Dean was in a bad mood. He'd got into an argument with a client, and later his boss, over an accusation of doing a half-assed job on a car. He was offended that they'd even think he'd be so lazy at his job, a job he worked hard for to bring some money in. Before that, he'd had a call from Lisa asking him to pick Ben up and take him to baseball, which there was no way he could do. Not in this rush period at work. Even the sounds of his co-workers laughing and joking made the ex-hunter want to break something. He just wanted to get into his beloved Impala and drive far away.
He knew why he was feeling this way. Sam's birthday was getting closer. Any reminder of his brother was a bad one; Dean may have dragged himself out of the alcoholism and depression he'd burdened Lisa with for at least three months after Sam took the swan dive, but he'd never truly got over being without his brother. Sam was a forbidden name in the Braeden household.
Dean finally clocked out and went straight to his favourite bar. He couldn't face Lisa yet, no doubt she wouldn't be pleased at his overreaction to being asked to pick up Ben from baseball. He drank his beer slowly, trying to collect his thoughts. Stop thinking about him, he commanded himself, it'll only make you miserable.
But he missed Sam. He missed the roadtrips, he even missed the crappy motels and diner food. Hunting felt so wrong without his little brother beside him and even if he'd wanted to go against Sam's wishes he couldn't. He couldn't hunt without Sam. Dean missed Sam's humour, when it was good, at least, his wisdom, his eager interest in knowledge and learning. Sam made Dean want to learn and explore and discover, he was the reason hunting could be so enjoyable. With the younger Winchester, hunting wasn't just wielding some weapon and killing a monster, it was analysis, it was researching lore and strategizing. It was as if there was a science to it that Sam himself discovered. He missed Sam's supportiveness to his brother. Dean only wished he could show his little brother his support. God knows that kid has some self-esteem issues. But that was history now. Sam was dead, downstairs with only Lucifer and Michael, and Adam, for company. Some party.
Dean was surprised that Lisa even let him stay. After every argument, after every time Lisa had to pick his drunk ass from the floor, he was amazed that she didn't kick him out. He knew he'd been a nuisance, Lisa and Ben didn't have to say it for Dean to know, but he was grateful for their acceptance. Without them, he didn't want to think about what he'd have done. Searched high and low for a way to free Sam from Lucifer's cage, no doubt. Killed every son of a bitch that crossed his path, probably. Lisa and Ben saved him from losing his mind and getting himself killed.
Bobby called halfway through the beer. Dean would be pissed, had it been anyone but Bobby. The older hunter hadn't called him in weeks, months even. He only really called to check in, see how Dean was doing, and occasionally mention something about a hunt as if trying to get Dean back into it.
"Hey, Bobby," Dean mumbled, running a hand through his hair slowly.
"How're ya, son?" Bobby drawled, but didn't wait for an answer, "Listen, I've been scannin' the news, national, local, all of it. S'been quiet recently. 'nyway, Came across an appeal in Detroit."
"An appeal? For what?" Dean was interested in any news in Detroit, where his brother fell, but he wondered what some appeal had to do with anything.
"Anyone who knows a young man found in the streets," Bobby continued, "Article says he got long dark hair, blue-green eyes, mid-to-late twenties, very tall, approx six feet four inches, with a muscular build."
Dean tensed, "You don't think…"
"It's gotta be Sam, Dean. The description fits, s'where he took the jump. What more do ya need?"
"It can't be. Bobby, how can he just be back? What, you think Lucifer got bored with him, decided to let him go? Because that ain't likely. He's still stuck down there," the ex-hunter was more worried about if that were Sam, how he'd be after over a year in the cage. He couldn't just walk away from that.
"I know, I know, Dean. But ya should go check it out. If it is yer brother, he's gonna want to see you fer sure," Bobby sighed, "He's gonna need yer to take care of him, most likely."
Dean nodded, it seemed too much like Sam to be a coincidence. He left the rest of his beer undrunk as he quickly left the bar.
"Meet me there, Bobby," he said hurriedly before ending the call and driving back to Lisa's. He wasn't taking his truck. He needed his Impala.
"Hey," Lisa appeared in the garage doorway the moment Dean got out the truck, "I'm sorry about earlier, I- what are you doing?"
Dean had thrown off the tarp covering his beloved car. He'd missed her so much, the roar of her engine, the rattle of the Legos, nothing could be better than his baby.
"Sam might be back," was all he said as he got inside the car and started up the engine. Dean couldn't help but smile at the sound.
"Sam? Your brother Sam? Dean, don't be ridiculous," Lisa shook her head, her smile immediately disappearing, "He's dead. How can he be back?"
"I thought that way too. But here we are," Dean shrugged, "I have to go."
"This is it, isn't it?" Lisa's expression turned sour, "Sam's back, you're gone. We're out of the picture, aren't we? Don't you think we need you here? I need you, Ben needs a role model like you?"
"If my brother really is back, he's gonna need me a hell of a lot more, Lisa. I'm sorry. He comes first right now," Dean sighed, "Don't look at me like that, Lise. I'll call, alright?"
Lisa nodded a little sadly, "I hope he's alright," she whispered softly before turning and going inside.
Dean sped to Detroit as fast as he could and arrived in less than four hours. The moment he mentioned the John Doe at the hospital, he was escorted to the ward. He spun some story about his brother going missing the night before, but was careful on the details; he didn't exactly know what condition his little brother was in, what he'd seen or been through.
Dean was taken to the patient's room, and he and the doctor stopped outside his room and watched him through the window.
He was restrained and bound to the bed. His eyes were wide, fearful, as they stared at something that wasn't there in the corner of the room. His expression alone looked so unlike his brother, terrified, almost childlike. Yet it was him. Sam had done the impossible, he'd escaped Hell.
"Sammy," tears sprung in Dean's eyes as he stared at his brother. It wasn't just his terror that was unsettling the older Winchester. All up his arms, all his visible skin including his face was covered in scars, cuts and gashes. The fresher ones were covered in bandages, and there was a patch on his neck.
"He was found on the street, he was just curled up in a ball, completely catatonic," the doctor, Dr Forester, sighed, "But when people approached him to see if he was alright, he'd freak out. He'd flinch, sometimes he'd scream or lash out. He started rocking back and forth, just saying "stop" or asking for someone named Dean."
"That's me, that's me. I'm Dean, I'm his brother," Dean stuttered, wiping at this eyes, "God. I shoulda been there to protect him. He must have been so afraid."
"He's had violent episodes. Very violent," Dr Forester's expression was solemn as she looked towards Sam, "The cops had to sedate him. One of them is in the hospital."
"They are?" the ex-hunter frowned, "What did he do? Can I go talk to him?"
"He's comatose, so good luck with that," the doctor shrugged, "The cops tried to move him and he got violent. Really violent. The cops couldn't restrain him, they had no choice but to sedate him. He was close to killing that cop, the one that's in the hospital. Had his hands around his neck. Witnesses said the other was thrown against a wall, but he didn't touch him. They brought him here, this hospital is equipped for violent patients like him. We patched up his wounds while he was still heavily sedated."
"How bad are they?" Dean looked at Dr Forester, teary-eyed, "What happened to him?"
"They were deep cuts and gashes. On his neck, his arms, legs, chest. Everywhere. And he's covered in scars," she shook her head, "I think I should be asking the same question to you."
"I don't know. He was missing. He was…" Dean couldn't even think straight, couldn't think up a viable answer, "I need to talk to him."
"I don't think that's a good idea," Dr Forester appeared alarmed, "He almost attacked a nurse, she didn't even touch him. That's why he's been restrained."
"You said he's been asking for me. Maybe I'll calm him down," Dean argued, "How do you know that's not the reason he's been so scared? Because he wandered off and couldn't find me?"
"That's possible, but…"
"Look, I'll call if he gets worked up. I won't touch him, I just want to talk," the protective brother's voice was becoming more and more desperate, "Please."
He could hear Sam mumbling, his feeble whimpers of fear. He was struggling against the restraints, pulling at them desperately and breaking down into cries, just as he had as a child. Dr Forester watched him for a while, deep in thought, before looking back at Dean.
"Alright. But call if he doesn't calm down. We'll have to sedate him again," she ran a hand through her short brown hair before opening the door for Dean. The doctor hated seeing such young people go through something like this. The patient had been terrified ever since he was brought in, it was hard to believe he'd almost killed a man. He looked so vulnerable, his body curled in on itself and his eyes looking more like a young child's than a man's. He hadn't even eaten yet, no one could get near enough to give him food, let alone feed him. He appeared to have regressed, unable to speak or do anything for himself. They'd already had to change the bedsheets a couple times thanks to his lack of informing staff he needed the bathroom.
Dean entered the room slowly and noticed Dr Forester go to tend to another patient. Sam had calmed a little, no longer crying or struggling but still fearful. He muttered "stop" repeatedly under his breath as his wide eyes stared straight ahead of him.
"Sammy?" the older Winchester spoke softly, careful to move slowly so as not to startle his little brother, "Sammy, it's me."
Sam didn't respond, he just stared straight ahead at nothing, whimpering softly.
"Stop," he whispered, "Stop, stop."
"Stop what? What's wrong, Sam?" Dean kept his voice quiet and calm. The younger Winchester was clearly hallucinating, "What are you seeing?"
"Stop," Sam was visibly shaking as he began to tug against his restraints, "Want Dean, want Dean. Dean."
"I'm right here, Sammy. I'm right here," he reached to touch Sam's hand but pulled back at the last second. The last thing he needed was Sam getting violent on him.
Dean couldn't stop the tears when Sam began to cry. His cries were helpless, defeated. The fear was undeniable. Sam was so much thinner, but still held some muscle. His cheekbones were more prominent, his eyes sunken and his collarbone sticking out more. The scars criss-crossed down his arms, his neck. He even had what looked like claw-marks, raked down his cheek. Dean so desperately wished he could get his hands on Lucifer, make him pay for all the pain he put Sam through and the lasting damage he's caused. If only that wouldn't result in his imminent death.
"Dean," Sam's voice was still quiet, nervous. He slowly turned to look at his brother, taking slow, shaking breaths. He wouldn't meet Dean's eyes, looking away the moment they had eye contact. But he stared at Dean's face, watched him a moment.
"Hey, Sammy," Dean smiled, "I've been so worried about you."
Sam just kept staring at him, his blue-green eyes sparkling with tears.
"Stop," he whispered, "Stop. Stop. Want Dean. Want Dean."
Dean frowned, "What? Sammy, it's me, its Dean, your big brother. I'm right here, buddy."
"Stop," the corners of Sam's mouth began to twitch, a tear spilling over and trickling down his cheek, "Stop."
He repeated the word over and over, his voice slowly getting more and more desperate. He sobbed through the words, getting upset and confused, but wouldn't drag his eyes away from Dean. He didn't see his brother, not really. He saw his brother's face, for sure, but his eyes were black. He saw another face, an uglier, twisted face, under his brother's. Sam was sure that wasn't his big brother.
"Sammy, relax," Dean began, putting his hand on Sam's shoulder without thinking. The younger Winchester screamed in terror, and at the same time the lights in the room blew.
"I'm sorry. Sammy, I wasn't thinking, I didn't mean to-" the older man spoke too fast, stumbled over his words. He couldn't bear to see his brother in such a way, he only wished he could calm him down. Pull him into a hug like he always had since they were kids. Sam always seemed to feel safe in his brother's arms, sometimes Sam told him so. Even as an adult, when his little brother broke down, a hug from Dean was all he needed to calm himself and feel better. This was probably the only time that this wouldn't work, and it hurt for him to know that.
"Stop! Stop!" Sam desperately struggled against his restraints, tugging at them and seemingly oblivious to the restraints cutting into his skin and close to drawing blood. The words turned into screams, terrified screams as if he were in pain. As if he were burning alive. He writhed, cried desperately as he struggled against the restraints to curl up into a ball. Dean had to look away, the pain his brother appeared to be in was unbearable to watch.
His little brother suddenly silenced, he'd passed out suddenly. Dean got up to call for help, finally gaining the strength to get up and move, but Sam started convulsing and gasping, the restraints finally drawing blood. The lights outside the room began to flicker as Sam's doctor and a couple nurses ran into the room. They released the younger Winchester from his restraints to prevent further injury, and waited until the seizure ended and Sam came around before injecting him with heavy sedatives.
Sam laid on his back, his wounds from the restraints bandaged, staring up at the ceiling with confused eyes. He hadn't spoken since the sedatives were administered. He'd occasionally look around the room fearfully, let out a small whimper, but otherwise he appeared relaxed. Dean was invisible for all Sam knew. But he hadn't left his side.
"I'm right here, Sammy," he said softly, wishing he could at least run a hand through Sam's hair, pat him on the shoulder, anything, "I won't let anything hurt you. You're safe now."
Thanks for reading! I've wanted to write a Post-hell!Sam fic for a while and finally got around to it! Sorry if anything relating to Sam being in the hospital is inaccurate and/or unrealistic.
Please leave a review! I'll update as soon as possible!