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kathierif_ficTitle: There For You
Author: Kathie
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: FRT-13
Warning: Character death, (both major and OC), a bit verbal abuse
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: He had been in the mental ward for several years now, but he never had said a single word. Ever.
A/Ns: Inspired by the episode Playthings,
It was his first day, Frank thought quietly and forced himself to smile, and he wasn’t sure if he was filled with disgust or hate of this place.
“Basically, our patients are peaceful and harmless,” Dr. Shelley said just as one of the patients shuffled down the hall and bumped into them.
“Peaceful and harmless, eh?” Frank repeated and rubbed his shoulder as he glared after the patient. “Who’s that?”
Dr. Shelley smiled. “That’s Samuel.”
Frank turned around and narrowed his eyes as he focused on the doctor. “Samuel? Does he have a last name?”
Dr. Shelley shrugged. “We don’t think so…he was found by the police, disoriented, covered in blood…he doesn’t speak.”
“He doesn’t speak?”
“Never said one single word in all the years he’s been here. Never caused any problems, either.” Dr. Shelley smiled. “Shall we go on?”
Frank nodded, but his eyes still returned to the bowed back, the longish, unkempt hair, flecked with grey, the whole appearance of this one patient.
Samuel.
This job was probably going to be not as horrible as he’d feared.
The first bruises were harmless, although nobody knew where they came from. The doctors didn’t investigate. It happened sometimes that patients banged against walls or corners, or grabbed each other. They were finger-shaped bruises on his wrists, peaking out of the sleeves of his shirt, a quickly darkening bruise high on his cheekbone, quickly hidden by long hair and his bent-down head. Samuel had been with them for a long time – and he didn’t complain, so, they figured, it all was okay. They had more troublesome patients to deal with every day, and as long as he was peaceful, and didn’t get in anyone’s way, he was best left alone. And Samuel was peaceful. His arms wrapped tightly around himself, his hands balled into tight fists, he still never caused any trouble. Quietly he went about his daily business, sitting in the small park area that was part of the mental ward of the hospital, wearing the same coat every day, for years.
He could fight, several scars proved that – across his wrists, his palms, his back, but the most prominent one was on his chest. It looked as if something had tried to rip out his heart with sharp claws. Nobody could explain those scars, and nobody investigated anymore. As long as Samuel didn’t speak, there was no way of finding out what had happened to him.
The other patients left him alone. A few were afraid of him, most didn’t care either way. And yet, the bruises appeared, from one day to the next, like flower petals on paper-thin, pale skin.
“Nobody knows where he came from,” Dr. Shelley told Frank one day as they observed Samuel sitting in the sun, his knees drawn up and his chin resting on them. “The only thing of value he had with him is this necklace he’s still wearing.”
Frank nodded – he’d noticed the fraying leather band around the patient’s neck, had wondered why he had been allowed to keep it.
“We tried,” Dr. Shelley explained. “But he got upset. So we decided to let him keep it.” He shrugged. “He isn’t dangerous.”
Frank nodded and grinned. It seemed like he was going to have some fun with this idiot.
Afterwards, nobody remembered what had caused the sudden outburst. It came, practically, out of the blue. In the evening, several of the patients were witnessing how Frank, the newest addiction to the staff, growled at Samuel and grabbed his arm to drag him from the room.
Several of the patients claimed that Samuel had been afraid of Frank, had gone out of his way to escape from him, and that Frank had finally cornered his prey.
Nobody knew why he’d picked Samuel – it just happened.
Frank roughly pulled Samuel forwards and manhandled him into his room where he gave him a shove that brought the patient to his knees.
“You’re useless,” he hissed as he dragged the man back to his feet. “Stupid and useless. People like you should get shot, quick and clean.”
He gave Samuel a shove and ripped the necklace off in the same move. “You are just a drooling, whimpering idiot, Sammy.”
The lights started flickering.
“You want your stupid necklace back? You want that back?” Frank scoffed. “Forget it. This is mine now.”
Samuel curled up, his knees pulled to his chin, and whimpered softly, a small, almost inaudible sound, like a frightened animal. The temperature in the room suddenly seemed to drop, but Frank didn’t notice. He was laughing at the wide-eyed look from greenish-brown eyes, filled with shock.
And then, all hell broke loose.
The lights went out in a loud explosion. Glass was shattering. The patients started screaming and howling.
Frank found he couldn’t move. He was frozen to the spot, unable to turn his head away or move a muscle. The laughter died in his throat, his grin turned into a grimace.
Wind whipped through the small room. The door banged shut, the key turned in the lock.
Samuel smiled.
“…nnn…” he said.
Frank wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. Right in front of him, the wind concentrated, and a ghost appeared, out of nowhere.
A spirit.
It was like an image straight out of a horror movie, or his worst nightmares.
It was male, with short, dark hair. He was pale, ghostly pale. His shirt was covered in blood and ripped, displaying pale, blood-slicked skin and wounds the same shape as Samuel’s scars. Dark smudges around his throat indicated that someone had tried to throttle the man – had throttled him, Frank thought hysterically, as the ghost stepped closer to him. Green eyes stared at him dismissively, and then the ghost lifted a hand and closed it around Frank’s throat.
“Nobody hurts my brother,” it hissed, and then, with a dry snap, like a twig, the ghost broke Frank’s neck.
“And nobody calls him Sammy, either,” the ghost added and ripped the amulet from now lifeless fingers. “Only I get to call him that.”
With a disgusted sneer, he dropped the dead body and turned around. His face softened as he spotted Sam, curled up in a corner, looking at him with wide eyes and a faint smile.
“Dean.”
His voice was rusty, unused to talking, but the word, the name, was still intelligible. His hands reached out to touch, to grab on to the spirit, to hold on to it.
Dean grinned as he kneeled down next to Sam and squeezed his shoulder affectionately. “I told you, Sam,” he said softly and carefully re-knotted the leather band. “You’re safe.”
He slipped the amulet back around Sam’s neck and stood.
The wind picked up again, and the spirit became translucent. Sam shook his head and tried to hold on to him, but his hands only closed around thin air, as Dean’s presence left.
“Dean!”
The storm around him laughed, and before it died down, taking the spirit with it, it whispered:
“I’m here. I take care of you.”
End…
Author: Kathie
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: FRT-13
Warning: Character death, (both major and OC), a bit verbal abuse
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: He had been in the mental ward for several years now, but he never had said a single word. Ever.
A/Ns: Inspired by the episode Playthings,
It was his first day, Frank thought quietly and forced himself to smile, and he wasn’t sure if he was filled with disgust or hate of this place.
“Basically, our patients are peaceful and harmless,” Dr. Shelley said just as one of the patients shuffled down the hall and bumped into them.
“Peaceful and harmless, eh?” Frank repeated and rubbed his shoulder as he glared after the patient. “Who’s that?”
Dr. Shelley smiled. “That’s Samuel.”
Frank turned around and narrowed his eyes as he focused on the doctor. “Samuel? Does he have a last name?”
Dr. Shelley shrugged. “We don’t think so…he was found by the police, disoriented, covered in blood…he doesn’t speak.”
“He doesn’t speak?”
“Never said one single word in all the years he’s been here. Never caused any problems, either.” Dr. Shelley smiled. “Shall we go on?”
Frank nodded, but his eyes still returned to the bowed back, the longish, unkempt hair, flecked with grey, the whole appearance of this one patient.
Samuel.
This job was probably going to be not as horrible as he’d feared.
The first bruises were harmless, although nobody knew where they came from. The doctors didn’t investigate. It happened sometimes that patients banged against walls or corners, or grabbed each other. They were finger-shaped bruises on his wrists, peaking out of the sleeves of his shirt, a quickly darkening bruise high on his cheekbone, quickly hidden by long hair and his bent-down head. Samuel had been with them for a long time – and he didn’t complain, so, they figured, it all was okay. They had more troublesome patients to deal with every day, and as long as he was peaceful, and didn’t get in anyone’s way, he was best left alone. And Samuel was peaceful. His arms wrapped tightly around himself, his hands balled into tight fists, he still never caused any trouble. Quietly he went about his daily business, sitting in the small park area that was part of the mental ward of the hospital, wearing the same coat every day, for years.
He could fight, several scars proved that – across his wrists, his palms, his back, but the most prominent one was on his chest. It looked as if something had tried to rip out his heart with sharp claws. Nobody could explain those scars, and nobody investigated anymore. As long as Samuel didn’t speak, there was no way of finding out what had happened to him.
The other patients left him alone. A few were afraid of him, most didn’t care either way. And yet, the bruises appeared, from one day to the next, like flower petals on paper-thin, pale skin.
“Nobody knows where he came from,” Dr. Shelley told Frank one day as they observed Samuel sitting in the sun, his knees drawn up and his chin resting on them. “The only thing of value he had with him is this necklace he’s still wearing.”
Frank nodded – he’d noticed the fraying leather band around the patient’s neck, had wondered why he had been allowed to keep it.
“We tried,” Dr. Shelley explained. “But he got upset. So we decided to let him keep it.” He shrugged. “He isn’t dangerous.”
Frank nodded and grinned. It seemed like he was going to have some fun with this idiot.
Afterwards, nobody remembered what had caused the sudden outburst. It came, practically, out of the blue. In the evening, several of the patients were witnessing how Frank, the newest addiction to the staff, growled at Samuel and grabbed his arm to drag him from the room.
Several of the patients claimed that Samuel had been afraid of Frank, had gone out of his way to escape from him, and that Frank had finally cornered his prey.
Nobody knew why he’d picked Samuel – it just happened.
Frank roughly pulled Samuel forwards and manhandled him into his room where he gave him a shove that brought the patient to his knees.
“You’re useless,” he hissed as he dragged the man back to his feet. “Stupid and useless. People like you should get shot, quick and clean.”
He gave Samuel a shove and ripped the necklace off in the same move. “You are just a drooling, whimpering idiot, Sammy.”
The lights started flickering.
“You want your stupid necklace back? You want that back?” Frank scoffed. “Forget it. This is mine now.”
Samuel curled up, his knees pulled to his chin, and whimpered softly, a small, almost inaudible sound, like a frightened animal. The temperature in the room suddenly seemed to drop, but Frank didn’t notice. He was laughing at the wide-eyed look from greenish-brown eyes, filled with shock.
And then, all hell broke loose.
The lights went out in a loud explosion. Glass was shattering. The patients started screaming and howling.
Frank found he couldn’t move. He was frozen to the spot, unable to turn his head away or move a muscle. The laughter died in his throat, his grin turned into a grimace.
Wind whipped through the small room. The door banged shut, the key turned in the lock.
Samuel smiled.
“…nnn…” he said.
Frank wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. Right in front of him, the wind concentrated, and a ghost appeared, out of nowhere.
A spirit.
It was like an image straight out of a horror movie, or his worst nightmares.
It was male, with short, dark hair. He was pale, ghostly pale. His shirt was covered in blood and ripped, displaying pale, blood-slicked skin and wounds the same shape as Samuel’s scars. Dark smudges around his throat indicated that someone had tried to throttle the man – had throttled him, Frank thought hysterically, as the ghost stepped closer to him. Green eyes stared at him dismissively, and then the ghost lifted a hand and closed it around Frank’s throat.
“Nobody hurts my brother,” it hissed, and then, with a dry snap, like a twig, the ghost broke Frank’s neck.
“And nobody calls him Sammy, either,” the ghost added and ripped the amulet from now lifeless fingers. “Only I get to call him that.”
With a disgusted sneer, he dropped the dead body and turned around. His face softened as he spotted Sam, curled up in a corner, looking at him with wide eyes and a faint smile.
“Dean.”
His voice was rusty, unused to talking, but the word, the name, was still intelligible. His hands reached out to touch, to grab on to the spirit, to hold on to it.
Dean grinned as he kneeled down next to Sam and squeezed his shoulder affectionately. “I told you, Sam,” he said softly and carefully re-knotted the leather band. “You’re safe.”
He slipped the amulet back around Sam’s neck and stood.
The wind picked up again, and the spirit became translucent. Sam shook his head and tried to hold on to him, but his hands only closed around thin air, as Dean’s presence left.
“Dean!”
The storm around him laughed, and before it died down, taking the spirit with it, it whispered:
“I’m here. I take care of you.”
End…