Disclaimer: The show Supernatural and its characters belong to someone else. This is just for fun.
Molly avoided looking at Dean as she led him through the Center. "There are four wings," she explained, walking quickly through the quiet halls. "One side is reserved for women, and the other side is all men. Then each wing on either side supports a different level of care. Your brother is in the southern wing. It's mostly people who need more help than their families can give them, but who don't necessarily need round-the-clock attention. For the most part, they are able to function on a daily basis with the help of medication and therapy. The northern wings are reserved for very serious cases. Nonfunctioning patients, suicidal patients, those who are thought to be in highly significant danger. Or thought to be a highly significant danger. The main section of the facility is for outpatient services and hospital administration. It's also where the recreation rooms are and the cafeteria. Most of the patients are having dinner right now."
They were on an elevator now, and Molly pressed the button for the fourth floor. "Sam's still sleeping, so you won't really be able to talk to him." She watched the numbers above the door light up in slow succession. "I mean, you can talk to him. But he won't answer, and he probably won't hear you. The doctor gave him some pretty heavy stuff." She frowned, aware of Dean's eyes on her. He'd been watching her closely the whole time they'd been walking, as if he was trying to figure something out just by looking at her.
"Heavy stuff, huh?" Dean said thoughtfully.
"Yeah." She leaned back against the elevator wall. "I guess Sam was in pretty bad shape when he got here. Dr. Anderson said he had to be restrained. He practically attacked a couple orderlies."
"Yeah, that sounds like Sam," Dean muttered, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. "A total hard-ass. Nice to know it's because he's insane, not just a dick."
Molly stared at him with narrowed eyes for a moment. She'd almost mistaken his sarcasm for true bitterness. Almost.
The elevator binged their arrival at the fourth floor. When the door opened, Molly stepped out ahead of Dean. They were at the end of a hallway with a window facing the river to their left and the rest of the men's southern wing to their right. Dean exited the elevator and waited for Molly to continue, but instead, she stopped in front of the window, her back to him.
Dean cocked an eyebrow and was about to say something when Molly turned. She kept her head down, but her eyes looked up at him through her bangs.
"What is he doing here?" Her voice was hushed, but urgent.
Dean shook his head slightly and knit his brow. "Come again?"
Molly leaned slightly to look around him, and Dean instinctively glanced back at the empty hall as well. The patients from this wing, with the exception of Sam, were all down at dinner. They were alone in the hallway.
"Why is he here?" she asked insistently.
Dean put his hands on her arms and pushed her into the corner next to the window. He felt a rush of adrenaline.
"What's going on here?" he hissed.
She looked up at him with fear in her eyes, shrinking back from his touch.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Dean insisted, easing up on his grip. "But you have to tell me what's going on. Tell me about the rumors."
"What are you, crazy?" she whispered. "If Dr. Anderson finds out I'm talking to you like this, I'll lose my job. I'm already on shaky enough ground as it is."
"Then why are you talking to me?"
She hesitated again, glancing out the window behind her down to the river.
"If you know something, Molly, you have to tell me." Dean attempted his best Sam impression, complete with the quiet, intense tone of voice and an honorable approximation of the dopey eyes. When Molly continued to hesitate, Dean wondered if it was the dimples. That had to be it. Sam and his stupid dimples. "Molly..." Dean let go of her arms and took a step back. "Clearly you want to tell me. Otherwise you wouldn't have started. I can help you. Sam and I can. But we need to know exactly what's going on."
Molly shook her head doubtfully. "What I know could get me into a lot of trouble. There are things happening here that you don't understand-"
"Then make me understand." Dean hated the plaintive edge in his voice, but he was getting desperate. "Please. He's my brother. I need you to tell me what you know, or I can't protect him. Hell, I might not even be able to protect him if I do know what's going on, but at least we'll know what he's up against."
She looked up and searched Dean's clear green eyes. He looked as worried as he sounded. She didn't know who these people were, but something about them suggested she could trust them, that she had to trust them. If anyone was ever going to believe her, they would. She'd known it the moment she'd first touched Sam. She'd felt it in him.
She licked her lips and glanced one last time down the hall to make sure they were truly alone. Then she put a hand on Dean's elbow and drew him close to her, as far into the corner as they could get. "People die here, Dean, who aren't supposed to die," she whispered.
"How?"
She flushed and looked down at the river. "Dr. Anderson."
"What? He kills them?"
"Not exactly. It's more like, he lets them be killed. He chooses who dies. I don't completely understand it…it's like he has some sort of arrangement."
"An arrangement? With whom?"
"With…" She stopped and closed her eyes, bringing trembling fingers to her lips. "With a ghost," she said simply. "I know that's stupid, and impossible, right? But the patients have told me things, and I've overheard other staff people talking about things that have happened here in the past. And at night, if I'm alone too long in a room or a hallway, I feel so afraid. Like I can feel eyes on the back of my neck. But when I turn around, there's nobody there. Or…or there's a shadow in a dark place."
She was speaking quickly now, trying to get it all out before she lost her nerve, or before Dean could tell her she belonged here more than the patients she tended to did.
"There are terrible rumors about this place. What you hear in town is nothing compared to what the workers say. About back when this place was an asylum for the criminally insane. The things they did to the patients back then… Dr. Anderson wasn't the head of the Center then, but he was here. And he had something to do with the death of a patient.
"I guess…I guess to him it was like some kind of mission. Like a crusade. This patient had done something terrible. Most of the patients had done something terrible to end up here. And according to some of the employees, Dr. Anderson made it his personal business to see that they paid for their crimes."
Dean absorbed what she was saying. So Anderson had had a hand in MacGruder's death. He wondered about the details of their so-called "arrangement."
"Listen," Dean whispered. "My brother is not insane."
"But Dr. Anderson said –"
"Do you really think you can believe a word Dr. Anderson says?" Dean interrupted in frustration. "Sam's fine. In fact, he's probably one of the most level-headed people in here. I need you to trust me, okay?"
Molly nodded as he continued to speak. "I need you to look out for Sam. Can you do that?" She kept nodding. "Who dispenses the medication?"
"The nurse on duty. For the most part, it would be me. For his routine meds. I'm usually not here until the eleven o'clock shift, which means I would administer his meds in the mornings before I left. But Dr. Anderson is his doctor. He can give Sam something whenever he thinks it's necessary."
They would just have to hope Dr. Anderson didn't see a reason to go above and beyond on the drug front. "Okay. Well, the stuff he'd supposed to take in the mornings, don't give it to him. Just make sure Anderson thinks he's taking it."
"But-"
"I'm telling you, Sam's fine. The only way he's going to stay that way is if you make sure he doesn't have to take any more drugs."
"Okay. Okay, yes. I'll figure something out."
"Good."
"But I –" She stopped suddenly, looking up at him. There was real fear in her eyes.
Dean searched her face for some sign of whatever it was she was holding back. "What?"
She clasped her hands together at her waist and wrung her fingers nervously. Her posture radiated indecision. "N-nothing," she stammered. "Nothing. I'll do my best. It's just…I don't…" She swallowed hard. "Who are you?"
Dean shook his head. "It doesn't matter, does it? Just trust me, we're here to help you." He put his hands back on her shoulders and could feel her trembling. "Do you trust me?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now, when are visiting hours?"
"They're between eight AM and eight PM."
That left a disturbingly long period of time that Sam would be on his own.
"When I leave, is there any way you can get me back into the building tonight?"
"Huh? Well…I don't know…" She looked down at the floor, as if it might magically reveal a viable plan for sneaking Dean in after visiting hours.
"Think, Molly."
"I'm trying!" After a moment, her eyes lit up. "The back door off the kitchen, where they take deliveries. Most of the kitchen staff leave around 8:30, and they prop that door open so people can go in and out. The chef is always the last to go, and if I distract him, you can sneak in and hide out somewhere in the kitchen until he's gone. Once he leaves, I'll come find you and get you up to Sam's room."
Dean spared her a tight smile. "Good girl."
"What are you going to do once you're back in?"
"Well, first I'm going to talk to my brother. Will he be awake by then?"
"He should be, yes."
Dean nodded. "Okay. Good."
"And after that?" she pressed.
"After that I'm going to break into Anderson's office."
Molly looked aghast. "You're going to what? Where? But if he - you'll never-"
"Look, relax. He'll never know I was there."
Molly looked unconvinced.
"What'd I say?" Dean prompted.
Her expression didn't change. "Trust you?"
"Exactly." Dean grinned for real this time. "Dude, I'm the boy at this kind of shit."
