"Bobby, how the hell are we going to get Sam out of jail?" Dean screamed in their drabby motel room fifty miles from Baltimore.

"I don't think we can," Bobby said, softly.

"He's going in for murder, Dean. That's maximum security."

"Maybe we can break him out when they're transferring him," Dean suggested.

"Well, unless we're willing to risk killing guards, which we ain't," Bobby said pointedly, "then it's suicide for us and maybe Sam, too."

"Then, what, Bobby?"

"I hate to say it, but I think we're just going to have to let Sam be," Bobby said, hating it. Sam was like a son to him. The idea of him rotting in prison for the rest of his life was almost more than he could bear.

Dean got up and slammed out of the room. He knew Bobby was right, but that didn't mean he wanted to be around the man who had just told him there was no way to help Sam.

SSSSSSSSSSS

Sam walked into the courtroom with his lawyer. He caught sight of Bobby sitting in the gallery. Bobby gave him a slight smile and nod of his head. Sam nodded back. He didn't have a smile in him, though. The judge was already at the bench and they took their places. "Sam Winchester, you are accused of the murder of Diana Prince and Peter Angel. How do you plead?"

"Guilty by reason of insanity," the lawyer answered for him.

"Does the prosecution contest this plea?" the judge asked.

"No, your honor. We recommend a lifetime sentence in a maximum security psychiatric facility," the D.A. answered.

"OK, Mr. Winchester will be transferred to Butterfly Valley Sanitarium immediately."

The guards came up and led Sam out to the truck and brought him to the Sanitarium.

SSSSSSSSSSSS

"Dean, good news," Bobby said as he walked into their room after returning from the hearing. "Sam's been sentenced to go to Butterfly Valley Sanitarium."

"For how long?" Dean asked.

"Life, but that's not important," Bobby began to explain, but Dean cut him off.

"What do you mean it's not important? Sam's going to be locked down in some institution for the rest of his life!"

"No, he's not," Bobby said, catching Dean's attention. The Chief of Staff at Butterfly Valley is Dr. Robert Martin. His brother is a hunter and he was a friend of your father. I called him on the way over. He's going to help us get Sam out."

"Really?" Dean asked, relieved. Maybe there would be an end to this nightmare.

"He said new patients are put on suicide watch for the first week and watched pretty closely, so there's no way it can happen before then, but after that, it's a go."

"Well, I guess one week won't be so bad. Of course, he's already been in jail for a week," Dean pointed out.

"He'll be fine, Dean."

"He'd better be."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Welcome to your new home," the creepy orderly said to Sam as he shoved him somewhat roughly into his room and locked the door. Sam looked around. The walls were white. The floor was white. He already knew his clothes were white. All this absence of color was going to drive him insane. This place was too bland.

He had been told that breakfast was 8:00 a.m. It was just now starting to get dark. He figured it was about 7:00 p.m. He was going to be stuck here for nothing to do for thirteen hours. No books to read. No TV to watch. Nobody to talk to. He had been told stimulus was bad for him. He was already going stir crazy. Maybe he should try to sleep.

He lay down on the very uncomfortable cot and closed his eyes. There was no pillow because he could try to smother himself with it. There was one blanket. He wished there was more. He was kind of cold. He just lay there for the longest time. He thought of being here for the rest of his life and he wanted to scream. He was 23 years old. He could live another 60 or 70 years. Here. Alone. No stimulus. He didn't understand the concept of this place. He wasn't insane, but he would be in about a week.