Disclaimer: The show Supernatural and its characters belong to someone else. This is just for fun.


Dean sat in the cell listening to his brother breathe for several long minutes before Molly knocked on the door and apologetically told him Dr. Anderson was waiting to talk to him.

This ought to be good, he thought. He looked down at the top of Sam's head and felt a pang of renewed apprehension. He didn't want to leave his brother here. Especially not like this. His whole life he and their father had done their best to try and equip the youngest member of their family with the ability to defend and protect himself. And they'd done a good job, Dean thought with a flash of pride. Sam Winchester was no coward, and he was no pussy. At times – this very moment came to mind – he could be a pig-headed dumb-ass, but it certainly wasn't because Sam couldn't handle himself.

But this wasn't their usual turf, and debilitating drugs weren't usually involved. The minute he left Sam alone in this room, Dean felt like he'd be leaving him completely vulnerable.

Well, maybe not completely vulnerable. Anyone who could see things that were going to happen in the future could never really be completely vulnerable, could they? And Sam had seen what was coming, even if he refused like a stubborn asshole to let his brother in on it. But then again, in the sense that Sam seemed so determined to suffer this one through in silence, without Dean around to back him up, maybe there was legitimate cause to worry that seeing the future could very well turn out to be Sam's ultimate vulnerability. That was a sobering thought.

"Here, I'll take him," Molly said reassuringly. She gently put her hands on Sam's shoulders and shifted him so Dean could get up. His knees cracked loudly as he stood.

"Jesus, I'm getting old," Dean muttered.

Molly smiled up at him, a little sadly. "Aren't we all?"

Dean gave her a tight smile back. He watched the young nurse turn back to his brother and gently ease him to the floor. In reality, Sam dwarfed this girl, but right then he looked young and fragile under her ministrations. It made Dean feel slightly better to know that she would be there; maybe there were others like her. Maybe the hospital wasn't corrupt, and maybe Sam was off the mark about there being any shady circumstances surrounding MacGruder's death. Maybe it really was just the spirit of a hocked-off lunatic they were dealing with here.

And then again, maybe pigs flew, Impalas grew on trees, and Sam ever managed to dream about something that wasn't dire.

"They'll be coming to move him to his room as soon as we leave," Molly explained. She knelt awkwardly next to Sam for a moment, looking at him. She reached out a hand and softly touched his shoulder. Dean noticed then that it was starting to bruise.

Molly stood abruptly and flushed, a nervous smile on her face. "Don't worry," she said a little breathlessly. "We'll take really good care of him. This is really a top-notch facility. Don't believe any of the rumors you hear floating around."

Dean frowned, giving Sam one last glance before following Molly into the hall. She closed the door behind them and started walking, not looking back to make sure Dean was keeping up.

"What rumors?" Dean asked after they'd been walking in silence for a few moments.

Molly looked startled, as if she'd forgotten he was even next to her. "What?"

"Back there in the room, you said not to believe the rumors." Dean smiled ingenuously. "We're from out of town. We're just here because our Aunt Linda lives over in Indy and she recommended we look into this place. Had I known Sam was going to check himself in, I would've found out a little more about it first." Well, that last part was true, anyway. He scratched an eyebrow with his thumb. "So we haven't heard any of the rumors. But I take it they're kind of bad?"

Dean could see her mentally back-pedaling. "Oh," she said, nervous again, like she suspected she had just screwed up. "Oh. Well. There's really no need for you to be concerned. They're just rumors. It's a small town. You know how people just like something to talk about."

"Yeah," Dean agreed in a tone that made it clear he wasn't convinced. "Then I guess I won't worry."

"Good." Molly stopped in front of a closed door and heaved a heavy sigh. She looked like she was happy to be leaving him there. "Well, here it is. Like I said, Sam will be just fine here." She put a hand on his arm and squeezed. "You're doing the right thing."

Dean wasn't so sure, but he thanked her and watched her walk off quickly, her head down and her fingers clasped behind her back.

Dean heaved a heavy sigh of his own and knocked on Anderson's door. The door immediately opened, and Dr. Anderson motioned him in.

"Have a seat, Mr. Winchester."

Dean sat, crossing a leg over a knee and draping one arm behind the back of the chair. "C'mon, doc, you can call me Dean."

Dr. Anderson took a seat behind his desk and placed his hands in his lap. He gave Dean an even stare. "Dean, then," he said after a pause.

"So tell me," Dean began. "What is it exactly that you think is wrong with my brother?" His tone was dubious, but a part of him genuinely needed to know.

The doctor didn't blink. "Dean. I'm sure you're aware your brother is a very sick young man."

Dean bit down on his tongue to keep himself from saying anything. He wasn't sure how long he was going to be able to listen to this crap.

"Of course we'll be keeping him under observation, but my immediate impression from what I was able to learn prior to his violent episode…"

Dean held back a snort. Sam didn't have violent episodes. He kicked ass. He saved lives. He watched his brother's back. There was a dangerous difference.

"…is brief psychotic disorder. Possibly paranoid schizophrenia."

Dean's only reaction was a deepening of his frown. There was something heart-breaking about the way Anderson – or anyone who was lucky enough to live not knowing about the things that the Winchesters dealt with on a daily basis – could jump to such a conclusion. Dean wasn't in the business for cookies and medals, but it crushed something inside of him to have it thrown in his face that his family could be so patently misunderstood.

"And you feel confident making this assessment based solely on what you were able to learn prior to his so-called 'violent episode,'" Dean said quietly, nodding slowly, never breaking eye contact with the doctor.

"It's not a diagnosis, Dean, just a preliminary opinion. We'll need more time with him to determine the true extent of his psychosis." The doctor stared back, and Dean thought he caught a glimpse of something dark flash in his eyes.

"You know," Dean said. "We don't have insurance. I'm not sure how we're going to pay for Sam's institutionalization." He knew they had a job to do, and Sam was convinced he knew the best way to do it, but at that moment, he couldn't help but look for any excuse to have to pull his brother out of there and come up with a Plan B.

"Dean…" The doctor sat up straighter. He was speaking slowly, like Dean was a child or maybe just stupid. "I am bound by my professional responsibility and ethical duty to make sure your brother receives the care that he needs. The Center is a private institution. There are resources available for special cases such as Sam's. If money is an issue, I will make it a personal priority to secure the necessary funding for his stay."

I just bet you will.

"Tell me, Dean," the doctor continued. "Does your family have a history of mental illness?"

Until Sam had hatched this fucked-up plan, Dean hadn't thought so.

"No, we don't," he answered.

"Do you know how long your brother has been experiencing these paranoid delusions?"

"No, I don't."

Anderson eyed him coolly for a silent beat. "Well. I assure you, we'll take care of him." He leaned back in his seat. "I'm sure we all want what's best for Sam."

"Right," Dean agreed tersely. "I'm sure we all do."

Anderson's eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward over the desk, his forearms resting on top of a file folder, his hands clasped tightly.

"Of course, we'll begin treatment immediately."

"Treatment?"

"Why, yes! That's why he's here, isn't it?"

Dean didn't blink. "And what will this treatment entail?"

Anderson laced his fingers together. "I think a combination of medication and therapy will work wonders for Sam. In fact, I think in no time at all, your brother will be a completely new man."

"Before I consent to this," Dean continued after a pause, "I want to know if there's any truth to these rumors."

Anderson feigned confusion. "To which rumors are you referring, Dean?"

"Now, doc, there's no need to be coy," Dean smiled caustically.

The corners of Anderson's mouth twitched up the slightest bit under his heavy moustache. He continued to stare Dean down. The look was almost sinister. But before he could answer, there was a knock on the door. Dean kept his eyes on the doctor.

At Anderson's authoritative "Come," the door opened and Molly took a step so she was halfway in and halfway outside the room.

"Dr. Anderson, they're getting Mr. Winchester settled in his room, and I thought…Mr. Winchester…might want to see him before visiting hours are over."

"Thank you, Molly." Anderson stood. "You should go with Molly now, Dean. Say your goodbyes to your brother."

The need for more information and the need to see Sam relatively safe and sound in non-padded quarters warred for only a few seconds before Dean followed Molly out into the hall.