Chapter 1 – Crazy Days
Something was wrong. Dean's head throbbed, his chest hurt, and his arms tingled like they were asleep. His eyes felt like they had been cemented shut. He took a deep breath and forced his eyes to open. The room was bright, bright white. Dean had to blink several times for his eyes to adjust to the light. Yep, it was a white room. It looked suspiciously like a hospital room except for the fact it was empty.
Cool eyes studied the empty room. He rocked back experimentally. The walls were soft. With a frown he pounded a foot against the floor. The floor was soft, too, and his ankle had something around it that attached it to his other ankle. He tried to push himself up, but his arms were lashed across his chest. What was this, a freaking straitjacket? He looked down. Yep, a freaking straitjacket. What the hell?
It took some effort, especially with the way his chest hurt, but Dean managed to stand up. One of the walls had a little window in it. He moved toward it, assuming that had to be the door. Upon closer inspection, he could see there was a break in the padding in a large rectangle all around the window. Bingo! Door! Unfortunately, hobbled like this he had no hope of kicking it open.
Dean could see through the window without stretching too much, so he stared out until someone noticed him. "Hey! Little help here!"
The man who noticed him ran off down the hall. Dean grimaced. How the hell was he going to get out of here? He heard running footsteps. A young man about his age ran straight to Dean's window. He smiled when he saw Dean looking through at him.
"Hey! What the hell is going on?" he shouted through the window.
The young man in a white lab coat, probably an intern, waved at him to move back. Dean hopped backwards as quickly as he could and the door opened.
"What the hell is going on?" Dean demanded as soon as the man walked in.
The man smiled. "I'm Brett Myers, your doctor. It's good to see you lucid. I need to ask you a few questions."
"Lucid? What do you mean, lucid?" Dean's mouth went dry.
"Lucid, as in coherent."
"I know what it means!" Dean snapped. "What did you mean by it's good to see me lucid?"
"Well, you have been rather, um…"
"Where's my brother?" Dean demanded. This conversation was pointless, he needed to find Sam.
"You have family, then? And what is your brother's name?" His pen was poised over a clipboard.
Dean cocked his head to the side. "He didn't bring me in? To the hospital?" This did not bode well.
"I take it you have no memory of the accident?" Doctor Myers asked.
Dean's eyebrows lifted. "Well, that might explain why my chest hurts like a son of a bitch."
"You were hit by a car while crossing the street," Myers informed him.
Dean felt a little too well to have just been in a pedestrian-auto accident. His next word came out barely more than a suspicious whisper. "When?"
Doctor Myers smiled apologetically. "About three weeks ago."
"What!" Dean felt shock, rage, and one of those damned pesky emotions he did not identify.
"If we had had a name we would have contacted your family, but there was only cash in your wallet."
Duh. Like he was going to carry about five forms of fake ID. But didn't he have a credit card on him? He tried to remember, but his brain felt foggy like he had been asleep for a long time. Well yeah, apparently he had been out for three friggin' weeks!
"Call Sam," Dean relayed his brother's cell number from memory as he watched the doctor scrawl it illegibly on his clipboard. "But in the meantime, get this crap off of me!"
"I'm terribly sorry, uh?" Doctor Myers looked at him hopefully.
"Dean," he muttered, glowering all the while.
"I'm sorry, Dean, but you have been quite the handful. Until I see evidence that you can behave, you are going to have to stay restrained." Myers sounded too serious.
Dean took a deep breath. Controlling his temper was not exactly his strong suit. "And how are you going to get evidence of that if you keep me trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey?"
"We'll keep you under observation for a while. If you're still lucid this evening, I may allow it for a few minutes." Myers tapped his clipboard, shooting Dean a stern look before he left.
What the freaking hell? Sam had better show up soon and get him the hell out of here! Dean lowered himself to the floor again. Not content to just watch the way the sunlight hit the stupid padded walls, Dean decided to put a little of his training to use. Specifically: Escape.
Despite the pain that lanced through his chest when he tugged at the jacket, Dean kept at it. He had no idea how long it took, but eventually he managed to pull one jacketed arm free. It was still attached in the back, but he could move it. Now for the other arm. Surprisingly that took more effort. He wrestled with it for so long Dean was convinced the guards pretending to be orderlies would come back any second and bust him. Finally it came free! Dean breathed a huge sigh of relief. He wanted to celebrate his victory by relaxing for a few minutes, but he could be discovered any second. Dean wrenched the jacket off over his head, like shrugging out of a particularly troublesome sweatshirt. He tossed it in the corner triumphantly. The soft shackles hobbling his ankles followed shortly.
Dean stretched tired, sore muscles. Ah, much better! He stretched his neck and back, heard tiny popping noises as his spine realigned. Exhausted from his efforts, Dean slid down the wall to enjoy his newfound freedom. Now, if Sammy would just bust him out of here, things would be perfect! What the hell was taking him so long, anyway?
Three weeks! Dean had been missing for three weeks! Sam paced his motel room, the one he had extended week by week hoping his wayward brother would just show up. As the days had passed he had become more and more concerned, especially after discovering the Impala abandoned in a parking lot a few miles away. Something disastrous must have happened to Dean for him to leave his car. Sam feared psychos like the Benders at work, but he could find no evidence of regular disappearances in the area.
His cell phone went off. Sam dug it out of his pocket, wondering if it was Ellen calling to check on his progress – again. That woman was getting to be… This was an unknown number. Sam stabbed the button to receive the call.
"Hello?"
"Hello. Am I speaking with Sam?" A male voice on the other end asked. Oh god, it was kidnappers. They had their fun with Dean and were ready to demand a ransom he couldn't possibly afford.
"Yes," Sam snapped, trying to brace himself for anything.
"My name is Doctor Brett Myers. I am a psychiatrist at County General Hospital. We have a man here who claims to be your brother. Do you have a brother?"
Did he have a brother? "You mean Dean?" Please, please, please let it be Dean!
"Why yes," the man sounded surprised, "he did claim that his name is Dean."
"I can be there in ten minutes," Sam replied, heading out the door for the Impala.
"Just a moment. I need to discuss Dean with you."
Sam opened the door and slid in behind the wheel. "So discuss," he said, starting the motor. Dean talked and drove all the time, why shouldn't he?
"Your brother has been under psychiatric care since waking up from his surgery."
Sam's heart skipped a beat. "What surgery?" he demanded, taking the next corner a little too fast.
"The patient was hit by a car three weeks ago. He sustained some bruising to the ribs and abdominal areas," Sam had to force the air in and out of his lungs, "but I'm afraid the other damage was far more extensive."
The road was becoming hazy. "Just a minute," Sam took the hand holding his cell to wipe away the tears blurring his vision. "Okay, go head. No, wait." The hospital loomed ahead. "I'm pulling into the parking lot. How do I find you?"
"East Wing, sixth floor. I'll be waiting by the elevators."
After all the hospitals they had been in even the most confusing layouts provided a minor challenge. Sam took this one at a dead run, arriving at the East Wing elevator maybe a minute after parking. It took forever for the damn doors to open, and even longer for the patients inside to be wheeled out, but finally Sam found himself on the sixth floor. Psychiatric. He shuddered.
A man close to Dean's age with short, straight black hair and gold wire-rimmed glasses was waiting for him. Sam knew this had to be Dean's doctor before the man could speak.
"Doctor Myers?" he asked, sticking out a hand. "I'm Sam. Where's my brother?"
"Sam. So nice to finally have a family member to discuss treatments. I am afraid I have been solely responsible for your brother's welfare since he was moved to my department." The man seemed likable enough, but Sam did not care for the idea of someone else being responsible for Dean. That whole phrase just had 'bad news' written all over it.
"What treatments? And what extensive injuries?" Sam demanded, towering over the man, using his full height to his advantage.
"Perhaps we should discuss this in my office? Where I have Dean's charts?" Doctor Myers did not wait for a reply, he turned on his heel and marched away.
Sam's knee bounced nervously as Doctor Myers explained, at great length and in great detail, how Dean's brain was bruised. It had something to do with cranial impact during the accident, hitting both the car and pavement with his head. Sam could not process too much after that, until the doctor explained that Dean had been restrained.
"Oh, he won't like that," Sam said, knowing his eyes were probably wider than normal.
"He did ask me to remove the restraints earlier, before I spoke with you on the phone, but they are there for his protection as well as ours." Doctor Myers assured Sam.
"What do you mean? For his own protection?" Sam leaned forward. Oh, this day was just going to top off his month, wasn't it?
"Yes. I'm afraid we had to remove everything from his room, even the bed, because he kept throwing himself against it. Repeatedly. We suspect he cracked or bruised several more ribs this way, but since he was not in wonderful shape after the accident, we can't be sure."
Sam raked a hand through his hair. "And now?"
"Well, to be honest, this is the first lucid day we've seen. I don't really expect it to last too long, that would be unlikely, but perhaps we should take advantage and go speak to him now? We can come back and discuss further treatments afterwards." Doctor Myers smiled with what Sam assumed was supposed to be encouragement before leading the way.
They arrived at a long white hall with little windows. Doctor Myers stopped at the room closest to his office. "I had him placed here," he said, standing on tiptoe to look in the window, "so I would be close by." He nodded and opened the door.
Sam stepped through first. He noticed some stuff stacked in the far corner, but no Dean. As his eyes swept the room, he realized his brother was standing behind the door. "Dean?" he called cautiously, unsure of the reaction he would receive after his meeting with Dean's doctor.
"Sam!" Dean rushed forward, grasping Sam's arms tightly. "Oh, man, am I glad to see you! I take back everything I've ever said about you. Honest." He cut his eyes at the doctor. "Tell me the truth, Sam," he whispered, leaning close, "how long have I been here?"
"The last time I saw you was three weeks ago, Dean," Sam said. He noticed Dean's hands trembled on his arms. Sam lifted his hands to grasp Dean's elbows.
"Who let you out of the restraints?" Doctor Myers roared. "Orderly!"
Dean backed up, dropping his hands from Sam. "I did," he snarled at the doctor, raising both fists. Sam noticed that his brother seemed unsteady on his feet.
"He seems fine, doctor," Sam said, turning to face Myers. "Maybe the restraints are overkill at this point."
"Demon!"
Sam spun around. Dean was staring around wildly. "It's coming to get you , Sammy! Look out!" He felt Dean's body crash into him and heard the doctor screaming for help.
With a sharp hip thrust, Sam flipped his brother over. He pinned Dean's arms down. "Dean! Dean! Look at me!"
The glazed eyes focused for a moment. "Sammy? Did it get you?"
Sam shook his head. "No, Dean. I'm fine. Come on," he stood and helped his brother to his feet.
The orderlies burst through the door. Sam put out an arm to protect his big brother. "Don't try anything stupid," he warned.
"Sam. He's dangerous when he's like this. You're going to have to trust me on this," Doctor Myers motioned for Sam to move aside.
"You're going to have to go through me to get my brother," Sam warned softly. He felt Dean step beside him.
"Same here," Dean growled.
"Tell them to get out," Sam told the doctor, keeping his voice calm so Dean would not start anything. "Now."
Doctor Myers stared at him for a long moment. He gave Sam something between a sour face and a glare, but he told the orderlies to leave.
"I want him out of here," Sam told the doctor once they were alone. For once Dean was quiet, allowing Sam to handle everything.
"I can't do that, Sam. This is the first time he's been anywhere near lucid for the past three weeks. He could snap at any time. He almost did just now!" Myers pointed to Dean. "He's been screaming about demons and vampires for at least a week. Yesterday he accused me of being a shapeshifter! Would you call any of these actions reasonable?"
Sam cut his eyes at Dean. "Dude. You called your doctor a shapeshifter? No wonder he had you in a straitjacket."
Dean shot him a nasty look but said nothing, standing shoulder to shoulder with Sam.
Sam made eye contact with Myers. "I can handle my brother." Doctor Myers looked doubtful. "Tell you what. If what you've told me is true, then Dean needs to be here for a little while longer."
"Dude!"
Sam ignored Dean's protest. "But I'll stay, too. And no restraints." Sam cast his eyes over the barren room. "We'll need two beds."
"I explained the reason for no furniture," Myers protested.
"Yeah, you did," Sam replied calmly. "And my brother seems much better now. Two beds."
The doctor's face flushed red before he nodded. He left quickly, stealing hard glances at Dean.
"So," Sam turned to face his brother, "been staying out of trouble?"
"Ha-ha," Dean scowled at him, "very funny, Sam. Seriously, dude, I just woke up here a couple of hours ago. I was hoping you'd tell me that I hadn't really been here for three freaking weeks!"
"Okay." Sam nodded. There was no place to sit except on the floor. He sank down, leaning back against the soft padded walls. Who knew these places literally had padded walls? "What was that? Just now?"
Dean rubbed hand over his head, confused. He crossed his legs to sit facing Sam. "What was what?"
"When you screamed about demons and knocked me down?" Sam had a hard time pushing down his panic.
Confusion flashed across Dean's face. "What are you talking about?"
Yeah, that panic just kept on coming, didn't it? "You don't remember knocking me down? Trying to protect me from demons?"
"Well," Dean leaned back on his elbows, looking towards the door, "that sounds like me."
Sam took a deep breath. He would not yell. He would not yell. He would not yell. "That was you, Dean. Not two minutes ago."
Dean squinted at him, clearly trying to make sense of things. "Was that when I was on the floor and you helped me up? I wondered how I got down there." Dean stretched out on the floor. "We should call Bobby."
"Bobby?" Sam felt a pang of guilt. The one person he didn't call. "Why call Bobby?"
Dean's head lifted to glare at him. "In case it is a demon, Sam!" he hissed. "Besides," he said as his head hit the soft floor, "if I haven't called in three weeks, he's probably getting worried."
"Worried?" Sam stared at his brother. "Bobby is probably worried about you just because you haven't called?"
"Yeah." Dean pushed up on his elbows again. "What? We check in." Sam just stared. "It's nice for another hunter to have your back, Sam. It makes sense."
Sam tore his eyes away, nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. You're right."
"So?" Dean demanded. Sam looked back, shrugged. What did his brother want now? "Do you have your phone on you or not?"
"Oh!" Sam dug in his pocket, producing his cell. "Sure, here ya go."
"Thanks." Dean fiddled with it a moment, cutting his eyes at Sam. "You really didn't call him, huh?"
Sam shook his head. "I don't know why, Dean. I'm sorry, I guess I should've."
"Nah," Dean waved him off. "I'm just going to get chewed out is all."
"Here," Sam held out his hand, "I'll call him now. You don't need to be chewed out."
Looking relieved, Dean handed the phone back over. Then a strange look crossed his brother's face.
"What was that?" Dean demanded, pointing up at the corner. He shot to his feet, any injuries he might have clearly forgotten. "Did you see that?"
Sam scoured that corner with his eyes. "No. What do you think it was, Dean?"
A nasty grimace came over Dean's face. "Probably a ghost, maybe a poltergeist." Dean studied that corner like it held all the answers. "Need to do some research, Sam."
Sam chewed his bottom lip for a moment. "Then we'll need some help. I'm calling Bobby." He hoped that was his reasonable voice, and he didn't hear the edge of his panic wasn't bleeding through.
