We Found Love (In A Hopeless Place)

Chapter 12: Now We're Standing

Chapter 12: Now We're Standing

The hospital set the tempo for Lucifer and Castiel's Involuntary Psychiatric Hold at Grace Mental Health Facility. After the Winchesters left in the wee hours of the morning, Lucifer came to. He wasn't the one with the drug problem, and he figured the IV attached to the back of his palm was shooting morphine along with whatever the hydration fluids were. He couldn't feel anything, but the fact that he was still in the hospital and couldn't remember anything after Sam told him about Castiel filled in the pieces enough for right now.

Lucifer held up his arms to check the bandages. The bandage on his right arm seemed normal but his left arm didn't just have a bandage on it. He had a metal splint under his bandage, keeping him from moving his wrist. He knew enough to know that meant stitches. He'd never cut himself bad enough to need stitches to stop the bleeding before.

He hadn't meant to press that hard. He was supposed to get locked up so Castiel didn't have to be alone. He wasn't supposed to come so close.

Lucifer sat up, fighting a wave of nausea and wondered for a moment how Castiel could live with this fog. It took him a full minute before he tested his legs and realized that the morphine didn't really impair his mobility, except for the fact it felt like he was walking through water.

He tried to wrap his fingers over his mobile IV cart, but his fingers on his left arm wouldn't close. He couldn't feel the fingers; he couldn't get them to move at all. He tried his right hand – it was hesitant, but it worked – and Lucifer fought the bile rising up his throat at the thought of severing the tendon in his left wrist and losing control over his fingers. He couldn't play the violin again. He couldn't play the guitar. All of his hopes and dreams for his future were crumbling around him.

The Lucifer in the mirror made him press too damn hard.

He knew there would be a time in the not so distant future when he would have to try and deal with the very real possibility of losing control of his fingers permanently – he read his chart and found out they were putting a hold on him again – and that place was all about forcing a person to deal with shit they wanted to keep buried. But right now, he couldn't worry about himself and 

oh, fucking God

 what was he going to do with his life if he could never play music again?

The panic was swelling, so Lucifer grabbed the metal pole with his IV attached with his weak-but-still-functioning (

oh God

) right hand and pushed it into the hallway.

He had no idea where Castiel was. He had no idea how bad he was – he had no idea what Castiel 

did

 to himself – but he knew he had to find him. It didn't take long.

Lucifer wasn't sure if it was alphabetical or if it was because they were brought to the hospital within half an hour of each other, but he found Castiel's name on the room next door. He wheeled his IV in, not realizing he had his left wrist pinned to his stomach in a protective position until he reached out to touch his sleeping brother. He couldn't feel the pain, but he remembered the night he broke his arm, how his body knew to cradle the injury.

He wondered how bad his wounds really were.

Castiel was laying on his back – Lucifer had never known his brother to lay that way – but he had the covers drawn up to his chest in a way that was too perfect. He hadn't woken up yet. Lucifer hadn't meant to wake him when he let go of the metal and brushed his hair off his forehead, but blue eyes shot open. He seemed alarmed and frightened for a split second before he wailed in pain, pushing his blankets down to look at his chest.