Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“So, get this,” said Sam, handing Dean the newspaper. “Three suicides in one week.” Dean took the paper and read the reports. “Well, Sammy, some people just look for the easy way out,” he said unimpressed, putting the newspaper aside. Sam nodded but pulled out his laptop. “Right but three suicides in a small town in such a short time? The families said it came completely out of nowhere, so I hacked into the pathology database and found the reports on two of the victims.” Dean looked at him with surprise. “Since when can you hack into medical records?”

He wouldn’t admit it, but he was kind of impressed. Sam just shrugged. “Their firewall was probably free! Anyway,” he continued, reading from the report, “stab wound proximal to the neck. At least 5 cm deep. The craniectomy shows massive brain atrophy and dehydration.”

Dean just stared at his brother; he was a total nerd, he thought :” I have no freaking idea what you just said.” Sam sight.:“ They had a hole in their neck and the brain was dried out. I’m pretty sure it is a wraith.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After just a few hours of driving, they reached a remote motel near the town. Sam headed to the reception area, and the receptionist handed him the keys with a kind smile.

Once they closed the door behind them, Sam immediately took out his laptop and started his research. Dean, on the other hand, had been driving for hours, so he lay down on the bed to rest for a while. His eyes closed almost instantly.

Sam let Dean have his break, knowing he needed it and checked through various articles and again at the pathology reports to find a connection to the victims.
He found it fairly quickly: “ So, according to the reports, both David and Tracy went to see Dr. Green, a psychiatrist,” Sam began.
“Oh man, always the crazies, huh, Sammy?” Dean grinned, but Sam shot him a serious look.

“Not funny, Dean,” Sam said seriously. “People go to therapy to get help.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “It was a joke, Sam!”
Slightly annoyed, Sam brought the conversation back to the original topic. “We should go to the police first. The newspaper didn’t mention anything other than the suicides, but the police should have launched further investigations after the pathology reports.”

“We should also question the psychologist and the families,” Dean concluded.
Sam nodded in agreement. He let Dean rest for a few more hours before he pulled out their FBI suits and IDs.
~~~

“FBI”, both introduced themselves in the police station. The Co-Worker greed them both and got his superior. A small, kind of round man with not quite full of hair introduced himself. “How can I help you?” he asked and reached unexpectedly fast after Sams hand, which wasn’t even extended for a greeting.

With Sam’s finger already grasped, he knew he couldn’t just pull his hand back without drawing attention. The Police chief got a strong handshake an was holding his hand a little too long for Sams comfortness. Sam felt a weird discomfort, like a cold shiver down the spine.

Dean analyzed the situation fast and simulated a sneeze, before the police officer could take his hand. “caught a could”, he explained and signaled that he didn’t want to infect somebody. The Man nodded understandably.

„We were informed about the alleged suicides”, said Sam, “What exactly does the Family of the Victims know?” The Chief looked questionable at both: “What do you mean?”
Dean and Sam exchanged glances. They told them the Names of the Victims and asked for more Details.
“Well,” started the Police Officer, “The Reports are clearly. They were suicides! How does it come that the FBI got included?” he asked then.

Both explained the abnormalities of the Reports by the Pathologist and demanded for more details. The man before them seemed pretty confused. He told them to follow him to the Archives and searched for the files. “I’m afraid I can’t quite follow, Agents. There were no abnormalities.” Sam and Dean skimmed through the files and noticed that some important details were missing or changed from the Original Report.

They thanked him, gave him one of their business card and went back to their car. Just after they left the Police station a woman stopped them. She told them about Gods love and gave both of them a flyer. Sam smiled uncomfortable and rolled his eyes. “Not today Lady, or ever”, Dean said and gave her both flyer back.

A short moment later sitting in the car, Dean looked at Sam before he started the engine.
“Perfect, the police don’t know anything” he said sarcastically, “But first thing the fat boss shakes your hand.”
Sam understood. It was possible that the police destroyed evidence. The round and too cheerful man was definitely their prime suspect. The direct Skin contact was not inconspicuous. Still, it didn’t explain the connection to the psychologist which Sam found.

Dean seemed a little tense as Sam explained him why they should visit the Families.
“For now the only connection is Dr. Green, at least by 2 victims. But I didn’t find a connection to the Police.”, Sam said relatively relaxed.
"Alright, I’ve got a bad feeling about this whole thing, Sam," Dean said bluntly. Then he remembered the woman with the flyers. "First the big boss, then the Jehovah’s Witness. Listen, if either of us starts acting differently, we trust each other, got it?" It was less of a question and more of a command. Sam silently nodded in agreement. "Also, we should avoid touching anyone until we know who we’re dealing with."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When they arrived at David's family's house, the two brothers introduced themselves. "I've already told the police everything," the young woman said, her voice trembling with tears. "We know," Dean replied, "we're working closely with the police, but we need to record your statement ourselves." He paused. "Your husband, he was attending therapy regularly with Dr. Green?"
The blonde woman sat down. “Yes, for almost two years. It seemed like he was doing better, but…” She trailed off, sobbing.“ Did he behave differently in recent days?” Sam asked gently.
“Differently?” the woman repeated the question.
“Did he seem confused?” Dean asked. “Maybe he saw things that weren’t there? Hallucinations?”

Mrs. Taylor looked at him, confused. “No,” she answered confidently. Sam and Dean exchanged a glance.
“Mrs. Taylor, why was your husband seeing Dr. Green?” She seemed unsettled by the question.
“It’s important for our investigation,” Dean added.
“I don’t understand why that’s relevant, but… he went through a lot in his childhood. He saw her to work through it,” she said hesitantly.
“Thank you, Mrs. Taylor,” Dean said, and they bid her farewell.
Once back at the car, they exchanged another look. “So, he didn’t act crazy,” Dean began.“ I didn’t sense anything unusual in the house,” Sam said, aware that this could still be something else.
“Looks like we’ll have to dig a little deeper,” Dean remarked, turning up the music

Sharp Dressed Man – by ZZ Top

played on the radio as they drove to Tracy’s family’s home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Wayd?” Dean asked, flashing his FBI badge. Sam did the same. “We’re here regarding your daughter, Tracy.”

A moment later, the brothers were seated in the living room of the victim’s mother.
“I made some tea. Would you like some?” Sam accepted gratefully, while Dean politely declined.
“Mrs. Wayd,” Sam began once she sat down, “we’ve uncovered new findings regarding your daughter’s death, but we need more information.”

Her hands trembled as she took a sip of her tea. “What kind of findings? It was a suicide.”
“Of course,” Dean said. “But for our investigation, we need to ask more detailed questions. Did your daughter behave differently at all?”

Mrs. Wayd looked at him, sadness and anger mixed in her expression. “Differently? Why is that important?”
“We’re just following protocol,” Sam interjected. “Were there any unusual signs? Did she feel threatened by anyone?” Wanting to tread carefully, he phrased his questions subtly, given there were no apparent signs of abnormal behavior.

The witness hesitated. “Threatened? Well… she became more withdrawn, had nightmares—worse than before. Dr. Green assured me that this can happen during the process of working through trauma,” she said sadly, taking another sip of tea to steady herself.

“I don’t understand why…” she sobbed.
Sam placed a comforting hand on her shoulder to show support. When they left the house, both sighed in uncertainty.

At the home of the third victim, Arya Wilson, the brothers decided to take a different approach.
“I’d like to see your mother’s room,” Sam began cautiously after their standard questions yielded no answers. The daughter allowed it and stayed with Dean.
“I still don’t understand why the FBI is investigating a suicide. Or do you suspect it wasn’t one at all?” she asked.

Dean replied confidently, “Well, we just want to rule out any other possibilities. At the moment, it doesn’t look like it.”
Moments later, Sam returned and nodded at Dean. He’d found something.

“What is it?” Dean asked as he started the engine.
Sam held up a business card for Dr. Green. “There’s a clear connection here,” Sam said aloud, voicing what Dean was already thinking.

Although everything so far raised more questions than answers, the brothers knew it was time to call it a day. By the time they reached their motel, it was already dark outside. Dean opened a beer and offered one to Sam, who declined.

Fatigue quickly overtook them. A *Game of Thrones* episode played on TV, but they both missed the ending as sleep claimed them.

Sam was jolted awake by restless dreams. His heart raced in his chest, and cold sweat clung to his skin. He blinked, struggling to open his eyes. Faint light flickered through the darkness, casting shadows on the ceiling. Despite the dim light, he felt a shadow looming over him. It pinned him down, pressing him into the soft mattress. Sam tried to get up, but his body refused to obey.
Exhaustion weighed him down, making him want to sleep again, but fear kept him wide awake. Something whispered to him, but he couldn’t make out the words.

Panic surged through him as he fought to regain control of his body. His heart pounded. He wanted to scream. With immense effort, he managed to move his pinky finger. Whatever was in the room with him, he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Gradually, he moved another finger and finally woke with a silent jolt.

He looked around. It was still the middle of the night.

Cautiously, he scanned the room. A few feet away, Dean lay peacefully asleep.
Soft voices came from the TV. Sam grabbed the remote to turn it off but decided against it, instead raising the volume slightly.

*Sleep paralysis,* he thought, trying to rationalize the experience.

As he sank back into bed, he fought the sadness welling up inside him. Whatever he’d dreamed, it wasn’t real. He glanced at Dean, feeling reassured knowing his brother was sleeping peacefully.

Slowly, his racing pulse calmed, and Sam felt his heartbeat return to normal. Though the uneasy feeling faded, he lay awake far longer than he wanted before finally drifting back to sleep.

Chapter Text

The first rays of sunlight woke Sam up. Dean was still sleeping peacefully as Sam slowly stand up. He didn’t feel rested, more like he had been run through a circular saw. Still, it was 7 a.m. in the morning, so he decided to get them both some coffee.

A good half-hour later, he returned to the room and greeted Dean. “Got us some coffee,” he simply said. Dean didn’t respond at first, just looked at him sleepily before giving a thankful nod. His brother had never been a morning person.

Sam sat down and placed both cups on the table. The previous night had left him restless and tense. Even though the initial feelings of helplessness and fear had faded, a lingering unease remained. He was familiar with sleep paralysis, but it had been years since he last experienced it. He thought back to when Dean had first told him that monsters were real. Even though he had never doubted his brother’s words, it wasn’t until his first hunt that he truly understood what monsters were.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Dean muttered, breaking the silence. Sam flinched slightly. “What’s up?” Sam quickly shook his head. He didn’t want Dean to worry unnecessarily. “Nothing.” His answer came too fast, and Dean shot him a suspicious look. “We should keep an eye on the police station,” Sam said, changing the subject as he slid the coffee toward Dean. “And we still need to see the coroner and the psychiatrist.” Dean didn’t like it when Sam shut him out, but he decided to let it go. With Sam, it was only a matter of time before everything would come spilling out. It usually meant deep secrets and too much drama. And while Dean knew this whole cycle could probably be avoided, he also knew that pushing Sam wouldn’t work.

Sometimes, he wondered if Sam had learned this closed-off behavior from him.

~~~

“Agents, Mr. Taylor was buried the day before yesterday. But my colleague can give you the file.” Both nodded and followed the pathologist to the basement. Just like in their previous case, both victims’ brains had been completely drained. “The newspaper is calling it suicide, but gentlemen, this was not suicide,” the doctor said. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. The initial examination showed large cuts on Mrs. Wayd—our first assumption was severe blood loss leading to cardiac arrest. Mr. Taylor was found in the bathtub with a hairdryer. Mrs. Wilson’s stomach tested positive for an overdose of sleeping pills.”

“But in all cases, the real cause of death occurred before any of that happened.” The coroner didn’t know exactly what had caused the deaths, but he was certain they hadn’t been self-inflicted. He also couldn’t explain the massive dehydration of the brain. Dean thanked him, and the brothers headed for the Impala.

“Next stop: Dr. Green,” Dean said, and Sam nodded. “But we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

“I’m not stupid, Sam! We’ll take a look around”

As Holy Diver played, Dean nodded along to the beat.

~~~

Arriving at the doctor’s office, they continued their investigation.

"How can I help you?" asked the receptionist behind the desk. Both of them flashed their FBI badges and asked for Dr. Green. The young woman glanced at them uncertainly before disappearing for a moment. About five minutes later, she returned with the doctor. "FBI?" the doctor immediately asked, wanting to see the badges with her own eyes. "Agent Johnson and Agent Young," Dean introduced them both. Sam suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and simply smiled. Dean’s habit of giving them names from famous musicians would get them caught one day.

She nodded and extended a hand to both of them. "Dr. Green. How can I help you?" They both glanced at her outstretched hand, hesitating briefly. "Uh," Dean smiled, "we're currently avoiding handshakes." She raised an eyebrow. "We’ve got a slight cold, don’t want to spread it," Sam added. Dean gave a small cough to sell the story. She responded with a brief nod and withdrew her hand.

"Alright, follow me."

The doctor led them to an examination room to talk in private. "I assume this is about Mr. Wayd and Mrs. Taylor?" she asked as she took a seat. "And Mrs. Wilson," they both said at the same time. "Mrs. Wilson?" she asked, surprised. Sam handed her a business card, careful not to touch her. "We found this at her home." Dr. Green examined the card. "Mrs. Wilson suffered from severe depression. A week ago, she was admitted to Secret Hearts Hospital. She slit both her wrists. We can only keep patients for 72 hours, so I left her my card." She looked at them seriously. "It’s not easy—or cheap—to find a psychiatrist these days who’s still taking patients."

"We’d like access to both patients' files, if possible, including Mrs. Wilson’s." She briefly left the room and returned a few minutes later. In the meantime, the brothers exchanged glances. It’s not her, they silently concluded. "My assistant is printing the files for you. What else can I answer?" she asked. "How often were they in treatment with you?" Sam inquired. "Once a week. Mr. Taylor for two years now. Mrs. Wayd as well, though she only started about six months ago." "Did they act differently before their suicides?" Dean asked. Both of them had enough experience to tell that Dr. Green wasn’t responsible for their deaths.

Dr. Green thought for a moment. "I don’t know how to explain it. Take Mr. Taylor, for example, he’d been seeing me for two years. Back in middle school, there was a school shooting. His best friend died. He carried a lot of guilt, but he was making progress, until two weeks ago." She paused. "He completely regressed. He fell back into the same patterns from when he first started therapy. He blamed himself again, sank back into deep depression. And yet, he had been doing so well before that."

"You don’t believe it was suicide?" Sam concluded. The doctor shook her head. "Despite their trauma, neither of them showed signs that they wanted to end their lives. Quite the opposite. As she said this, she locked eyes with Sam. The atmosphere in the room shifted. No one spoke. Dr. Green’s gaze remained on Sam, her breath hitching. She staggered back a few steps, her fingers searching for something to hold onto. When she touched her desk, she looked down in embarrassment.

"I’m sorry," she murmured, raising a hand when she noticed both men moving to help her. "You’re not FBI," she finally said, lifting her head. Dean reacted instantly, his hand moving toward his gun, but Sam stopped him. For some reason, she looked relieved. She wiped away a tear and shook her head slightly. "I was doubting my abilities. But now, I know there’s more going on than I realized."

Dean’s grip on his gun relaxed, but he kept his eyes on her. Sam stepped closer despite Dean’s silent warning. "What do you know?" Sam asked cautiously, aware they might be dealing with a psychic. Dr. Green steadied herself and sat down at her desk. "Well," she began, more composed now than before. "You’re Sam and Dean Winchester. You’re in town because you suspect a… Wraith?" The word sounded more like a question than a statement. "You two have been through hell…literally," she continued. Then, she looked at Sam.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to see anything. Your pain is overwhelming. I couldn’t block it out." Her voice was barely a whisper, almost too quiet for Dean to hear. Sam stiffened, consciously regulating his breathing. How much had she seen? How much of his suffering, his past? 

"What are you?" Dean demanded, almost hostile as he read Sam’s body language. "Not an enemy," she said firmly, though she avoided looking them directly in the eyes. "I’m a medium," she explained. "I can sense people’s emotions. Sometimes… even their experiences." 

Both brothers tensed.

"I’ve had this ability since I was young," she continued without prompting. "I wanted to help people, so I studied medicine." 

"My patients benefit from it. It allows me to approach their struggles with more empathy rather than just clinical detachment. They feel understood, not just treated." Dean believed her. He relaxed and dropped onto the couch. "Doesn’t sound like fun," he muttered. She gave a sad smile. "No. Not really. It’s both a curse and a gift." Still avoiding their eyes, she went on, "I chose to use it to help people. Over time, I learned how to control it, well, most of the time."

Her gaze flickered briefly to Sam. "But I can also see changes in my patients. And I’m glad when I can help them." A brief silence filled the room. No one knew what to say. So Sam nodded in understanding. Dean glanced between him and the doctor. He noticed the tension in Sam’s posture and wondered what exactly she had seen in him.

A familiar unease crept into Dean’s gut.

Dean clapped his hands on his thighs and stood. "Thanks for your time," he said, ready to leave. Sam walked out first, but before Dean could follow, she called after him. "Wait a moment." She walked over to a shelf lined with books and pulled one out. "When it comes to trauma, it’s not uncommon to relapse. It’s part of the process. It can take years, sometimes a lifetime, to truly process it," she said as she handed a book to Dean. "This edition is old, but the facts remain the same. Maybe it’ll help with your case." She hesitated for a second. "Or… with your brother."

Dean took the book, nodded, but said nothing.

~~~

After they received the victims' files, they returned to the Impala. "I don’t know, Sam," Dean said. "This is definitely our kind of case, but nothing fits the profile."

Sam simply nodded while flipping to the files.  “What’s the book for?”, he askes curiously. Dean placed it on the backseat but hesitated for a moment. “For our Case. She said it might help us”, he let the part about Sam out. 

Then he started the engine.

On their way to their motel Dean spotted a large tent and a bunch of posters beside it. “Look, Sammy. A circus,” Dean chuckled, watching as Sam rolled his eyes. Dean just grinned. Teasing his brother was too tempting - especially when it came to that ridiculous childhood fear. Sam didn’t react further. He hated circuses and Dean knew that perfectly well. But that never stopped him from poking fun of him.  

Back at the motel Dean poured himself a glass of whiskey. Sam however passed on the alcohol for now and dove straight into the psychiatrist’s files. “A little break won’t hurt us”, Dean said , slightly tipsy. Sam didn’t commend. He knew his brother too well. Dean liked to bury his emotions - drown them in liquor and push them down. The radio played Solitude by Black Sabbath, and Dean hummed along, gently swaying to the rhythm. Music had always been a part of Dean’s life.

Sam, feeling the familiar pull of that easy atmosphere, finally took a sip from his beer.

For Sam, it was just one beer; for Dean, several glasses of whiskey. Sam was worried about his brother’s health, though he understood why Dean reached for the bottle more often lately. It had become a bad habit — one not so easy to shake off.  

“Hm,” Sam muttered, catching Dean’s questioning glance.

“Found something?”

“Not really,” Sam replied, setting the file aside. “David had PTSD. Triggered by a school shooting. His friend was shot right in front of him when he was eleven.” He summarized the report briefly.

Dean took another sip of whiskey. “Tracy seemed pretty unstable too. Got bullied at school — the full package: isolation, insults, beatings. Kids can be brutal.”

“So what? We’ve got a Wraith that goes after people with childhood trauma?” Sam asked, putting the file aside.

Dean shrugged. “Kinda makes sense, doesn’t it? Traumatic experience plus a Wraith’s touch — boom. Crazy.”

“Except they didn’t go crazy,” Sam countered. Dean dropped his file too.

“Right. Damn.”

“We need to go to the hospital to get more information of Mrs. Wayd,” Sam said, “but I have a feeling it will be similar.”

“Can’t you hack in? Would save us a lot of work,” Dean asked. Sam gave him a look: “It’d save you a lot of work, Dean! And no, I already tried. No chance.”

They eventually decided to call it a night and get some rest.

“What’s wrong?”a voice asked, “No need to be scared. You look bored. Come with me.” Sam jolted awake. He face was wet. He didn’t know why. Normally, he remembered his dreams clearly, but this one was like a fog. A sinking feeling crept through. He thought about his sleep-paralysis the night before. He couldn’t say why exactly, but somehow, he felt the hazy nightmare was connected.

He glanced over at Dean, who was still at asleep. Sam felt powerless and overwhelmed. He wiped his tears away and lay back down again.

He lingered on his dream for a while, unable to explain or understand it. He’d felt fear in the dream, but that feeling had since faded. Sam assumed it was just another careless nightmare. He grabbed the blanket and wrapped it tighter around himself as sleepiness overtook him once more. His eyes longed to remain closed, and his thoughts were muddled. Just before drifting off, shifting images played before his inner eye. Then he fell into a restless sleep.

~~~

He was rudely awakened: hands. Fingers that clutched at his shoulders, holding him tight. He couldn’t move. “Sam!” Dean shouted. Startled, Sam bolted upright. He scanned the room in panic until he realized there was no danger. Then his gaze fell on Dean’s eyes—and he froze. “Sam,” Dean said, as Sam’s breathing became rapid. Dean’s fingers burned against his skin. His movements slowed. Why does his touch burn? Sam wondered as he slid away from him. “Let me go,” he finally demanded. With an uncertain look, Dean immediately released his grip.

In an instant, both were wide awake. For a brief moment, no one spoke. Dean simply stared at him. “Why did you wake me? What’s going on?” Sam asked, sitting up straight. He looked around the room again, yet still saw nothing that could pose a threat. The windows were clear, the door was closed—the surroundings were exactly as they’d been before they had fallen asleep.

“You screamed, Sam,” Dean said, looking at him seriously. “Screamed?” Sam was clearly confused, and Dean visibly tense. “You had a nightmare. Can you remember anything about it?” Dean pressed on. Sam shook his head. Dean ran his hand over his face. Sam knew what Dean was thinking: hell. “I really don’t remember,” Sam said, looking directly at Dean as he spoke.

The alarm clock suddenly startled them both. The shrill sound made them glance at the clock. It read 7:30 AM. Sam switched it off and got up. “If we’re awake now, we might as well start the day,” he said as he headed for the bathroom. Partly to ease Dean’s worry that the wall might be crumbling, and partly to rid himself of that unsettling sensation—the feeling of hands holding him tight.

~~~

Dean watched him go, uncertain if he should believe what he’d seen. Sam had had an episode before—a seizure that left him lying still for a good thirty minutes. Although Sam later said it felt like a week, he never elaborated on it.  So far, everything seemed fine. It appeared as if nothing else was going to happen, as if Sam were in control and well.

“Dean, Dean help … No, stop!”

Just a few minutes ago, Sam had tossed and turned in bed. He’d experienced Sam’s nightmares before, but never so loud, so painful. Dean worried that something in Sam’s brain might be slowly crumbling. Could the nightmare be a repressed memory from the days in the cage? In any case, the doctor had seen something in him. Dean knew he’d have to keep a much closer watch on him.

While these thoughts raced through his mind, Dean was drawn back to reality by the quiet sound of the shower. He stared at the bathroom door, his mind still heavy with worry and doubt. The minutes stretched on, until finally the bathroom door opened and Sam emerged, freshly showered. Dean noticed how Sam tried to act normal, yet the uncertainty in his own thoughts made him hesitate. Should he confront Sam? Ask him about his dream? On the other hand… What if Sam really couldn’t remember? Perhaps it was best not to push him.

“We should still gather more information from the hospital—it’s likely there’s a connection we haven’t uncovered yet,” Sam said. He sounded more composed than one might have expected. His trembling hands had calmed since stepping out of the shower and getting dressed. He felt Dean’s gaze on him as he handed over his FBI credentials, but he was relieved that Dean didn’t press the issue further.