The Institute

Disclaimer: I don't own anything or anyone from Supernatural nor do I profit in any way. I just write for the love of writing about the boys and hurting them on the odd occasion.

Warnings:

Rated for language, violence and torture.

NO Wincest or Slash involved in this or any of my stories.

CHAPTER 7 One, two, three, four, breathe, damn it.

Grace waited for the guards to leave before she opened her eyes and then lifted her head; they had left her lying on the floor of Sam's cell. He lay on the bed still unconscious and barely breathing.

Crawling over to the small cot, Grace pushed herself up against the edge of the bed breathing heavily she climbed up next to Sam immediately feeling his waning strength leeching into her body.

Unable to stop herself, Grace found it intoxicating as she lay down next to him spooning Sam's back. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she rested her head against his upper back. Sighing Grace felt more at ease now she was in physical contact with Sam.

She knew it was wrong, the last time she fed from someone else, she had killed him unintentionally. Robbing him of his ability to heal, to fend off illness or injury, weakening his spirit so that even Grace was unable to heal him.

Grace felt her tears threatening to fall as her grip tightened on Sam, the strength he emitted was a drug to her.

Memories flooded back, unbidden, and unwanted making her feel more shame in absorbing Sam's essence.

The orphanage, cramped and sterile, her first real memory came from there, shunned by the other children thinking her a freak. They all knew of her mother's bizarre death in Grace's nursery, of the fire that supposedly pinned her to the ceiling above the crib, splitting her stomach open. They all knew of her father's obsession with trying to find the demon that did this and his apparent suicide when Grace turned five.

The first foster family seemed to care for her, wanted her until she healed her foster-sister when a car hit her. Terrified of the strange young girl they sent her back to the orphanage stating that it was too much to look after such a wild child.

At the age of ten another family, another rejection, until at the age of fifteen, four homes later Grace ran away. Her home the street and her ability hidden from the ignorance of supposedly caring people.

His name was Christopher, he was twenty when they met and she was nineteen and still living on the street. Within six months they lived together in Chris' small one bedroom apartment, he had visions and she healed him, but his strength his innateness became her drug just like heroine was his.

He got high, she healed his brokenness, and then she fed her own addiction, until he had no strength left and the drugs claimed him without her touch his body perished rapidly. Grace came home and found his cold corpse in their bed, the needle still protruding from his arm. An angelic smile on his face, his torture was finally over; he was free from visions and demonic dreams.

They took her not long after Christopher's death; hands grabbed her from behind, a sharp prick on her skin and then blackness. Her life regimented by others, no strength to feed from, no addictions for her in the Institute. Only sterility, orders, and regimentation of life. Told when to eat, sleep and when to heal, Grace adapted herself to the new life. One where she was no longer a freak of nature, now she had a purpose in life.

Sam's soft moans broke through her self-inflicted pain of remembering too much, of dwelling on past lives that mean nothing to her now. She had Sam; he was going to be her saviour, her Christopher.

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Dean paced the small bedroom impatiently, his inner alarms deafening, he knew that they had him under surveillance in his new quarters. Grabbing his showering gear Dean finally found solace in the small ensuite bathroom. Standing under the shower he finally let his tears fall mingling with the water cascading down on his head and body. His shame and guilt flooded his mind and prevented his logical cool self from consoling him. He hurt Sammy, he was the one wielding the riding crop, he was the one who placed the weights on his restraints, and he was the one who shocked him.

The look of confusion and hurt in Sam's eyes burnt itself onto his psyche forever, 'suck it up Winchester you have to get Sam out and then you can wallow.' He grunted aloud, 'have to get Sam outta here.' Became his mantra as he finished his shower and readied himself for bed. Deciding to go for a nocturnal walk in the wee hours of the morning when the institute should be at its quietest.

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Sloane watched Dean on the monitor as the young hunter prowled restlessly around his room before heading to a shower. He had to admire the lithe form and dedication to his younger brother even though the sibling was obviously a freak of nature someone loved him enough to try to free him from the institute.

'Stupid child, you should have gone on with your life and forgot your brother,' he muttered almost sympathetic with Dean's plight. Almost being the key word, how can anyone possibly love a freak? A dangerous, untrained freak.

'I want him to be allowed to find his way to subject twenty-two; I want to observe just what he is willing to do for it. It should now have no memory of him or his past and be ready for the last mind sweep. This is a special project and I want you to answer directly to me is that understood?' Mister Sloane turned and glared making his point silently, 'The older brother is to remain oblivious of the fact that we know exactly who he is and what he is. I want him to be given enough room to hang himself.'

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'Grace stop, please stop.' Sam whispered pushing himself away from the young woman. 'I don't want you to heal me.'

'Sam please, listen to me I – I heal myself when I touch you.' Grace begged unable to understand her craving for his energy.

Limping and visibly in pain Sam moved to the opposite side of the cell, running a shaking hand through his oily lank hair, he would kill for a shower right about now. 'I can't, Grace I can't explain it but, I will not be responsible for another person dying I can't and I won't.'

'I am not going to die Sam, when I touch you I ... it is like a burst of energy for me, you will never hurt me or kill me.'

'No, no I won't let you heal me,' Sam insisted, 'I saw you the other day when they forced you to heal me when I ... and again today I stopped breathing Grace, how can you survive that? I would be better off if you let me die.'

'But I wouldn't Sammy.' A soft voice came from the doorway, spinning around on his heels Sam stared down at his older brother.

'Dean?' Sam whispered, 'it is you? It wasn't a dream?'

'No Dude, no dream.' Dean muttered unable to meet Sam's direct gaze, 'I ah I'm going to try to get you out of here.'

'Dean it's not just me.' Sam said still unable to believe that Dean stood in front of me, 'how, how did you find me?'

'Time for question and answer time later dude, how are you?'

'Tired, sore and pissed how about you?' Sam grinned slightly.

'Ah doing pretty good actually.' Dean shot back, 'how's subject twenty-one?'

'Grace.' Sam prompted him gently, 'her name's Grace.' Sam's face paled as he gasped and dropped to his knees, his hands clutching at his head, 'ah Dean, my head ... my head hurts.'

'Sammy? Oh god not a vision, not now.' Dean spat out trying to find out a way into the cell.

'Dean ...' Sam sighed as he collapsed to the floor curling into a foetal position as a vision assailed his mind.

TBC