Dean sat curled up in the corner of his bed. His back to the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around himself, rocking back and forth. He was exhausted, but he couldn't sleep. He was on edge. The new medication was supposed to help with that, but all it really did was make him sick to his stomach.

He hadn't touched his dinner tonight he'd felt so nauseous, and they'd scolded him, but the nurse didn't try to force him to eat this time. He knew if he didn't eat tomorrow, then they probably would, even though tomorrow it would probably be even less likely he'd be able to eat.

They were starting him on new 'treatment' tomorrow.

The doctor had spoken to him like he was two years old, even though Dean was twenty four. Explaining the procedure to him. Trying to make it sound less horrible than it was. Telling him once it was over he'd be much better.

Tomorrow they were cutting open his brain and taking pieces out. That was pretty much the gist of it, even though the doctor had tried to sugar coat it. Dean wasn't stupid though. He might be crazy, but he wasn't stupid.

Schizophrenic. Delusional. Hallucinations.

Those were the words the doctors used to describe what was wrong with him. They didn't like it when you used words like 'crazy' or 'insane' but Dean knew that's what he was, so why use the 'big' words, trying to make it sound all scientific? He was insane because he saw things. Horrible things. Things that other people couldn't see, so they obviously weren't real. So he was crazy. He'd been crazy his whole life. Living half of his life in this mental institution while the doctors did 'everything in their power' to 'fix' him.

He'd been on every different medication there was, and even some of the experimental shit that was banned not long after they started giving it to him. He'd been poked and prodded. He'd had his brain electrocuted, shock 'therapy'. Therapy… yeah right… more like just shy of medieval torture. But none of it had worked. He still saw things.

He couldn't even look the hospital director in the eye because the man looked like… he looked like a monster. Plain and simple. Jagged teeth, flesh rotting from his face, piercing red eyes. He had screamed bloody murder the first time he'd seen the man when he was twelve years old. His mother had cried and his father couldn't seem to leave him there fast enough.

He barely saw them anymore. Weekly visits had dwindled down to monthly then yearly, usually around his birthday or Christmas, one of the two. Last year they'd forgotten his birthday entirely. After all, his parents had two perfectly normal children now. What did they need with one that was crazy?

So, tomorrow they were cutting up his brain. Going to take out the parts that were 'insane' so he wouldn't be crazy anymore. Or at least he'd be a manageable crazy. Probably drooling and shitting in his pants for the rest of his life, but as long as he wasn't any more trouble to the doctors or nurses that's all that mattered, right?

Dean slowly uncurled himself and reached between his bed and the wall, digging around till he found the small hole in the mattress and pulling out a small sharp piece of metal. It was barely bigger than a razor blade but he'd been slowly sharpening it. Hell, it didn't need to be very big for what he wanted to use it for. It had been ready for a while, but he hadn't done much more than look at it and ponder what it would be like to use it. To make all the pain go away forever.

They said if you committed suicide you were sent to hell. Hell. That didn't scare Dean. After all he was already in hell. He was tired. So damn tired. Tired of being alone. Tired of all these people wanting to 'fix' him but none of them wanting to help him. Maybe he wouldn't go to any 'better' place than this, but at least it wouldn't be any worse.

The metal easily sliced open the flesh of his arm, starting at his wrist and going almost clean to his elbow. Dean wasn't surprised how easily it cut, after all, he'd been testing it on other things, he knew the blade was sharp. But he was surprised how little it hurt. Even with all the blood that started pouring out of his arm, dripping down and staining the bed covers bright red, it wasn't worse than anything else they'd done to him.

Maybe he shouldn't have put this off as long as he had, he couldn't help but think as he made a second cut on his other arm the same way. It was a little more difficult because the fingers of his first hand were a little numb by then. He was surprised how quickly it was happening. He thought he couldn't sleep, but now he felt like he couldn't keep his eyes open.

He laid down. Stretching out his arm, watching his blood trickle down his fingers, and drip onto the floor. He almost couldn't see to the ends of his own fingers, his vision growing fuzzy, and for some reason he found that funny. He felt the metal slip out of his weak grasp, heard it hit the floor. The edges of his vision began to grow dark and he started to feel the tiniest bit of fear coiling in his stomach. It wasn't as though he really wanted to die, after all. It was just he couldn't live like this any longer.

Help me… Dean prayed, not for the first time, but no one had ever answered. He was always alone, and now he would die alone. A small tear slid down his cheek as his eyes slid closed.

Standing in line at the small grocery store/deli, Samuel closely watched the interaction of the people around him. Some grinding coffee beans, and sending wafts of the delicate aroma into the air while chatting about whether the Kenyan blend was milder than the Sumatra. Some arguing about what they wanted to cook in the evening. Others making plans for the weekend.

A slight smile played on his lips. He couldn’t help himself, he loved humanity.

Unlike the others of his kind, he didn’t look down his nose at those he was supposed to help. He found them interesting, not despite their flaws… but because of them. Every scar, every wrinkle, every pained expression held a story, and made each individual unique. It was somewhat ironic then, that when they looked at him, it was his lack of imperfections that they found attractive.

Realizing it was his turn, Sam unloaded his basket. Making small talk, he tried to ease the nervous teen ringing up his baguette, various cheeses and a fine bottle of wine. Each time he met her gaze, she blushed a bit brighter, and then started to make mistakes on the register. Sam made a joke, and turned and talked to the people behind him, calming them down so she could finish.

As he accepted his change, her fingers brushed his. “Thank you. Oh… you should do it. Go ahead and apply for college like you’re thinking.” Seeing her mouth drop open, he nodded. “Really.”

Even as he strode out with the paper bag filled with groceries, he felt her staring at him. She’d needed just a little push. Even if she wasn’t his ward, he’d given it. College was her ticket out of an abusive house, she just had to stretch a little and she’d be home free. He prayed she’d do it.

The streets of San Francisco were always alive and buzzing with activity. He loved all the cafes, the street vendors, the smell of food, and the bumper to bumper traffic. Mostly, he enjoyed the eclectic mix of people that could be found in any location. Students, business people in suits, Goths, people that had their own fashion sense, rubbed elbows and went to the same places. He wove through the people, used to the stares that followed him everywhere he went. Course the fact that he was at least a head taller than most people alone was enough to draw some of the attention.

He joined the crowd crossing the street even though the pedestrian light was blinking red. It felt good to be a rebel and ignore the rules. There were far too many, and a good percentage of them were unnecessary or accomplished nothing. Rules just for the purpose of having rules, bugged the crap out of him.

A few blocks later, he wasn’t surprised when two waiters came to outdoor seating area of the brasserie next to his place. It was a daily ritual.

“Hi Sam, shall we save you any dessert tonight?”

He thought for a moment. “I’ll be back for the fudge brownie and vanilla ice cream. I licked every last drop off my spoon the last time. See you later.”

“He licked every last drop,” Sarah echoed, trying to emulate his tone. “God… his voice gets me every time.”

“His voice? Honey, don’t you got eyes?” Daryl’s gaze followed Sam all the way until he ducked into his apartment building. “That guy’s built for sex. I’m serving his dessert.”

“Uh uh, my turn…”

As he took the stairs to his apartment, Sam chuckled under his breath. They were constants in his life. Wards changed, assignments had him moving around, but Sarah and Daryl were always there with their happy smiles, secret looks, and desserts that were to die for.

He quickly entered his one bedroom apartment and grabbed a cutting board, knife, wine glass, and a book, then was back out in a flash. Taking the stairs two at a time, he reached the roof, and headed to his favorite spot.

Eventually, he relaxed, sitting with his legs dangling off the roof, and his wings unfurled behind him. He sipped his wine, and ate a bit of bread and cheese and when he wasn’t reading, he watched the world go around. Until a new assignment came along, he’d be pretty much at loose ends. Maybe he’d spend the day the lovely private library he’d discovered at one of the homes on Knobb Hill. It wasn’t too large but it had a spectacular selection of books and was very cozy. Nothing was as soothing as a fireplace and good book or five. Maybe he would…

His banal thoughts came to a screeching halt as his mind was invaded by pain and anguish of the likes he’d never experienced. Someone else’s. His heart started to beat erratically, matching that of the person whose thoughts were now being fed directly into his.

This is impossible. Who are you? He asked. He could pick up thoughts through physical contact and also from those who were assigned to him as wards, but even then, it was nothing like the crystal clear connection he was experiencing. Who are you? He demanded again.

There was a silence, and then a sharp pain. He looked down and his inner right arm was bleeding in a straight line. Stop. Don’t do this… His other arm started to bleed, rivulets of scarlet dripping to the ground.

In his minds eye, he saw a scarlet wave staining white sheets. He saw darkness. He was swamped by loneliness, endless loneliness. Hearing the human’s hopeless plea for help, Sam cried for him. His tears dropped onto the scarlet pools of blood on either side of his body on the roof. I’m here. You’re not alone. I will help you, I swear. Tell me where you are my... son.

The sound of silence was deafening, and Sam stood up. His eyes darkened to black, reflecting the emotions stirring within him. He needed to help this lost man… this boy… he didn’t know why, but he knew if he didn’t, a piece of him would always be lost. Talk to me, I know you can. Don’t. Don’t choose to die before you give me a chance.

The angel bit his lip so hard, he was now bleeding from a third place. He concentrated, used his voice as a weapon of persuasion. Please. Please don’t leave this world, not like this. Not like this.

The darkness almost seemed alive. Winding around him with cold tendrils, pulling him deeper and deeper under. Digging icy claws into his flesh and refusing to let go. Chilling him to the core. He was so cold, he could barely think. It was difficult to breathe. Like a heavy weight was pressing down on his chest, and it didn't matter how hard he struggled he couldn't suck air into his constricting lungs, and the darkness wove even tighter around him.

I'm here…

It was so faint at first he barely heard it. It was like a whisper lost in a cold howling wind. He was certain he'd only imagined it.

You're not alone…

Was he dreaming? Unconscious? He'd already lost a huge amount of blood, so that wouldn't have surprised him. But he didn't feel like he was dreaming. Certainly if he was dreaming he wouldn't feel so cold.

I will help you, I swear…

Dean's brow furrowed, and though it took much more effort than he would have ever imagined, his eyes slid open. He couldn't see. Not really. Everything was fuzzy and the darkness was reluctant to leave his vision. He blinked, trying to force it away, and it only tugged at him harder. Trying to pull him back under, but he resisted.

Tell me where you are my... son…

No, he wasn't dreaming. He was hallucinating. Again. Shouldn't be a surprise really. He'd been having them all his life, after all. Though he was a little surprised by this one. His hallucinations were normally terrifying. Grotesque images worse than any nightmare he'd ever had. But he didn't seen anything but the fuzzy outline of his ceiling swimming in and out of focus.

Talk to me, I know you can.

Dean shook his head a little, the single effort more draining than he'd ever imagined. He didn't understand what this hallucination was all about, but he certainly wasn't going to talk to it. Even if it was only a voice inside his head, he wasn't about to encourage it. He wanted to die in peace, and no matter how warm and almost… comforting… the voice was he was afraid of it. It could change at any moment, and he didn't want the last thing he saw in this world to be something horrible. Something like the hospital director.

He closed his eyes again, willing the darkness to take him, and it seemed all too eager to comply.

Don't. Don't choose to die before you give me a chance.

Dean almost sobbed at the genuine… caring… he could hear in the voice. More understanding than he thought anyone else had ever shown him in his life. Maybe if some of his hallucinations had been like this before, he wouldn't have minded them so much.

Please. Please don't leave this world, not like this. Not like this.

I can't… I can't… Dean thought, cold tears sliding down the icy skin of his cheeks. It's too late…

It was too late. Much too late. Even if he didn't die tonight, what would happen to him once the doctors decided to go through with their new treatment? No. He didn't want to live like that. He couldn't! But the words seemed to penetrate deep into his soul. Igniting a spark of warmth inside of him that he couldn't ignore. That felt as hot as a supernova because the rest of him was so cold.

So long. So long he'd longed for something like it. It was ironic that it was only once he decided to end his life he'd experience a taste of it. Even if it was only a hallucination. But he was selfish enough that he did not want to lose it, and he began to struggle once more against the suffocating cold darkness.

It didn't want to let him go. He could feel its rage. Cold claws tearing deep into him, making him sob softly in pain as he struggled against their pull. He forced his eyes open again even though he could barely see. He struggled to sit up in the bed, finally only managed to roll out of it onto the floor.

The jarring impact almost sending him back under but he struggled to stay awake, to move, practically crawling to the door of his room. Leaving a bloody trail behind him. Grabbing the locked door handle and pulling himself up through force of will alone. Banging on the door weakly, leaving bright red handprints on the white finish, trying to get the attention of the orderlies patrolling the hallways this late at night but there was nothing.

Dean almost sank back to the floor in defeat but then he remembered the emergency button in the bathroom. It was in all the rooms but mostly for the older patients in case they needed help or fell or something.

As weak as he was the distance could have been a mile rather than only a few feet, and every stumbling step he took was a struggle, clinging to the wall for support, he was sure he'd never make it. He almost didn't. His legs buckling almost as soon as his bare feet hit the recognizably cold tile and he could barely see anything. Not even an outline or a blur, he had to feel around the wall, cursing and sobbing when he couldn't find it..

And then, he did.

He jammed in the button as he crumbled to the floor. The last of his strength literally bleeding out of him and once more his eyes slid closed. The darkness rising up quickly to swallow him up again and this time he knew he couldn't stop it. He simply wasn't strong enough.

Dean didn't notice the door to his room opening soon after or the running footsteps. He didn't feel the hands turning him over or hear the shouts of the nurses calling for help.

He did however quickly learn that there were much worse things than the hell he'd been living in all his life.

Hell.

Athens Mental Health Center.

The whisper in his head was so low now that Samuel almost didn’t catch all the slurred ending. But it was enough for the angel to go on. He launched himself off the roof, his great wings unfurling behind him and hurtling him through the air faster than the human eye could follow, even if he hadn’t chosen to be invisible to mankind.

His mind was a jumble of information, places, people, things, locations… gleaned both through biologic transmission of historical information, and from books, experiences and the people he’d met throughout his lengthy lifetime. He sifted through them, organized them, and found what he needed. Ohio. An infamous facility in Ohio. There were whispers about the unorthodox methods used at the center, but most of the patients were criminally insane or abandoned to the system by their families and efforts to investigate or close it down had proven fruitless.

Are you waiting for me? He asked, in vain. There was only silence, though the wounds on Sam’s arms closed and healed, giving him some hope.

In his wake, Sam gave others hope as well. On the earth below him, everywhere his blood had dropped, he left a trail of life. Flowers bloomed where there had only been weeds, deadened trees came to life, and the corn grew just a bit taller.

His wings beat relentlessly until he landed in front of the large, brick institution, set on a large campus. Outside, it was green and peaceful, but the building itself was formidable. And the turbulence of emotions emanating from it told a completely different story.

Samuel slammed both hands against the front doors and entered, ignoring the havoc the gust of wind that followed him caused at reception as people scrambled to pick up papers and close the door, commenting on freakish weather. Some of them might have thought they belonged in the mental ward themselves had they been able to see him in his full glory, taking long purposeful strides as he headed straight for the hospital facilities.

It wasn’t hard to find the one he was looking for. A team of doctors and nurses were bent over a patient who was flat lining. No.

The sight of the body chilled Sam. A young man lay bare chested on the surgical table, his skin so pale, such a contrast against the blood smearing him everywhere, and staining his hospital blue pants. Breathe. Breathe for me.

Sam moved through some of the doctors as they prepared the defibrillator again. He was so beautiful, this child of man. So young, too young to die. Too innocent to be condemned to hell for his final act of taking his own life. Live. Live.

The shock to the patient’s chest had his body arching practically off the table. A doctor shouted again! And they shocked him. An appropriate interval passed, and they tried again.

“It’s time to call it.”

No! No! Sam put both hands on the young man’s chest. Come back. Come back to me. Follow my light. Let me save you.


(*OOC - Athens Mental Health Center )

Pain.

It began the moment the darkness slipped away. The cold replaced by heat. Scorching. Burning heat. It was all he knew. More intense than any he’d ever experienced in his entire life. That seemed almost funny now. Looking back. All of his twenty four years of life, all he seemed to know was pain, on one level or another. He’d thought he knew what pain was. What suffering was.

How naïve he’d been…

Hurricane like winds howled around him, deafening. Though not loud enough to drown out the screams of agony that seemed to come from everywhere. His own screams quickly joining the chorus of others. Damned souls like him.

As the wind hurled fire and debris that practically flayed flesh from bone. Practically blinding his fragile eyes. But he wasn’t blind. He could see more clearly than perhaps he ever had in his life. More horror than he had ever imagined. The desolate landscape stretching as far as he could see. Twisted shapes of structures, buildings, that reached like skeletal claws towards the fiery red sky, bathing everything below it blood red.

Horrible… creatures… twisted rotting things that fed on the damned. Tearing them limb from limb, their jaws and teeth stained with blood and gore, but no matter how they ripped and tore at the damned souls they still screamed in agony. Not dying. Just… screaming... pain… endless pain without relief.

Somehow that wasn’t even the worst of it. Perhaps the worst of it was, that it was so familiar. Even though he’d only seen small glimpses of it before. In his life. But he had seen it. He’d seen Hell. He’d seen these creatures before, and he’d been told were only hallucinations. But they weren’t. They were real…

That horrible truth. That was the worst of all. He hadn’t been crazy, but no one had believed him. He had been punished for seeing these things, that no one else could see. He couldn’t be fixed because he wasn’t broken and he had killed himself…

He screamed again, for an entirely different reason, and his anguish seemed to draw the attention of some of the creatures. They turned their eyeless faces towards him, salivating as they approached. Ready to tear into his untouched flesh… his unmarred soul... and horror filled him like he had never experienced and he tried to scramble away from the beasts but there was nowhere to go. No escape.

He was damned…

Help me. Help me please! He screamed, prayed, even though part of him never expected an answer. There had never been one during his life, why would there be one now, especially here? But… there had been an answer… in those last few moments of his life. He hadn’t believed it was any more real than any of his other hallucinations… but…

He reached for it desperately now. Searching for it blindly inside of him, that spark, that flicker of light and warmth he had felt when everything else had been dark and cold. Sobbing brokenly when he couldn’t find it, but then suddenly it was there and he grasped at it desperately.

Please… please help me… please… He begged, holding on with everything he could when it threatened to slip away, and then suddenly he was being… drawn back. He felt the claws of the creatures ripping into him, making him scream as they tried to drag him back down, but he refused to let go…

And finally his heart lurched to life in his chest.

"Doctor!"

Rare whoops of joy escaped some of the stunned medical team, who went back into action the minute the patient started to breathe on his own. Blood volume expanders were intravenously administered to take care of the initial shock to the patient's system. His wounds were re-bandaged with more care, and his vitals were checked and re-checked.

Afraid the boy might slip away again, Samuel never took his hand off him as the staff treated him for massive loss of blood.

*


Hours later, after he was moved to a regular room, Sam stood against the wall, reading the chart. Dean Winchester… his gaze flicked to the sleeping man. The name suited him. Smiling, he looked back down at the chart. It was the last smile that lit Sam's face.

Page by page, he thumbed through the chart, learning Dean had been here since he was twelve and had spent an equal amount of time in this institution as he had outside. He hadn't sensed madness in him when they'd mentally connected, confusion perhaps.

Then he started to read about the things he 'hallucinated' about as a young boy and even after being brought to this facility. There was nothing wrong with the boy. He was gifted with the curse of true sight. His eyes started to go completely black when he read about the treatments he'd been put through. Barbaric. Far below the accepted standard of psychiatric care. Even illegal methods.

Then he learned that one Dean Winchester had been scheduled for brain surgery tomorrow morning, and the top sheet of the chart went up in flames, leaving ashes flying through the air.

*

It was almost dawn when Dean stirred. Samuel moved next to the bed, and looked down at him at the same time as few nurses walked in. They were taking his vitals, and one of them was a bit rough in the way she pushed a thermometer in his mouth. Sam pulled it out partially, and held it so she couldn't push it back in. Little did she know he eased it out of Dean's mouth and into her hand.

"He's waking," one of them said. "Little bastard is responsible for my missing the concert. They needed extra staff. Why couldn't he have offed himself."

Sam touched her cheek, and the awful words stopped dripping from her mouth. Spooked, she ran out of the room, leaving only the other nurse behind.

His brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Thick and fuzzy and hard to think. His mouth and throat so dry it was like he’d been eating sand. His body feeling so heavy it was like all his limbs were weighed down by weights, or that he was laying at the bottom of a deep ocean with miles of water crushing down on top of him. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation to say the least, but he was too weak to struggle. Even opening his eyes felt like too much effort, his eyelashes barely fluttering against his pale cheeks when he tried.

Somehow he knew he wasn’t alone even before he heard the voices of the two nurses.

It was difficult to pick out their words, none of his senses seemed to be working properly, but he recognized the tone of one of women. The nurse had never really liked him much. So it wasn’t much of a surprise when the thermometer was suddenly jammed between his teeth, so far back he nearly choked on it. What was a surprise however was when the pressure was eased a moment later.

It was only more confusing when he managed to pick out the last part of her next words.

Why couldn't he have offed himself

Memories started to come crashing back through the thick fog around his brain, and his heart sped up a little. Adrenaline pumping through his veins as he remembered slitting his wrists the night before… dying… he had died and…

Somehow he managed to wrench his eyes open, panicking a little and needing to see for certain that he wasn’t… there… anymore. But at first he couldn’t see anything but a big blur, and he blinked rapidly trying to clear his vision.

He was in no way prepared for what he saw when his eyes finally managed to somewhat focus on the figure standing beside his bed. Two figures actually, but his gaze was immediately drawn to one. The one with the gigantic… wings… sprouting from his back.

Dean gasped sharply, his eyes growing wide.

“What? You seeing things again?” The nurse asked, not too sharply.

Samuel moved closer. “Shshshsh. Don’t be afraid. It’s me.” Smiling slightly, he reached out to gently hold Dean’s hand. He was acutely aware of the tubes connected to his wrists, and the bandages over his self inflicted wounds. “You’re not seeing things. They’re the one’s that are blind.”

The nurse’s lips went flat at the lack of a response. “The doctor will be in later,” she huffed, and walked out.

“I’m scaring you. I’m sorry.” Sam folded his wings, and made them disappear so he looked almost human. The others, those who didn’t have the sight, would still be unable to see him though. He squeezed Dean’s hand, sensing somehow that the young man was not used to being touched. Strange though, he sensed very little else of his feelings and emotions. Usually, direct contact would give him much more feedback about the individual he was touching.

“My name is Samuel. You called me. I don’t know how you did it… how I heard you, but I did. And I’m here now.” Twelve years too late. Four thousand two hundred seventy days, and countless hours too late. He was almost swamped by sadness, but he reminded himself that Dean had chosen to live, that he had a chance now at a normal… more normal life. “When I leave this place, I'll take you with me. You don’t belong here.”

Dean didn’t even hear the nurse’s question.

His brain simply couldn’t process anything right now other than what he was seeing. What he was… hearing… from the…

He didn’t even know what to call it… he didn’t even want to think the word, but what other word was there for a man with wing sprouting from his back? Angel… Dean didn’t believe in Angels. Of course he didn’t really believe in hell either until he’d seen it with his own eyes.


His… hallucinations… had never been like this before. They had always been horrible. Twisted. Grotesque. Frightening… just like what he had seen when he had… died… Dean swallowed hard recalling the horror he had seen, that he would never be able to forget, no matter how much he wanted to.

But this… him… he was…

Dean blinked when he told him that he wasn’t seeing things. That somehow seemed really funny coming from his own hallucination. But the warmth seeping into his hand felt so real. More than real, it felt familiar. Just like the voice was familiar. The voice he had heard right before the end, as his life was bleeding out of him. The warmth, that had been so faint, but it had pulled him back literally from the depths of hell, saved him… and now it was so strong, washing over him in waves from where their hands touched…

The young man blinked again when the… angel… apologized for scaring him and the wings suddenly disappeared. If he wasn’t crazy… then what the hell was he? Why did he see these things when other people couldn’t? Call him? How could he have called Samuel…

He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand any of it.

Dean glanced briefly down at their joined hands. Samuel still holding it, so carefully, it was as though he feared he would break him if he squeezed too tightly. Dean wasn’t used to anyone touching him… like this… with kindness. Hell, most people didn’t even speak to him kindly.

The young man’s eyes flew back to the angel’s when Samuel said he was going to take him with him. He didn’t belong here? What… did he mean… where? Take him out of the hospital? Dean had never hoped to leave this place, not any way other than how he’d tried last night, anyway. Why… why would Samuel say that? Why would he want to… help him. No one cared about him. Not even his own parents who had left him here and all but forgotten he existed.

“Why…?” Dean finally managed in a faint rasping whisper. The only word he could manage through his throat, tight with so many emotions washing over him at once from fear and confusion, to hope he barely wanted to acknowledge less it proved false, that it was nearly strangling him.

Every expression that crossed over Dean’s pale face reflected his turbulent and horrific past. Sam almost lost his serene smile, but hung onto it for Dean. He held his breath at the sheer disbelief in those pained green eyes. How could so many people have looked into this man’s face and seen those eyes, the pleading, the loneliness, and have just walked away?

“Why? That’s a complicated question, with many answers. Here is one. You are a son of mankind, and I love you.” Careful not to move too suddenly, Sam leaned over him and pressed a light kiss on his forehead. When he lifted his head, he saw the confusion was still there, clouding Dean’s eyes and mind.

“We will fix your body. Then we’ll leave this place, and work on your mind and your soul. Everything changed today, everything for the better.” He spoke in soothing tones, letting his voice aid him in providing a sense of calm to Dean.

The door opened suddenly. Sam released Dean’s hand and started to move back, looking at the newcomer. At first he’d thought it was the doctor, but it appeared to be an orderly. The man was short, even by normal standard, but his arms were bulked up like they’d been pumped with air. He had a square jaw and thick lips that he was licking.

Dismissing him from his thoughts, Sam turned back to Dean and faltered. There was sheer terror in his eyes, and his hands were clutching at the bars on the side of his bed. “Dean?”

Dean hadn’t been sure what to think about the other man’s… angel’s… answer. When was the last time anyone had ever said they… loved him… and meant it? He didn’t think his own mother had said that in years. But when Samuel said it he almost… believed him…

The young man closed his eyes, taking a shallow shuddering breath, fighting back tears when the angel leaned down and kissed his forehead. He didn’t… know what to think. He opened his eyes, staring up at the angel in a mixture of confusion and almost wonder.

Everything just seemed so. Surreal. It was the only word he could think to describe it. Maybe none of this was real? Maybe it was all a dream? If it was a dream, Dean knew he never wanted to wake up from it. He wanted to believe him. So badly. But he was afraid to.

Nothing good had ever happened to him, and he was terrified to believe in it now just to have it torn away.

Hearing the door open, Dean reluctantly looked away from Sam and felt himself grow instantly cold when he saw who entered his room. His already pale skin going white as a sheet.

Rick… The orderly had been working here almost as long as Dean himself had been here, and the older man had taken a… liking… to Dean. Which meant the man liked to touch him. Usually when Dean was so drugged up that he could barely remain conscious much less fight back, and who would believe him if he told them what Rick did to him? Dean was crazy after all…

Dean’s heart monitor began to beep faster and Rick looked at it and chuckled, locking the door behind him, and smiling at him in a way that was anything but kind as he approached his bed.

“Dean, Dean, Dean…” Rick shook his head, making a soft tsking noises. “That was quite a stunt you pulled last night, boy. The doctors ain’t too happy with you right now.”

The man was standing right next to his bed now, and Dean couldn’t take his terrified eyes off of him. There was nothing he could do to stop Rick from doing anything he wanted to him now. He was too weak, even to call for help, and the older man knew it. Boldly reaching out to put a hand on Dean’s leg, running it up the length and squeezing his thigh.

“I admit. I was a little upset myself. Was looking forward to coming to visit you this morning after they had you all doped up for your surgery. But no reason we can’t have a little fun now, right?” The man chuckled again as he leaned down kiss the boy. Grabbing Dean’s face roughly so he couldn’t turn away.

A cold draft swept across the room the moment Samuel understood what was happening. He put a hand on the orderly's shoulder, about to force him to forget about Dean and leave, and then he was struck full force by the memories and images of what lurked in the man's mind.

*

Lust. Blood red, insatiable lust that had started eating away at his soul the minute he'd seen Dean as a boy. He'd been sent to the boys room to clean up vomit, and found him in his light blue pajamas, crying on the bed with a stuffed animal in his arms.

Watching the boy's hand clutch the bear, squeeze it, Rick's cock twitched. The longer he watched, the harder he got. The more sure he was that he wasn't going to leave this room without getting off.

*

Sam's mind reeled, his eyes teared at the thought of the child's face pushed into the stuffed animal… the screams it stifled.

*

Once again, Dean had caused so much trouble, he was placed in a straight jacket. It was after hours, and no one was around. Smirking, Rick entered the sound proof padded cell.

"Dean, Dean, Dean… you've been a bad boy, haven't you?" The teen's look of terror immediately had blood rushing to Rick's cock, filling it. "We're gonna have us some fun, boy."

One step at a time, he approached as Dean walked backwards until he hit a wall. "Nowhere to go. It's just me and the crazy. Come to papa." His laughter had the teen shaking like a leaf. Slamming his hands on the wall on either side of Dean's body, Rick pressed up against him. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard it'll tear you apart. You got that, Dean-o" he rubbed his thickening cock against Dean, and started panting. "Open your mouth. I said open your fucking mouth."

He hated that look of rebellion, that refusal. Pulling his hand back, he slapped the kid. "Fucking open it." He slapped him again, this time a backhand… had him bleeding from the nose, until he got what he wanted. Then he took what he wanted, crushing his mouth against 'little crazy's' and ramming his tongue down his throat. Fuck… what was it about this kid? Fucking against him, he managed to shove his hand into his pajamas and started to fondle the kids cock.

Dean's muffled cries just inflamed him. He stepped back and pulled his belt off. "One false move, and you know I'll this," he snarled. He pulled his zipper down and turned Dean around to face the wall. The way the kids shoulders shook as he cried, the way his ass clenched in anticipation of his breach… fuck, this would make him hard for days on end. Every time he watched the vid… He glanced at the video camera he'd set up near the door.

He turned back and shoved Dean's straight jacket up his body. Then he closed his arms around him, pulling him up against his thick hard cock and bucking against him. "I've got a present for you. Ask for it. Tell me to fuck you," he ordered, closing his eyes. He knew he was making Dean claustrophobic, overpowering him, and God above… it made him crazy with need.

The sound of sobs filled the air.

"I said ask me to fuck you. ASK." Grabbing Dean by the jacket, he kept smashing him up against the wall until a soft voice started to plead to be fucked. "What's that boy…"

Over and over, he asked to be fucked. Rick aligned his cock and bucked inside the boy in one thrust, and then he was fucking to the sound of the pleas, burning, needing, taking… "yeah… that's it… keep begging…that's…"

*

Samuel recoiled, his eyes were as black as the night.

"Dean… I'll stop him. He won't hurt you, I swear but…" Dear God above, could he do this? Allow this? He sent up a prayer, and moved his head in front of Rick's, blocking him from Dean's view. "I need him to do something more incriminating… to get a little farther. Please trust me."

He stepped back and pulled out his cell phone. Though he tried to separate himself from the situation, he felt tainted by Rick's needs, and the waves of fear from Dean were almost unbearable. "Trust me."

And then he did one of the hardest things he'd ever done, he stood by and watched as the brute ravaged Dean's mouth. He gritted his teeth as Rick's hands started to grope Dean. His aura started to glow white hot, as Rick shoved his fingertips into the elastic band of Dean's pajamas.

Dean sobbed softly as Rick forced his tongue into his mouth. Fighting the urge to gag, or worse, vomit, at the taste of the man. Because he’d done that once before and Rick had beaten him so black and blue he’d barely been able to move for days afterwards. Of course the doctors had just assumed he’d done it to himself. Strapped him down to his bed for days so he couldn’t move anyway, letting Rick do basically anything he wanted during that time…

He felt as helpless as he did then. As helpless as he always did whenever the evil man put his hands on him. Touched him. Forced him to do things that gave him nightmares for weeks after. But somehow it was worse now. Because…

He had wanted to believe, so badly, that Samuel was real. That he had come to help him. That he actually… cared… That someone actually cared about him. Anyone…

But he wasn’t stopping him… he was just watching as…

Dean couldn’t stifle a cry of pain when the older man shoved his hand down the front of his pajamas, gripping him roughly, and the younger man began to struggle then. Trying to wrench his mouth free. His hands pushing weakly at his attacker, but he might as well have been a child again for all the good it did.

As Rick growled in anger, one hand going to his neck while the other grabbed one of his wrists, twisting and squeezing it hard. Wrenching a louder cry of pain from Dean’s lips as the man’s fingers cruelly dug into his wound, dots of blood already beginning to seep through the gauze wrapped around his arm.

The older man shoved him hard back against the bed, dazing him as he applied pressure to his throat.

“Don’t you dare pass out on me, boy.” Rick threatened, as he roughly forced him over onto his stomach. Nearly ripping out several tubes from Dean’s body in the process and yanking down the flimsy blue pajama bottoms Dean was wearing. The younger man shuddering in revulsion and sobbing into his pillow as he felt the other man’s hand on his ass.

The angel tried to mentally offer his comfort, but Dean’s mind was closed to him. He couldn’t get a response, even as he tried, and even when he moved close and touched his arm. The boy didn’t seem to sense his presence at all, not when he was under assault by a man who preyed on those who were weaker. He was no better than a vampire demon.

Sam snapped a picture on the cell phone. Precious seconds ticking away as he checked, and swore… earning himself a red mark for taking his father’s name in vain. "I’m sorry… So sorry, Dean… just another moment," he promised, his gut wrenching as he allowed his adopted ward to be manhandled.

There. He took another picture, this time the orderly’s face was clear. No one could mistake the lust and cruelty in his expression, or deny his hands were where they should not be. It took Sam a few more seconds to control his anger, he would never act in anger… should not.

And then he slapped his palm on Rick’s forehead, pushing him relentlessly backwards until they reached the door.

The orderly was stunned, and in slight pain from his neck being bent at an awkward angle. “What the fuck…” and then his head slammed against the door, and he forgot everything. An instant later, Sam unlocked the door and shoved him out.

When he returned to the bed, his eyes had gone back to hazel. He found Dean was a quivering mess, and once again he felt his eyes sting. “I’m sorry. Really, I am, it was the only way,” he said, pulling Dean’s pajamas up, and brushing his palm over his thighs, his ass, and even his penis, trying to eradicate the feel of Rick’s touch, to replace it with his own.

He fixed Dean’s pajama top, and leaned down, this time giving him a chaste kiss on the mouth. “That is the last time Rick touches you, I swear it. Last time.” Straightening, Sam looked back at his cell phone and started typing an email to the authorities, to the hospital, and to the local papers. Attached to the email were the pictures he’d snapped. He turned the phone over to Dean.

Sam knew the authorities would find incriminating videos at the man’s house… he would never be free. The most he could hope for was to save his soul, but with this type of evil lurking in his soul… being saved was a long shot.

“Press here, and send him to jail… for what he’s done to you and others.” He hoped this would give Dean back some control over the situation. “Dean,” he whispered, letting his voice wash over the boy. “You can do this. You can tell them what you’ve wanted to for years when no one listened. They can’t not listen to you now. Find your voice… find it inside you.”

At first, Dean didn’t even realize anything had changed. As laid there shaking with fear, his heart pounding so hard against his ribs he could barely hear anything else. Helpless tears staining his cheeks, he kept waiting to hear the sound of Rick’s belt unbuckling. Kept waiting to feel the older man climb up onto the bed with him. The man shoving him hard into the mattress. Practically suffocating him to muffle his screams, as he violated his body.

But the longer he waited. The longer it was silent. The longer it took for Rick’s hands to return to his body, the more confused he became.

When he finally did hear something, it wasn’t the orderly’s harsh demanding voice ordering him to ‘beg’ for it, as he had made Dean do so often. The voice was gentle and warm. Comforting. As were the hands that began to carefully pull his clothes back into place, and Dean found the courage to lift his head from the tear stained pillow. Almost afraid this was a trick of some kind, maybe of his own mind, maybe he was finally loosing it completely…

But he only saw Samuel. Rick was nowhere in the room, as far as Dean could see. The older man never would have stopped, never would have left on his own, until he’d gotten what he wanted without being forced to. Samuel must have stopped him… like he said he would… no ‘hallucination’ could have done that… he was real… an angel… and he was real…

Dean stared up at the angel, almost in wonder as Samuel’s hands moved over his body. Even as… intimate as the touches were, they didn’t frighten him. The angel touching him everywhere Rick had touched, but so different from the way the other man had touched him. Samuel’s fingers leaving only a warm almost… tingling… sensation wherever they brushed his skin. Making Dean almost forget memory of the other man’s hands on him.

The young man managed to roll over onto his side as Samuel readjusted his pajama top, making sure the various wires and tubes attached to him were no longer in danger of coming out. The kiss surprised him, but maybe even more surprising was the warmth that flowed into his cheeks once it was over. Though it would be hard to tell given his skin was a little flushed anyway from crying.

Dean sniffled and wiped at his face. Embarrassed now by the tears that continued to slip down his cheeks, even if they were more from relief now than anything else. Samuel must think he was a baby… even though the angel gave no outward sign of thinking that, what else would he think about a twenty four year old man sobbing like a child? If this had been a… test… of some kind, Dean was pretty sure he’d just failed it.

Biting his lip, the young man looked down and nodded slightly at Samuel’s promise. He could only hope… pray… it was true. Samuel had said he was going to take him away from here, but what if he’d changed his mind after…

The cell phone being pressed into his hands surprised Dean as much as the angel’s words, and he could only look up at Samuel, his mouth open a little in shock, before he stared back down at the phone in his hands. This was why…?

The picture made Dean tremble a little involuntarily, but it was something he’d never had before. Proof. Of what Rick had done to him for years, and no one had ever listened. He was too much of a ‘troublemaker’. Always seeing things that weren’t real. No one had ever believed him… God… if Rick knew he had this, knew what he was about to do, he would kill him. No doubt about it, the older man would find him, torture him, and kill him…

But even if the man did find out, he would still go to jail. He would be punished. Locked away forever, where he couldn’t hurt anyone else…

Dean swallowed hard as he pressed the button to send the mail, watched as the phone confirmed it was sent, and it slipped from his fingers a moment later as Dean all but collapsed back in his bed. His struggle with Rick had completely exhausted his already weak body, not to mention the emotional overload he’d suffered through the last several… minutes… god it had only been minutes since he’d woken up and it felt like hours. He could barely keep his eyes open, but he was almost afraid if he closed them Samuel might disappear and never come back, despite what he’d said.

The young man reached out weakly to the angel, tired eyes pleading. Though not only with his hand. Dean reached out to him same way he had reached out, and found Samuel’s light, his warmth, even in the pits of hell. The same way he had unknowingly reached out, desperately, after cutting his wrists, and like a miracle Samuel had heard him. Had come for him…

Sam felt the soft mental brush of Dean’s mind before feeling the tired worry and panic behind it, the plea. I’m right here. I’ll be right here when you wake. Giving Dean a serene smile, Sam took his hand again, and held it until Dean stopped fighting and closed his eyes.

For the next two weeks, Sam never left the room. When nurses came, he made sure they were gentle with Dean. When they left, he did their jobs for them, helped him to the bathroom, and made sure he was neither over nor under sedated.

During that time, they spoke a little. Sometimes through their mental connection. Sometimes in the usual way, but he was never sure how much of it stayed with Dean. He had been under some powerful drugs, though he’d been weaned off them now.

When Dean’s eyes cracked open, Sam raised the back of his hospital bed to a sitting position. “Mornin’ sleepy. Today’s the first day of the rest of your life. I know it’s corny, but also true,” he grinned. When a nurse walked in, he nodded toward her. “She’s going to shave you and get you ready.” Squeezing his shoulder one more time, he released him. “I have to leave now, but I’ll be back sooner than you think. And then we’ll leave here, together. Trust me.”

Though he sensed the turmoil from his adopted ward, Sam left him behind and walked out. He knew this nurse, and she was one of the nicer ones and would be gentle with Dean. Because he’d promised never to leave his post, he hadn’t before. But now, he needed to make arrangements if he wanted them to leave in a way in which no one would be after Dean.

As he had for the past two weeks, Dean woke to the sound of Sam's warm voice. The angel's gentle eyes and warm smile the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. Just as they were the last thing he saw when he closed them for sleep, and the young man couldn't help the smile that formed on his own face in return, looking up at Samuel as the angel helped him sit up. Because the last two weeks had been so unlike the last twelve years of his life…

For the first time he could remember he was genuinely happy.

When Samuel had told him everything would be different, to be honest the young man hadn't really known what that would mean. For starters, the angel never left his side. Not even for a second. Samuel's presence was like a warm blanket of comfort always wrapped around him, keeping him safe from anything cold or dark or painful.

He didn't let the nurses or doctors hurt him. Even the ones Dean knew were usually rough and didn't like him. Samuel even helped him with most of the things that the nurses were meant to do. Since Dean still didn't like people touching him, even if they were gentle, though he didn't mind it when Samuel touched him. The angel always far more gentle than anyone else ever had, or ever could be.

Dean trusted him.

Samuel had even gone through his medication every time they brought it, only letting him take some of it. Dean had been jittery and anxious the first couple of days because of that, going through mild withdrawal. But Samuel had held him and talked him through the worst of it, and after the first week he'd been able to think much more clearly without the fog that always seemed to be wrapped around his brain.

Rick had never come back. Not once. Just as Samuel promised and that perhaps had been what Dean was most thankful for. He never wanted to see that man again. He wished he could forget about him entirely. Though he was afraid that would never happen and he would always have nightmares about what that man had done to him during half his life here.

At least these few days, with Samuel watching over him every second, he hadn't had any nightmares. That was another thing he almost couldn't remember having. Good dreams. These last two weeks had been almost like a dream, all his life before one long nightmare. Dean was so afraid he was going to wake up from his dream… or worse go back to the nightmare…

So when Samuel implied that today was the day they would leave the hospital, Dean couldn't hide the surprise as well as joy he felt at that news. It had been hard to imagine leaving this place at all, much less, being able to leave so soon. Though he was still a little weak from his attempted suicide, the doctors had taken him off the monitors a while ago, because it was obvious he was stable now and Dean was ready to jump out of the bed right that second. He didn't even care where Samuel took him as long as it was away from this place.

But Dean frowned a little when the nurse came in, and Samuel told him that she was going to get him ready. The frown turning into a look of almost fear, even with the angel's comforting hand on his shoulder, when Samuel said he was… leaving…

Dean remembered at twelve years old, clinging to his father desperately and sobbing at the end of his parent's visits. Refusing to let go of the older man even as the nurses tried to pry him off, pull him away, and those near exact words coming from his father's lips. Even then Dean had known they were a lie. Eventually he had stopped clinging to his father. Stopped begging to come home. Finally his parents had stopped coming back…

He could only pray that this time… the words were not a lie because Dean knew he wouldn't survive Samuel abandoning him the same way.