair near her bed and Sam reached over to pull it closer. In that slight movement, the shifting of his posture gave her purchase to see over his shoulder. Sam didn't notice her eyes grow wide in horror or the instant change in her countenance at what she saw.
"It's him," she whispered, voice trembling, hands balling up the sheets. "It's him!" She repeated, this time more forcefully, voice becoming shrill. "It's him! It's him!"
She raised her arm, pointing, whilst simultaneously shrinking back into the bed. Sam turned to see what she was indicating, but all he saw was Dean looking startled before Dean looked over his own shoulder, expecting to see someone stood there behind him. But there was no one and he turned back, eyes meeting Sam's, mirroring his confusion. At Sam's unspoken question Dean shrugged as he shook his head quickly, alarmed perhaps even more than Sam was right then. Sam glanced briefly at Stacey, before turning his questioning gaze back towards Dean. In that split second of having looked away however, Dean's face had changed. He'd recovered from his surprise, his features, his eyes, his mouth, everything had hardened, sharpened, and Sam felt he was back in that motel room all those nights ago, standing there at the mercy of a man he barely knew.
Dean muttered something, a word Sam didn't catch, something that sounded like 'crystal' but Sam couldn't be sure, and as he said it, Dean's eyes grew sharper, narrowing like a predator, focussed entirely on Stacey as if searching for something. But as quickly as the change had occurred, it was over, and Dean seemed to relax. Sam practically felt his brother stand down from some unidentified high alert. He shot Dean a 'what the hell' look but Dean simply shook his head in dismissal.
Behind Sam, Stacey continued to grow more and more agitated at the sight of his brother.
"It's him!" She shrieked again. "I saw him! I saw what he did! He showed me what he did! He's a monster Sam! Get him away from me!"
Sam began to gently pacify her by holding her hand and straightening up to block Dean from her field of vision. As he did this, Dean ducked behind the curtain so that he would be hidden. Without turning around, Sam knew what his brother had done.
"It's just me Stace," he appeased, lying effortlessly. "It's just me. You're OK. It's just you and me, see?"
As Sam stepped aside, Stacey craned her neck to see beyond him. On finding no one there, she tightly closed her eyes once more, the tears that had only been threatening before, now freely spilling over her cheeks.
"Oh god Sam, what's happening to me? I'm really going mad, aren't I?"
"No, no, it's just all the drugs. The nurse told me," he sat down cautiously on the chair and her eyes followed him. "It's okay."
"I swear it was him," she intoned, voice a little calmer but no less haunted as her eyes flicked back to the empty space beyond his shoulder where Dean had previously been stood. "It was the man, that monster, and the other one showed me what he did."
"Which other one?"
"He did so many horrible things Sam, made me do so many horrible things. And he showed me what he'd seen. Showed me his memories. Showed me how he'd been tortured by that monster. And I thought he was here."
"Who showed you Stacey?" Sam asked gently, unable to make sense of her ramblings.
"The man who was inside me," she whispered. "He took over. I wasn't awake for all of it, but sometimes he would wake me up. Sometimes he would let me see, but I couldn't do anything… And I'd be gone so long Sam, so long…. Do you believe me? Gavin doesn't. Please tell me you believe me Sam."
"I believe you. I believe you." Sam shifted in his chair, hand returning to gently hold Stacey's again. She squeezed his fingers as though reassuring herself that he was real.
"What do you remember?" Sam asked, encouraging her to speak. "Did it tell you its name?"
"No… No, I never knew its name. His name. I knew it was a man... Or it had been, maybe, once. But I don't know what it was now… Except that it was inside me… Oh God! It was inside me!" she repeated. Sam squeezed her hand gently and nodded, and she took a moment of his reassurance before continuing. "It was like… It was like one minute I was awake, and the next I wasn't. And then I'd wake up in the middle, except so much time had passed. And it wasn't me. I could see, I could hear, but it wasn't me. It was like being trapped inside my own body, seeing through my own eyes, but I couldn't control anything. And then I'd be asleep again, I don't know for how long. But at night, sometimes, he'd talk to me, this… this thing that was controlling my body, it'd show me things. It showed me the face of a monster that had tortured it. That had made it, I think. And it showed me so many horrible things. And I tried to fight it Sam, I really did, but it would just laugh at me. And it scared me so much. It made me watch as it stood over Billy. It made me watch as it held him. They were my arms but… but they weren't. And the water. Billy was under the water."
She wiped at her cheek at the tears that were falling once more, taking a few shuddering breaths before carrying on.
"Gavin won't talk to me about Billy. He won't tell me when he'll bring him in to see me. Have you seen him Sam? Is he okay?"
Sam didn't respond, unable to censor the frown from his face, but Stacey didn't seem to notice as she carried on.
"If I get better, he'll bring Billy to see me. He will. And all this… It's all in my head, isn't it Sam? I just… it just feels so real. But it's not. It can't be. It's like Dr Stevenson says, I'm going through an episode. That's all it is."
She stared at him, eyes pleading, as if seeking some kind of validation, but Sam didn't know what to offer her. He broke eye contact, looked down at her hand, at her fingers curled around his, clutching to him as though clinging to reality. From behind the curtain, Sam sensed Dean shift on his feet, and he understood what his brother was urging, as though the action were transmitting an unspoken prompt.
"Stace," Sam began, gently untangling his hand from her fingers. "When was the last time you saw Jess?"
She appeared confused by the question, staring at him as though she'd missed something of their conversation, but Sam didn't add anything further.
"I… I'm not sure. Is Jess here?"
"No, no she's not. Try to remember though. When did you last see her? What did you guys talk about? What did she say?"
"Why are you asking all these questions? Why–"
"Dr Stevenson said it would help," Sam lied soothingly. "For you to try to remember the last time you saw different people."
She looked at him for a moment, uncertainty clouding her features, before she haltingly nodded, accepting his explanation.
"I… I'm not sure. I think… I don't know Sam, I don't–"
"Try," he pressed, seeming uncharacteristically forceful and Stacey shrunk from him a little. He must have heard it in his own voice though, because when he spoke again, he sounded patient and sympathetic once more. "It's okay if you don't remember Stace, but it'll be really helpful if you can."
She blinked at him, then nodded again, closing her eyes briefly.
"I… I think she was talking about Eric. About… about his pre-school application. Yes, I remember, that's it."
She searched Sam's face as though seeking approval or some kind of confirmation and Sam smiled in encouragement.
"That's good. What did she say to you?"
"She… she asked me how it had been with Billy. She wanted advice for the application… and we talked about Deanna. Jess was hoping she'd get onto the Head-Start program."
"That's great," Sam nodded, his mouth aching with the smile he was forcing, and he looked away again briefly before asking for confirmation. "Is that the last time you remember speaking with her?"
She nodded.
"You're sure?" Sam pressed.
"I…. I think so… No, I'm sure. I'm sure. That was it… You'll know soon, won't you? About Deanna. And Eric?"
Sam's lips were pressed into a thin, hard line, and he had to force himself to break it.
"Yeah. Yeah, we will… Look Stace, it's so late… I should let you rest."
He made a move to stand but Stacey grabbed onto his forearm.
"It's all in my head, Sam. It is, isn't it? None of it was real. Tell me none of it was real."
Sam couldn't answer her. He couldn't even look at her. He didn't know how.
"You really should rest now," he repeated instead, not meeting her gaze. "Try to sleep."
He knew her eyes followed him, trailing his movement as he turned and walked away. He knew with his every step her abandonment grew. As he reached the curtains edge, one step away from being out of her sight, he paused, and he could feel her hopelessness, her desperation, her uncertainty, all boring a hole into his back. He knew he should turn to look at her, to give her some kind of consolation, some kind of courage, some kind of hope. He knew he was letting her down if he took another step, knew he was deserting her. But when Dean held the door open, Sam's feet moved without thinking, because all he wanted to do was be away from that room, and so he left here there, alone again with her insecurities and fear.
They were in the parking lot before he turned to Dean.
"That's possession trauma. Not schizophrenia. Not dissociative personalities. Possession." But when he looked at Dean for affirmation, he realised Dean was barely fazed. "You knew," he realised, shooting the accusation over the top of the Impala before either had opened a door. "Before we even got here, you knew, didn't you."
Dean shook his head but there was no way Sam could believe him. Sam didn't even know if Dean had meant the headshake as a denial of the fact or a dismissal of the accusation.
"What did you say to her?" he demanded.
Dean rested his arms on the roof, dragging a weary hand over his face. Even under the overhead lights, all he seemed to be right then was a collection of tightly drawn shadows.
"She was acting up before I even said anything Sam," he said at last in a tired tone.
"And why was that exactly? Why'd she react that way to you?"
"Who knows what she was seeing?"
"What did you say to her Dean?" He repeated.
Dean looked away for a moment, and Sam thought he wasn't going to answer before Dean sighed, then shrugged.
"Christo."
Perhaps Dean had expected Sam to be confused at that, to be petulant even, and there were some parts of Sam that were both those things, but he pushed them down and out of the way so that he could focus on that word. It took him a minute.
"Latin," he surmised, surprising Dean. "Means what? God? Christ?"
"God." Dean acknowledged.
"And you said that why?"
Dean eyed him a moment, as if still weighing up what to tell him, before relenting once more.
"If a human's possessed, the demon reacts to it, like a flinch. Or like being stung. Can't help it. It's quick, easy to miss, but not if you're looking."
"So you were testing her? So you knew."
Dean's reply was a non-comital shrug.
"And?" Sam pushed.
Dean looked genuinely disgusted at the suggestion.
"You think I'd have let you get anywhere near her if she were?" He shook his head. "She wasn't possessed."
"Not ever?"
Dean's hesitation said it all and he knew Sam had read it in his features.
"I think she was at some point," Dean admitted, voice allowing more consideration than Sam had expected from him. "But she's not anymore."
"When did you suspect?" he asked, then drew an angry breath, seeing his brother hesitate again. "Just tell me."
Dean wavered a moment more, before relenting. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.
"Before we left the Roadhouse," Dean confessed as he handed the paper across the car to Sam.
"I asked Deanna about her. She said she didn't like her. When I asked her why, she said she had scary eyes."
Sam knew his hand was shaking as he took the paper from Dean. He knew Dean had noticed and he knew it wasn't the cold night air. As he unfolded the page, he didn't care.
"I asked her to draw her for me," Dean continued.
It was a stick figure, drawn without finesse or care. It had blue jeans, yellow shirt, red shoes.
Sam didn't see any of that.
It was stood on green grass under a blue sky.
Sam didn't see any of that.
It had pink lips and brown hair.
But Sam didn't see any of that.
It was the eyes. Large eyes, larger than the face. They were filled completely black. Giant discs of pitch black crayon, circled over and over and over again, till the page was worn thin and almost torn.
That was the only thing Sam saw.
The page fell from his hands.
He was going to throw up. He was going to pass out. He was going to break down. He was going to fall.
He didn't know what he was going to do.
Through the pounding of his heart which had suddenly become deafening, and the haziness that had descended like a shroud over his sight, he sensed Dean next to him, his voice filtering through, steady at its core but desperate around the edges. Concerned for Sam's ability to stay upright. For his ability to hold on to the contents of his stomach.
"Sam… Sammy. It's okay. It's okay. Deanna's OK, she's fine. Breathe Sammy. Breathe."
Dean's hands were on him, fingers digging into his arm, the keenness of his grip pinching at his nerves like a vice and the feeling sent a surge of pain through Sam's body, as if his system had received a kick-jolt back to reality. It was what he'd needed.
"I'm okay," he breathed, though he knew he didn't sound it. Probably didn't look it either. "I'm okay."
Dean didn't let go of him and when Sam met his gaze, Dean looked uncertain.
"Deanna saw it! Jesus Dean! She saw it! And I didn't even know. Jesus Dean!"
"She's okay." Dean appeased. "She's okay. I talked to her, all right. We had a long talk, she's fine I promise."
"She drew that damned picture Dean! How the hell can she be fine?!"
"I don't know but she is, all right? She thinks they were fake lenses."
Sam gave him an incredulous look and Dean shrugged defensively.
"Hey I don't know how she knows what fake lenses are either, but she does and she thinks that's what they were. Said she didn't like it when Stacey wore her fake Halloween eyes. But she's fine Sam, I swear. She hasn't seen anything else."
Sam took a few deep breaths, trying to let his brothers words sink in. He couldn't help the tiny flicker of resentment at fact that Dean had kept him in the dark.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded, trying to keep a handle on his hysteria and prevent it from rising again. "When Deanna told you, why didn't you tell me?"
Dean shook his head, having the decency to at least look guilt-ridden, and it appeased Sam considerably.
"I was hoping it had been just lenses." Dean admitted at last, the dejection in his voice echoing the honesty of his sentiments, barely masking the hints of guilt that ran underneath. "Listen man, I swear I would've told you if Deanna was traumatised or scared or anything like that. But she isn't. She's fine. I don't even know if the demon realised she'd seen it."
Sam shuddered, taking several more deep breaths and closing his eyes as he tried to calm his racing heartbeat. All he wanted to do was hold Deanna, to tell her it was all right, to check for himself that she really was okay. But he did trust Dean, despite the secrecy, and he took solace from the fact that Dean was telling him the truth about Deanna's state of mind at least. And from the fact that Deanna trusted Dean too.
As his breathing calmed his mind drifted back to the conversation with Stacey.
"She doesn't even know Billy's dead," he said at last. "The last time she remembers speaking to Jess… Jesus that was well over a year and a half ago. That's before Kyle was even born… And Billy was still alive. All that time, she was around us. Around Deanna and Eric and Jess. We went out for dinner together. We went over to their house. How could I have missed that?"
"How could you have known?" Dean re-joined, before shaking his head and answering his own question. "You couldn't have."
He gave Sam a quick once over before finally letting go of his arm and moving back to the driver side.
"Come on," he urged as he climbed into the car. "Let's get out of here."
After a pause, Sam opened the door on his side, aware that the picture was still on the ground. As if prompted by his awareness, the wind caught it, ready to carry it away and he stamped his foot down, halting it in its tracks. As ridiculous as it was, the thought of that thing, that image, flying free and far into the night, made him feel sick all over again. He grabbed it off the ground, stuffed it into his pocket, and if Dean had any comment, he kept it to himself as Sam climbed in to join him.
As they drove, Sam imagined he could feel the weight of the page, the weight of the black crayon, thick and heavy and greasy, weighing down his pocket, oozing through the fabric, spilling onto his skin, seeping in through his pores, till it was infesting his blood.
When Dean suggested they stop at a motel for a few hours, till the sun was up, Sam didn't object.
When Sam was alone in the bathroom, he threw the picture in the sink and lit a match, watching as the page curled in on itself. The eyes were the last part of it to catch the flame, and when they did, they seemed to burn forever.
He thought he could still see them as he lay on the bed, trying to catch a few stolen moments of sleep. But when sleep finally came, it wasn't the eyes he saw with clarity in his dreams. It was the woman. The same one from his previous dreams, the same one he'd been dreaming of for months.
The same one, he now realised, who had his wife and son.
tbc - thank you for reading! Next chapter will be up either tonight, tomorrow or in a couple of days (just needs tweaking but I'm a little pressed for finding time).
AN - Agent Ellefson = Megadeth (again);
Long Live BRUCAS: I can neither confirm nor deny any of your suspicions! But thank you for sticking with me! :-)
Kathy: Well, you were right on the money about Stacey being possessed! I totally agree with you about Uriel, he's so full of himself! And I think we'll find out in the next chapter about Sam's wife and kid - but I think if you were to hazard a guess, you'd probably be right... Thanks so much again for your lovely comments :-)
MewWinx96: Thank you for taking time to comment and please, you absolutely do not need to apologise at all! I know how busy people's lives can be, so I value any time someone takes to say hey etc. :-) I'm really pleased to know you're still enjoying it! Thank you!
