Disclaimer – Not my characters, I just use them improperly.

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Thank you to everyone who reviewed, I'm so glad you guys are liking this :) I pointed out in the Prologue that I'm unfortunately not a doctor, and I have taken a few liberties in this chapter with medical stuff. And I'm pretty sure the medical staff and security at psychiatric institutions aren't exactly as I've portrayed them either, but I'm claiming artistic licence :) Next update will be next week sometime…

Chapter 2

'Doctor Hodges' expertly flicked his acquired key card through the scanner of the Intensive Treatment and Research Unit, keying in the security number. The plump nurse looked up as he stepped through the double doors. He grinned brilliantly at her, watching her dissolve under the force of his smile.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Hodges, I've been sent over from San Diego State? Doctor Yoshimura wanted a second opinion on a patient, a Mr…" He made a show of checking the clipboard held in his hand, blinking through the metal-framed glasses he wore. "Mr Samuel Winchester?"

"Oh, the doctor didn't tell me we were expecting anyone. Doctor Yoshimura's gone home for the day." He put on an exaggerated frown, watching the young nurse from the corner of his eye as her pink face turned sympathetic.

"I had a last-minute call down in San Diego. I don't suppose you could get him on the phone for me? He really wanted me to check over the patient and this is the only time I'm available."

The nurse practically jumped out of her seat for the phone, her dazed smile returning now that she had a way to be of assistance to the attractive man standing in front of her. "Of course. If you don't mind waiting around for a minute, doctor?"

"It's no problem." He leant forward on the desk and turned up the wattage on his smile. "Would it be okay if I went ahead to the patient's room while you call? I'm on kind of a tight schedule at the moment."

"Uh, well you should really have Doctor Yoshimura present…" He affected a resigned yet understanding expression, a weary smile playing on his lips like this was just one more setback in a hard day. The nurse bit her own lip and hesitated a second. "Well…I'm sure he won't mind if you go on in, he did call you all the way over here. Just don't tell anyone I let you in."

He winked at her. "No problem. Which room is it?"

Dean ditched the wire-rimmed glasses as soon as he was in Sam's room. The nurse was down the hall calling Doctor Yoshimura, there were security guards outside the main exit doors and he still only had half a plan to get Sam's big uncooperative body out of the building.

He'd been in Sacramento a week now. His father's friend Joshua had dug up the security information on the hospital and Dean had managed to concoct a very shaky escape plan. It didn't help that the place was run under tighter security than some of the casinos in Vegas. But he'd gotten in, which was half the battle. Or so he kept repeating to himself silently.

It was nearly dark outside, most of the doctors finished for the day. The day nurses were off shift, which meant Dean wouldn't be recognised as the brother who'd been visiting Sam earlier that day. He'd charmed a young nurse into letting him stay beyond the visiting hours, claiming he wanted to spend some 'quality time' with his brother. Sam hadn't shown any sign that he even knew Dean was there. But he'd been allowed to accompany the nurse as she pushed Sam around the outside courtyard in a wheelchair, listening with gritted teeth as she told him how much Sam enjoyed his time outside, as if his brother was a retarded child.

He'd asked if he could wheel Sam back to his room, 'accidentally' forgetting to take the wheelchair back outside. Luckily it was still where he'd left it.

Dean managed somehow to manoeuvre Sam halfway off the bed after freeing him from the machines and monitors, lifting him the rest of the way in a fireman's carry. He whispered a quick "Sorry Sammy" as he dumped his brother's body roughly in the seat of the chair.

Dean peeked out of the open door, looking both ways to make sure no one was coming. This was the part of the plan that pretty much sucked; walking straight out of the building with an obviously unwell mental patient. He was just hoping 'Doctor Hodges' would be able to talk his way round anyone that might object.

The nurse was still on the phone, a slight frown creasing her forehead as she spoke. Dean quickly wheeled Sam out of the room and down the corridor in the other direction, repressing the urge to whistle innocently and trying to look as if he knew what he was doing. Joshua had passed on the plans for the building and Dean had memorised the quickest escape routes.

He pushed the chair into the elevator on the floor, pressing the button and willing the doors to close before anyone could see him. The doors glided silently shut without incident.

Dean stepped to the side of the wheelchair, bending so his head was level with Sam's His brother stared off into space, his head tilted to one side as if his neck was too weak to hold up the weight of it.

"Don't worry kiddo, I've got you now." Dean stroked a gentle hand through Sam's bangs. "I'll look after you." He turned Sam's head to face him, still hoping for some awareness to shine through in his brother's misty eyes.

The elevator binged and the doors slid open. Dean stood up and pushed Sam out, walking casually to the doors to the main reception area. He swiped his stolen card again and stepped through to be greeted by two security guards on the other side.

"Where are you taking this patient?"

Dean smiled broadly, his mind racing. "I'm Doctor Hodges, I'm moving Mr Winchester to another ward."

The bigger of the two guards stepped in front of the wheelchair, his chest puffed up behind his uniform. "I don't think so, not until we have some authorisation. I haven't seen you around here before, I know all the doctors on sight."

"Yeah, I'm from San Diego State, Doctor Yoshimura called me over. The nurse up on the ward said it was okay." The man looked unconvinced.

"I'm gonna have to call up and check. Can't have you just taking patients." Dean tried another smile.

"Sure. Go right ahead." The guard wavered for a second, looking at his partner. Dean inwardly prayed. Finally the man stepped aside, nodding once and heading toward the small office at the corner of the corridor. The other man stood where he was, not taking his eyes off Dean.

As the bigger guard disappeared into the office, Dean reached slowly inside the white lab coat he wore, his hand feeling for his gun.

"Hey, what're you…" The guard took a step forward, his eyes trained on Dean's arm.

And then Sam arched up in the chair, a choking gasp of air sucked in through his mouth. Both Dean and the guard started in alarm, watching as Sam's hands flexed and tightened around the armrests, as his head rolled back to look up at the ceiling. Dean was on his knees by Sam's side in an instant, his hands cupping Sam's face.

"Sam! Sammy, you there? Can you hear me?"

Sam's mouth fell open in a moue as his faraway look focused sharply. He looked at Dean, saw Dean, and there was no surprise in his expression.

"Hey! What the hell's happening to him?" The guard brought Dean back to reality, pulling him out of Sam's powerful stare. He stood quickly.

"Uh, he's having a reaction to his new medication, I need to get him to the ward, now!"

The guard darted a look for his partner in the office, but the other man hadn't reappeared. He looked back at Sam, watching indecisively for a second as he convulsed in the chair. Finally he screwed up his eyes, nodding sharply. "Okay, take him!"

Dean mentally thanked the lord for his timing and ran past the man, shoving Sam's chair in front of him. Rounding the corner, he could see the glass exit doors ahead. He fumbled for the key card again, skidding to a stop and sliding the card through the scanner. The light turned green and he keyed in the number just as the guards started to shout for him to stop.

"C'mon, c'mon…" He muttered under his breath, the doors sliding slowly. Before they were halfway open, he shoved the chair through the gap and ran.

The empty ambulance that Dean had commandeered stood waiting in the staff parking lot, the back doors open and the ramp down. He didn't pause, wheeling Sam into the back and pushing everything closed just as the guards reached the doors.

"Hey! Stop!" He spared a look over his shoulder before jumping in the driver's seat and starting the engine, stepping hard on the gas.

Dean's head was running in circles as he drove, like a dog chasing its own tail. He desperately wanted to stop and talk to Sam. See if he was actually awake. He was sure Sam had been there, had seen him. His eyes had been focused on Dean, practically hypnotising in their intensity. And what if he was having some kind of fit? The convulsions had stopped as soon as they'd been out of sight of the guard, but he could be choking on his tongue or something. Dean twisted in the seat, looking at Sam in the back. His brother sat there calmly, his chest rising and falling evenly and the dead expression back in his eyes.

By now the hospital would have called the police. Dean had to dump the ambulance fast. He drove as quickly as he could without attracting attention, heading for the lay-by just outside of town where he'd left the Impala. He'd already booked a room in a motel in preparation, had IV packs to plug into Sam if he wouldn't eat. He'd refused to get any medication. His brother wasn't mentally ill; he didn't need to be shot up with drugs every half-hour.

John would be furious that Dean had taken Sam before he'd arrived. But at that moment Dean felt too pumped with adrenaline to care much. He'd done it. He'd actually pulled it off. His breath was still coming in short pants and he resisted the urge to floor the ambulance, euphoria taking over from panic.

He drove out of town almost sedately, the 'you are now leaving' sign a white blur by the side of the road. He wanted to sing, jump about in the seat and celebrate. He'd saved Sammy. His brother would be okay now.

The lay-by that sheltered the Impala was almost unnoticeable in the rapidly darkening shadows. He swung the ambulance onto it, parking practically on top of the Impala's rear bumper, and climbed in the back.

"Sammy? We're here." Sam didn't give any response and Dean ignored the swooping plummet of his heart. Sam had been awake before. He just needed some time. Dean could give him that. "Okay, let's get you out of this crappy ride and into the car. Remember riding around in the Impala? I know it's been a while, but don't worry, she hasn't changed. Still the most gorgeous bitch in America." He grinned at Sam, swinging the back doors open and kicking the ramp down.

He'd hoped to be able to leave the wheelchair behind with the ambulance, but he hadn't counted on Sam's little growth spurt. If Sam ever stood up, he would probably be taller than Dean now, all long limbs and half-wasted muscle. While it was nice to know that Sam had been keeping up with his training, at least up until his breakdown, the extra weight Dean could have done without. He huffed as he used all his strength to pick Sam up from the chair like a baby, half-throwing him over his shoulder. He got Sam into the front seat, nearly catching his brother's head on the door frame as he did it, and stood breathing heavily for a few seconds.

"Christ Sam, what've they been feeding you at that school of yours? First thing you do when you come round; diet." Sam just sat there, a breathing mannequin staring out through the windscreen into the night. Dean watched for a second longer before letting out a long breath and folding the chair, sticking it in the back.

"Okay kiddo, let's go find that motel."

Sam was lying on the bed, for all intents and purposes dead to the world. Only the regular blinking of his eyelids gave any indication that his brother was alive. He hadn't moved once, even after Dean had knocked his head on the car door trying to wrangle him back into the wheelchair.

It was bizarre. Usually with Sam around no one else could get a word in. The kid would be bitching constantly, questioning everything from their lifestyle to their choice of diner to eat in for breakfast. He would be stalking up and down the tiny motel room, winding Dean up tighter and tighter until he snapped like a broken spring. Which would usually lead to an almighty blow-out between the two of them, ending in sulky glares after John returned.

Now Dean found himself talking continuously, like he was trying to make up for the lack of sound so that his mind wouldn't notice Sam wasn't talking back. "…so we ended up wasting the bitch. Dad was so pissed at me; all 'Dean, what the hell did you think you were doing', and I was standing there, covered head to toe in swamp water, stinking like hell, and he comes running at me like he's gonna kill me or hug me, I wasn't sure which, and what does he do? He snatches the machete out of my hand and starts inspecting it for rust!" Dean laughed at his own story, the sound loud and overzealous in the small motel room. "You should've been there, I know how much you like to use those knives of yours. Don't think I didn't notice they were gone after you left, Sammy."

Dean winked. Sam blinked slowly, the ceiling obviously more interesting than Dean's story. "Yeah, okay, it wasn't our best hunt. But it's not like you got up to anything better. Unless essay-writing and libraries are your idea of a good time." He paused, looking at Sam. "Actually, scratch that, that's probably your idea of heaven on earth."

One thing that hadn't changed was Sam's enormous presence. Dean had always been aware of exactly where Sam was in proximity to himself, exactly what Sam was doing. It was like his brother was lit up in neon, glowing in the corner of Dean's eye no matter where they were. He'd missed it when Sam went to Stanford.

Dean's cell phone began to vibrate on the table between the two beds. He picked it up, read 'dad' on the screen. Now the adrenaline high had faded, Dean was feeling slightly concerned about John's reaction upon discovery that his oldest son had broken his youngest out of a mental institution against his orders.

"Hello?"

"Dean, I've just driven into Sacramento, which motel are you in?"

John Winchester stood silently in the corner of the motel room, glowering in the shadows. Dean shifted uncomfortably, scratching at the back of his neck.

"Uh, he came round earlier. For a second. I think. And the doctor said he was asking for me before I arrived. He's gonna be okay now he's back with us."

John didn't say anything, staring at Sam's still body lying on the motel bed. The dull light fitting above the headboard flickered, sending dancing shadows across the lax muscles of Sam's face.

"I had to get him out of there dad, you didn't see…you didn't see what he was like in there…"

"Dean."

"They were pumping him full of drugs, dad! No wonder he's like this!"

John abruptly spun to face Dean, his eyes burning. "Dean, you kidnapped a suspected murderer from a mental institution! Every cop in the state is gonna be out looking for the two of you! And look at him!"

"He's not insane, dad! He didn't do anything, he shouldn't have been in there in the first place!"

"Look at him, Dean! He's not well!"

"Yeah, and he wasn't gonna get any better in that place! He needed me, dad! I had to…I had to get him out of there." Dean dropped his head forward. "I couldn't just leave him."

"I told you not to do anything. I gave you an order."

Dean's head came up in a snap. "Yeah, well I disobeyed it."

John sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. He walked to the second bed and slumped down on the musty bed sheets. Dean's eyes wandered from John's bent form to Sam, blissfully unaware of the argument taking place. His brother was still dressed in the white hospital scrubs and Dean suddenly worried that he would catch a cold through the thin material.

"Dean…son, I understand how you were feeling. I didn't like the idea of Sam in that place any more than you did, believe me. But what if he never…comes back to himself? What if he's like this forever? Maybe…maybe the hospital was the best place for him." John met Dean's gaze. The shadowed light made the furrows around his eyes look deeper, the grey in his hair and beard shining like seared burns.

"So I should have left him there? Dad, he's gonna be fine."

"We don't know that."

Dean shook his head. "No. He's gonna be okay. And what if he'd been in that place when he woke up? You said it yourself dad, they think he's a murderer! They would have arrested him!" He felt tears prickling at the backs of his eyes, blinked them away harshly.

"Well, what are we gonna do with him, Dean? How the hell do we hunt with him like…like this? And no doubt the police know it was you who kidnapped him, which means they'll be after you wherever you go. Did you even stop for a second to think this through?"

"I don't care, dad! He's my brother, he's your son!"

"Dean…"

"No!" Dean took a step toward John, his fists clenched stiffly at his sides. "You can't make me regret doing this!"

John stood, stepping forward to meet Dean head on. He opened his mouth as if to retort, but then he closed his eyes and the tension ran from his body. He looked exhausted, wrung out. Inwardly the tiny voice that always protested in Sam's voice when Dean blindly obeyed his father's orders cheered.

"I'm going to get a room for the night. We can talk about how we're going to deal with this in the morning." John turned to the door, opening it. Before he stepped out into the night, he looked over at Sam. "Just…just stay inside. If anything…happens, call my cell."

Dean nodded tersely, waiting until the door closed behind his dad before sagging onto the bed beside Sam.

"Christ, even when you're not talking, you're causing arguments." He gave his brother a tired half-grin. "It's okay, little bro. I got your back."

The morning light woke Dean from a deep sleep he hadn't realised he'd fallen into. The last thing he remembered was sitting next to Sam on the bed, having used the sheets from both of the beds to cover him.

Despite it being almost summer, and California, once his mind had stumbled over the idea of Sam getting sick, it had been all Dean could do not to run out and buy thermal underwear and fleece blankets. He'd done everything he could to make Sam comfortable, piling both the thin pillows under his head and gently wiping a washcloth on his face and neck until the skin was dewy and pink. After setting up one of the IV packs with meticulous care, he'd allowed himself to sit, just for a second. Which apparently was all his body needed for the exertions of the day to sneak up on him and knock him out with the strength of a sledgehammer.

The sunlight was shining directly onto his face through a crack in the curtains. He groaned, rolling over onto his front. And colliding with the other warm body sharing the bed.

Dean was on his feet before he could register even telling his body to move. He blinked wildly, looking down at the creased and slightly dipped patch he'd just been laying in. Just been cuddling up to his at-present mentally disabled brotherin. He felt his face heat up.

He didn't need to go there, not now, not ever. He'd successfully avoided situations like this since he was seventeen and Sam was in the middle of his first growth spurt, reserving physical contact with his brother for patching up after hunts and nothing more. Now, one night alone with his brother and Dean was already breaking the first of many self-imposed rules.

Sam didn't seem to be complaining though, the ceiling above him drawing all his attention. Dean wondered briefly if Sam actually slept at all, or whether the state he was in now counted as some sort of sleeping-with-his-eyes-open coma.

A knock at the door broke Dean's thoughts off. He swung his body around, still fighting off the hot warmth flooding his face and the last lingering traces of sleep. "Yeah?"

"Dean?" John's voice was low though the door. Dean stepped over and unlocked it. John stood in the shade of the building, two cups of coffee and a bag with something greasy soaking through the corners in his hands. He stepped into the room and held them out like a peace offering. "I brought you some breakfast."

"Thanks." Dean took them, unsure exactly what he was supposed to say to his father now. He was pretty sure his face was still glowing and he hoped John wouldn't mention it. But John wasn't looking at him anymore.

His father stood at the foot of the bed Sam lay in. Sam didn't give any indication that he knew John was there, and John held himself almost as still as Sam was.

Dean watched his family for a second, the coffee burning through the paper cup against the palm of his hand. "Dad?"

John looked over at Dean, blinking like he'd forgotten he was there.

"What are we going to do?" Dean hated how pathetic he sounded, asking for his dad's help after everything he'd said last night.

John dragged in a hard breath. "We're going to make the best of the situation. I called some people last night, people who might be able to take Sam in. They can look after him, we can drop in whenever we're in town."

"What?" Dean blinked. "What do you mean, 'take him in', no one's taking him anywhere!"

"Dean, I don't want to get into another argument with you. Sam needs professional help, and we can't give it to him."

Dean dropped his gaze to the floor. The smell of the coffee in his hand was suddenly overpowering, sickening in its thick bitterness.

John paid for an extra night in the motel and then they waited until darkness had fallen before leaving.

Dean refused point-blank to allow John to take Sam in his truck. If they were taking Sam to some stranger's house and dumping him there, the least he could do was be the one to drive him. Even if Sam couldn't hear his words, Dean wanted some time alone with his brother to explain. Maybe it would help ease his conscience at abandoning his baby brother, again. Never mind that Sam had been the one to leave in the first place. Dean should have been there to take care of him anyway.

He slipped out of the room, driving the Impala as close to the door as possible and wheeling Sam out. It was easier with his dad there to help load Sam's limp body back into the seat, he admitted grudgingly.

John had told him that a friend, ex-military like himself, had offered to take Sam in for the time being. She had been a nurse and still had some contacts that could get her the necessary equipment to look after someone in Sam's condition.

'Sam's condition' was how John had begun referring to the catatonic state, as if Sam was suffering from a terminal illness. Like he couldn't stand to state the bare facts, like glossing over it with a polite term would make it all better.

Dean could tell his father didn't hold out much hope for Sam. While Dean had spent the day on the laptop, researching every medical website and journal and article for anything that sounded remotely like it could apply to his brother, John just sat, looking at Sam with grey eyes. As if he was already mourning his lost son.

"But you're gonna be fine, aren't you Sammy? You just need some rest, a few days to process." Dean sat in the driver's seat of the Impala, following the taillights of his father's truck as they pulled out of the parking lot. "Dad says leaving you with this woman is the right thing to do. Says she's gonna take care of you for me. But don't worry, the minute you wake up, I'll be on my way over there to get you."

Sam's head lolled on the seat and Dean reached out a hand, gently guiding it to rest against the car door. No touching, his mind whispered. He ignored it. Sam blinked evenly at the glove compartment in front of him.

"It's gonna be okay, Sammy. I promise." Dean whispered, almost to himself.

John's truck picked up speed in front as they reached the highway. Only a few other cars were on the road, the rush hour long over. The streetlights lit up broad patches of asphalt, black tar shining as if it would suck the Impala in like quicksand. They were headed north, a few hours' drive away. John hadn't been specific about the location of the place, hadn't even mentioned the woman's name, just in case anyone overheard. Privately Dean thought his dad was being a little too cautious, but he recognised the belated need to take care of Sam in the only way left to his father.

"And, you know, if it takes a while for you to come round, that's okay too. Just…just don't take too long, okay, Sammy?" Dean glanced over, flashing a quick smirk at Sam. "Not that I'm complaining about the quiet. I think this is the longest you've ever gone without some kind of protest. You might want take it into consideration."

Dean followed his father out of California. They hadn't encountered any trouble on the roads and Dean thanked god for small graces. He'd had a sick fear playing in the back of his mind that a police car would appear out of nowhere, pull them over for something trivial and recognise Sam in the passenger seat. Because somehow his brother was pulling all attention to himself, even in his unconscious state. It was like he was radiating some kind of magnetic force that demanded people look at him. Or maybe it was just the effect Sam had on Dean.

The road they were driving down was dark and surrounded by tall trees. Dean had lost track of where exactly they were a few miles back, just following the broken white lines drawn along the centre of the road with distracted patience. His mind was still caught on its favourite subject, still trying ridiculously to explain his guilt to his uncaring brother.

"Sam, you know when…when you left for Stanford…dad didn't mean it. What he said. He…we, didn't want you to stay gone. We were just scared. We didn't want anything to happen to you." Dean snorted to himself. "Guess it's a little late for that now. But…but don't think we didn't care. 'Cause we did."

Dean took his eyes off the road for a long second, trailing his gaze up Sam's motionless body. "We visited sometimes. Stopped by after jobs, whenever we were in town. Just to make sure you were okay. Bet you never knew that. Never thought your big brother was such a girl." A grin passed his lips, gone as soon as it came. He took a long breath. "I saw your girlfriend. She was really pretty. You looked happy."

John indicated in front, turning off the main road into a smaller lane that Dean wouldn't have noticed had he been driving past on his own. The Impala bumped over the uneven surface and Sam's head bounced against the side window. Dean immediately slowed, reaching out to steer Sam back into the seat.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you. I'm sorry I couldn't save her for you." His voice was low, barely audible over the sound of the engine.

"I meant to stop by, you know. After this last job. I hadn't been to check up on you in a while. I didn't…I didn't really think anything would happen. Didn't believe it would, not after this long."

The road in front of him trailed off into little more than a dust track, no streetlights to show the way. John drove without pause and Dean wondered for a second how many times his father had stopped by this place to know it so well in the dark. He kept the Impala within a few feet of the truck, hearing scratches from small twigs against the sides of the car and half-heartedly worrying about the paintwork.

The light given off by the waning moon above lit up the view well enough, Dean realised after allowing his eyes to adjust. He could see the vague shape of a building through the trees at the end of the road. Sam's new home for the time being, he assumed.

John slowed to a stop as they reached leveller ground. Dean pulled up behind the truck, watching his father step out of the driver's seat, glancing back at the Impala and walking up to the house. Before he could reach the door it swung open and the figure of a woman appeared, backlit by the light of the hallway behind her. She stepped out, walking to John and hugging him for a long minute. John hugged back, exchanging words too low for Dean to catch. They turned as one, John gesturing toward Dean and the Impala.

Dean bit his lower lip. His insides felt like they were eating themselves. Sam was still and silent in the passenger seat. Where he belongs, Dean's mind hissed.

His hands shook and he reached for the door handle, his fingers finding the key in the ignition instead. The Impala roared to life and Dean vaguely wondered when he turned the key.

He could see John start forward, blinking against the sudden onslaught of brilliant headlights, his forehead creased in confusion and then in disbelief.

No. Not leaving him here. Not Sam.

Before his father could take another step forward Dean was throwing the car jerkily into reverse and stamping on the gas, flying crazily backward down the dark road behind him. Sam pitched forward but Dean had an arm out before his head could connect with the dash.

The figure of his father grew smaller as the Impala picked up speed, and Dean felt the hysterical urge to laugh as he realised he was kidnapping his brother for the second time in as many nights. His breath was coming in sharp pants and without his notice a grin spread itself across his lips. Sam was safe. As long as Dean was around, Sam would always be safe.