Fic: Broken Images Chapter 4/6

[mizpah1931]

Title: Broken Images
Season: 3
Category: General, Action, AU
Warnings: Tissues – lots of tissues.
Tagline: Who was the handsome stranger brought to the mental institution in the dead of night – and what terrible tragedy from his past had reduced him to a broken, empty shell?
Total Word Count: 29,284
Total Chapters: 6
Chapter 4 Word Count: 4383
Beta: ziggyuk
Story Banner: Chasidern

Awards: Sensue.net People’s Choice 2008 1^st Place; SN.TV Fanfiction Awards 2008 Best Future Fic; Supernaturalville Unscripted Genius Awards 2008 Best Sam Story.

Awards Banners: Sensue for People’s Choice, Saiyuki for SN.TV Best Future, Bambers (I think?) For UnGen Best Sam.

 

Chapter 4

I was at work early the next morning. The first rays of sunlight were just breaking over the nearby hills as I locked the car door and walked across the dew-dampened grass toward the staff entrance. I’d been here half the night getting Sam Doe settled, finally heading for home about 2am after he’d fallen asleep. Luckily I lived fairly close to the sanatorium.

Dumping my bag beside my desk, I shrugged out of my coat and tossed my scarf across the back of my chair. I still couldn’t get used to how cold it got over here. Where I came from, it was sub-tropical – you could swim practically all year round. But there were good things about the cold – snow was such fascinating stuff. Pulling on my white lab coat, I left the office for my early morning visit to my star patient.

The elevator deposited me onto the fourth floor in record time at that early hour, and I waved a cheery greeting to the night nurse as I walked past the desk. My patient was up, which was surprising, given the early hour. And of course, he was sitting by the window, looking out at the sky. I wondered whether his former life involved being outdoors a lot.

“Hello – you’re up early.” I smiled as I closed the door behind me, wondering which identity I’d get this morning.

“Hey, Doc.” He half turned to face me, a shy smile gracing his face.

I took a stab in the dark that this was Sam, the new persona. “How are you this morning, Sam?”

“All right, I guess.” He waited quietly, his hands in his lap, as I pulled up a chair.

“So, feel up to answering a few questions? Nothing too strenuous, I promise.”

“All right.”

“So, how about we start with the really easy stuff? Can you tell me your name?”

“Sam.”

“Sam what?”

“Just Sam.”

That line was rather familiar. Just Sam – brother to Just Dean, and son of That’s Not Important John. What a family. “Do you remember where you were born, Sam?”

“Lawrence, Kansas.”

I nodded. “How about family?”

“No family – not any more. They’re all gone.” Sam’s lips trembled, and he quickly dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Can you tell me their names,” I asked gently.

“My – my dad was John, my mom’s name was Mary, and – and – my – b – brother…”

“Dean,” I finished for him, hating to see him struggle with the grief that seized him by the throat.

The dark head nodded briefly.

“How old are you, Sam?”

“Twenty-four,” he whispered. “Almost twenty-five.”

I leaned forward on the chair. “Sam, is there anyone we can call – someone who needs to be told where you are?”

“No – there’s no one.” He drew in a shuddering breath, and turned his face to the sky. The rising sun’s rays shone through the glass, and I could see the sharp lines of despair etched into his lean features.

Time to divert him a little. I tried the coffee trick. “Hey, I don’t know about you, but I’m hanging for a cup of coffee. What about you?”

He turned his head, gazing at me with a puzzled frown. “Uh, okay – yeah.”

“I’ll be right back.” Taking a chance, I walked slowly to where he was sitting, and rested a hand on his shoulder. His hazel eyes searched my face. “It’ll be all right, you know. We’ll fix this. Just give me a chance.”

Sam nodded slowly, and for a moment I thought I saw a flash of hope in the troubled eyes. He sat back against the window frame and watched the sky as I went downstairs to get the coffee.

Returning to the room, I handed him his cup and turned to walk back to the chair, stopping in surprise as his hand snagged the edge of my coat.

“Uh, Doc – I think this one’s yours.” He held out the black coffee to me, and gestured to the cup in my hand.

Curious, I handed him my cup of coffee with cream and sugar, and watched as he sipped it appreciatively. So, Dean took his coffee black like his dad, but Sam was a bit of a rebel. I wondered just how far that rebellion went. Glancing ruefully down at the strong black brew, I sat back on the chair and toyed with the edge of the cup. I hated black coffee… “So, Sam – you went to Stanford.”

Sam glanced quickly at me, his eyes widening in surprise. “How did you know that?”

Oops. Foot in mouth – and before breakfast too. This was a great start to the day. “Oh, I think you told me a few days ago.”

“I don’t remember meeting you before last night.” A wary look grew in Sam’s eyes as he regarded me from across the room.

“Sam – what do you remember?” I put down the coffee – I wasn’t going to drink it anyway – and spread my hands out from my sides. “Anything would help us at this point. Do you know where you are? How you got here?”

The tall man gazed slowly around the room, a frown forming between his brows. I marvelled at the new persona – I’d seen DID before, but this was so intense – all their mannerisms were completely different. It was like I really was interacting with three separate people. And that sparked an idea.

“I – I don’t remember – anything…”

“Sam – this isn’t going to be easy for you to hear. You’re in a mental institution in Iowa. You were brought in a month ago, in a very agitated state. We suspect that before you were brought here, you were living on the streets for a couple of weeks.” I watched his reaction carefully.

Sam gazed at me in shock, his mouth falling slightly open. He blinked rapidly, and inclined his head toward the floor for a few minutes, before his tortured eyes met mine. “A month?”

I nodded solemnly. “We’ve been treating you – for severe trauma. You’re responding well.” Crossing my fingers in my pocket at the little white lie, I continued to observe his reaction. So far he was taking it rather well. Intelligence burned in those soulful eyes. If I could get through to Sam, he could be my lever to get to Dean, and to the heart of what had sent his brother over the edge.

He shook his head as he placed his empty cup on the table. Taking a turn around the room, his long legs covering the floor rapidly, he finally came to a halt near the window again, glancing at the sky before meeting my gaze. “It’s all a blank. I don’t remember anything.”

I stood up, and gathered up the cups. “Well, don’t stress about it. I’ll come back up before lunch, and we’ll talk a bit more, if that’s all right.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks, Doc.”

“What say I bring some lunch up with me? Cheeseburger sound good?”

He grimaced a little. “Uh, can you make that a chicken sandwich?”

I blinked in surprise. “Not a prob. See you at lunch.” As I rode down to my office in the elevator, I wondered wryly if I should get a menu card for each of the personas, just so I could keep their dietary preferences straight.

*     *     *     *     *

Sam eyed me in mild amusement as I bit into my bagel. “A bagel for lunch?”

I shrugged as I wiped a smidgin of cream cheese from the corner of my mouth. “These things are addictive.”

“You don’t have bagels in Australia?”

Ah, he was a smart cookie – he’d picked the accent. “Not like these.” I waved a hand. “It’s sort of a location thing, isn’t it? I mean, if I were to have a meat pie over here, it wouldn’t taste like the ones we have at home. It’s probably the same for bagels.”

Sam shrugged, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he finished off his chicken sandwich and started on his coffee. His eyebrows arched as he glanced at my brimming cup. “So, Doc – want to tell me why you have your coffee black first thing in the morning, and with cream and sugar at lunch?”

Damn – he was a little too smart. “Oh, well – got to kick start the system.”

“The black coffee was for me, wasn’t it?” His eyes narrowed a little as he gazed steadily at me. “You thought I drank it black.”

“Bad guess, I suppose.”

He ran a hand across his hair and face. “And what’s with the haircut and the beard?”

“You don’t usually have your hair like that?”

“No – it’s longer.” Sam’s fingers pulled at his hair in disgust. “This is more like my brother’s style, not mine.”

I swallowed the last bite of my bagel while I thought out my answer. The persona in front of me seemed to be steady enough. I decided to go with the gut instinct again. “Sam – what do you know about mental disorders?”

He blinked slowly. “Not much – I studied pre-law, not psychiatry.”

“Have you ever heard of a condition called Dissociative Identity Disorder?”

Sam shook his head. “No, I haven’t. What is it? Is that what you think I have? Is that why I can’t remember anything?”

I blew out a sigh. “No, it’s a bit more complicated than that. Dissociative Identity Disorder, or DID, is what people commonly think of as schizophrenia. The two conditions are actually quite different. Basically, a person suffering from DID exhibits three or more distinct personalities, each with their own individual thoughts and perceptions. It’s usually a reaction to severe trauma or emotional stress.”

“And you think I have this – this DID?”

“No, Sam – I think your brother has DID, and you are one of the manifested personalities.” I held my breath as the man before me reared back in shock. “Dean was the first personality I met, and in a lot of cases of DID, the first persona is usually the true one. The true persona is also the one that normally asks for help. What happens is that the patient tries to disassociate himself from the trauma by manifesting multiple personas. The treatment involves the patient re-integrating all the separate identities.”

Sam got up, and began to pace the room. I watched in fascination. He had a distinctive rolling gait, totally different from the other two personas. Dean was a little bow-legged, and he had a quick, confident stride. John’s gait was almost a march, with a healthy touch of arrogance, as if he owned the world he walked on.

He came to an abrupt halt, and flung out a hand. “So – so you think – that I’m a figment of my brother’s imagination?” He ran a hand through his hair and rolled his shoulders. “You think that – that my brother’s channelling his inner Sam? Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

“Sam – for the first three weeks of your stay here, I was speaking to Dean. Then I met your father – in the same body. And last night, you emerged. So you tell me.” I sighed softly as he continued his pacing. “It’s interesting, though  that both you and Dean think each other is dead.”

“What?” Sam turned on his heel and strode back to me. “What did you say?”

“Dean told me you were dead. You told me Dean was dead. John thinks you’re both alive, but you and Dean have both told me John’s dead. I think it might have something to do with Dean’s trauma.”

“He told you…” Sam’s long fingers raked through his spiky hair. “I can’t…” The colour drained from his face.

Abruptly I got to my feet and grabbed his arm as he swayed. “Whoa – hang on a minute there, Stretch.” I managed to steer him to the side of the bed before his legs gave way. Hunching over, he clutched at his temples and groaned softly. I rubbed my hand gently over the back of his neck. “Headache and dizziness?”

“Yeah,” he whispered.

“I’ll get you something.” I pressed the call button at the head of the bed, and instructed the nurse to bring in some painkillers and a cup of water. Handing the pills to my patient, I waited while he swallowed them, washing them down with a mouthful of cool water. The sudden headache was probably another symptom of the DID. I’d have to watch him to see if he manifested any more medical problems.

“Thanks.” Sam handed the cup back, and allowed me to help him lay down on the bed. He flung an arm across his eyes as I pulled the chair over and sat down, resting my hand on his shoulder.

“Just rest, Sam. We’ll talk some more later, when you feel better, all right? It’s a lot to absorb in one go.”

“The coffee,” he murmured softly as I got to my feet. “You got it for Dean, didn’t you? That’s why it was black.”

“Not exactly. I got it for you, but I assumed you drank your coffee the same way.”

I was almost to the door when I heard his soft, deep voice ask one more question. “Doc?”

“Yes?”

“What happens to me – when Dean wakes up?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure. I think you – or that part of your brother that represents you – will just be absorbed back into his psyche. Where you belong.” It wasn’t much of an explanation, and it was no comfort, but I didn’t know what else to say.

*     *     *     *     *

As soon as I got downstairs, I grabbed Dean’s file and filled in the information I had learned from the Sam persona. I also quickly scribbled down some notes on the proposed treatment. I felt sure that Sam was going to be the key to his brother. Something had obviously happened to the younger brother, causing the elder brother to slip over the edge of sanity and into madness. If they were that close, there was a good chance the Sam persona could get through to Dean, and convince him to come back from that dark place he’d fallen into. It was interesting, though, that both brother personas thought the other one was dead, and both blamed themselves for the death of the other. I wondered how much significance that had. Blame led to guilt, and guilt was a powerful, self-destructive emotion.

A few other patients, and a nervous intern, required my attention for the next few hours, so it was almost 5pm before I got a chance to return to my star patient. I pushed open the door, and immediately looked toward the window. He wasn’t there, and he wasn’t on the bed either. I spun around, searching the room. “Sam? Dean?”

“In here.” He stepped out of the tiny bathroom and regarded me steadily, those expressive eyes never leaving my face.

“Oh – sorry – didn’t mean to disturb your…”

Sam smiled wryly. “It’s all right. I wasn’t – you know.” He shrugged, and took a deep breath as he ran his hand across his face. “I was looking for a mirror.”

We didn’t allow mirrors in the rooms – just in case the patients got a bright idea about smashing them and having a go at slashing themselves to bits. But I knew where I could get one. “Be right back.”

Quickly I slipped out to the nurses’ station and snagged the small make-up mirror the girls kept in a drawer. I handed it to Sam when I got back to the room, and watched his eyes as he held it between his hands.

For a long moment, he stared at his reflection, and then he handed the mirror back with a small sigh.

“Who did you see?”

“Me.” A tiny smile flitted across his face. “I thought…”

“You thought you’d see Dean.” I tapped the mirror against my leg.

“Yeah. Stupid, huh?” He shook his head as he sat on the windowsill. “I mean, why should I see Dean when I think I’m me, right?”

“Sam, if you try to figure this situation out logically, you’ll only end up with a migraine.”

Sam let out an exasperated huff as he stared at the sky. “So, what do we do now?”

I pursed my lips. “Now? Now we work on getting the three personas talking to each other.”

“How the hell are you gonna do that?” Sam tapped a forefinger against his temple. “We’re all in here.”

“Should be easy then – you’re all in the one place.” I smiled at his disbelieving glance. “Look – I didn’t promise it would be easy.”

“Didn’t promise what would be easy?” Dean gazed at me, one eyebrow raised, that cocky grin curling his lips. In the blink of an eye – practically in the middle of a sentence, he’d changed personas.

“Dean…”

He spread his hands. “The one and only. Accept no substitutes.”

“Dean…” I ran a hand through my hair, and decided to take a chance. “I’ve just been talking to someone you know.”

His eyes narrowed and the grin dropped away from his face as quickly as it had formed. “Who?”

I sat down on the edge of the bed, and took a deep breath. “Sam.”

Dean shot to his feet, and began to pace, agitation knotting the muscles in his tall frame. “That’s impossible. Sam’s – Sam’s…”

“Dean – sit down. I need to talk to you.” I held up a hand as he turned to face me. “Dean, what do you know about mental illnesses?”

“Mental illnesses? Nothin’, why?”

“Dean – do you remember where you are?”

“No, I don’t. Why?”

I sighed softly. “You’re in a medical facility – for mentally ill patients.”

His eyes flew wide. “You telling me I’m nuts?”

“I’m telling you that I think you have a condition called Dissociative Identity Disorder, or DID.”

“You think I’m nuts…” Dean sank down onto the windowsill, his jaw clenched in anger, a muscle twitching along his bristled cheek. “That’s just freakin’ great…”

“I think something happened to you that traumatised you, to the point where you manifested two distinctly separate personalities to help you cope with the incident.”

Dean stared into space, his chest heaving as his respiration sped up.

“You’ve been here in this sanatorium for a month now, and in this very room I have spoken to three separate identities – you, your father John, and your brother Sam. All in the same body.”

“That’s – that’s crazy…” Dean looked at me, a frown forming between his brows. “That’s just…”

“Furthermore, I think that the severe trauma had something to do with your brother.”

“No, no, no…” The tall man shot to his feet, and paced toward the door. “No, that’s – that’s not possible.”

I held out the mirror. “Dean, look into this mirror. Who do you see?”

He peered at his reflection, and then he glared at me. “What the hell? Who do I see? What kind of freakin’ stupid question is that? I see me.”

“Not ten minutes ago, I handed you this mirror, and Sam told me he saw himself. He was expecting to see your face when he looked at his reflection.”

“You’re crazy, Doc. Maybe you should be in here instead of me.” Dean resumed his pacing.

“How else do you explain it, Dean?”

“I’m not crazy!”

“No, you’re not – you’re traumatised – it’s a different thing.”

“I’m not that either!”

“Then why can’t you tell me what happened to your brother?” I got to my feet as Dean gasped, doubling over like someone had just punched him in the gut. Grabbing his arm, I guided him over to the bed and forced him to sit down. Keeping my hand on his arm, I sat beside him. “Dean, you’re not crazy. But something happened to you that your mind just couldn’t deal with, so it – compartmentalised itself. It came up with a coping mechanism to help soften the emotional blow. It created two separate personalities to deal with the situations that you couldn’t.”

Dean buried his face in his hands. “Jeez…”

“It can be treated. And we’ve already made some good progress today.”

“How? How can you treat this?” The stricken man dropped his hands and stared into space. A shudder ran through his frame. “How can you – fix me…”

I squeezed his arm. “The first step is to get all parties talking. Now, that’s not going to be easy, but it can be done. Then we get to the bottom of the trauma, and help you integrate the separate personalities and deal with the incident.”

He let out a shaky laugh. “Sounds simple enough.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” I smiled at him, and he tentatively smiled back.

“So – I’m channelling Dad – and Sammy.” Dean shook his head in disbelief. “And you want those two to talk? You don’t know my dad and my brother.”

“Chalk and cheese, eh?”

Dean looked at me blankly.

I tried another analogy. “Oil and water.”

“Try dynamite and matches,” he muttered softly. Running his shaking hands through his hair, he glanced at me and sighed softly. “You really think you can fix me?”

“I really think I can fix you.” I patted his arm as I stood up. “Get some rest, Dean. We’ll start in the morning, all right?”

“Okay, Doc.”

Descending in the elevator to the floor that held my office, I reviewed the progress of the day, trying to organise my thoughts so I could update Dean’s file before I went home. We had made some real leaps ahead, and I still felt good about my decision to start integrating the three personalities. Although John would be the real challenge, and I think my major stumbling block. If I could get John on side, then we had a good chance at success. Dean seemed to want to get better, and I sensed that Sam would do what was necessary for his brother.

I finished updating the case notes, turned out the lights, and drove home with a hopeful heart.

*      *      *      *      *

Trouble was waiting for me when I got back up to Dean’s room the next morning. John was back, and he wasn’t happy. “I want to know where my son is, and why I can’t see him, and I want to know right now, or so help me, I’ll tear this hospital apart brick by brick until I find him!”

I leaned against the door and folded my arms as I watched the bearded man stride angrily across the floor between the bed and the window. “Morning, John.”

He spun on his heel, glaring at me as he rested his hands on his hips. “Where. Is. My. Son.”

“Sit down and I’ll tell you.”

“Oh, no, Doctor – you’ll tell me now.” In three swift strides he was standing before me, and my own anger spiked.

“Or what? You’ll throw me across the room again?” Uncrossing my arms, I shoved at his chest, forcing him back a pace.

He had the grace to look a little ashamed. “I just want to know where my son is.”

“Well, beating up the doctor isn’t the way to get information. Sit down, John.”

John pressed his lips together in a thin line, and stepped back a few more paces. Obviously that was all the concession he was going to make.

“Dean wasn’t hurt in a hunt – he went through some sort of trauma, and he had a breakdown. This is a facility for the mentally ill.”

His face paled, and he walked slowly backwards to sink down on the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving my face. “Breakdown…”

“I believe Dean has a condition called Dissociative Identity Disorder. He’s manifesting two other separate personas to help him cope with whatever happened to him to push him over the edge.” I licked suddenly dry lips. “One of the personas is his brother, Sam. The other – is you.”

John shot to his feet, his jaw dropping in astonishment. “Me!”

“Yes. Dean’s mind is channelling you and Sam because he can’t face the reality of the situation.”

“You’re saying you think that I’m just a – figment of my son’s imagination?”

“No, I’m saying your son has manifested your personality to deal with certain aspects of the situation that he can’t face himself.” I spread my hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I know this sounds crazy, John, but it’s true. You – or Dean, rather – has been here for a month, and during that time we have seen the three separate personalities emerge. When he got here, he was borderline catatonic. He didn’t speak for just over two weeks. When he did start to communicate with us, he was still severely withdrawn, but slowly his personality began to assert itself. And then you emerged a couple of days later. Sam manifested two days ago.”

John sat back down, and rubbed a hand across his bristled face. “So – you’re saying that – I’m not really here?”

“No, John, you’re not. Well, you are, but you’re a part of Dean’s psyche. And we need to re-integrate the separated parts back into a whole. We need to put all the missing pieces back. I need your help to do that.”

The troubled man fell silent, staring at the floor.

“John, from what I’ve seen, you’d do anything for your sons.”

“I’d die for my sons,” he whispered.

“Then I need you to talk to Dean – draw him out – try to find out what happened. I need you to…”

“No.”

The quiet denial stopped me mid-sentence, and my mouth hung open in shock for a few seconds before I finally found my voice again. “I’m sorry?”

“I said no.” John pushed himself to his feet and strode to the window. “I can’t.”

I was stunned, and I didn’t mind showing it. “You can’t help your son?”

“No, I can’t. That’s how this whole mess got started. I’m not gonna repeat a bad mistake and make the situation worse than it already is.” John ran a hand across his chin, and stared at me, his dark eyes resolute. “I’m sorry, Doctor – but whatever you need to do to help Dean, you’re gonna have to do it without me.”

*     *     *      *     

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