Title: Blackbird

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever?

Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation.

Rating: M

A/N: Well, here 'tis. Next installment. On the bright side, this chapter contains one of my favorite original characters of all time. A comic relief character that jumped from my fingertips onto the screen and into this plot.

And, the end is finally in sight for this fic. Meaning I have a vague idea as to what's going to happen. But like I said, it may take a while from here on out. Thanks to all of those who continue to stick with it, anyway. And I do promise that it will be completed. Eventually.

This chapter is a little short. Short for me anyway, and I really couldn't find a better place to stop. I just wanted to get something out, hope you enjoy!

And on that note, onto the story.


Chapter Twelve.

Sam had woken up more times in the past week than he had in over a month. And really, he was just getting fucking sick of it. Pass out in one world, wake up in another. Not that he ever really remembered the transitions.

Other than the one that had been excruciatingly painful, it was mostly; blink and you're somewhere else.

Like Sam was now back at Granville. The atmosphere here was substantially less frightening than it had been last time.

Of course that was probably due to the light streaming through the tiny window above his head. Well, that, and the fact that Dr. Kabala was nowhere in sight. That helped too.

Sam groaned and tried to move, not really expecting it to work. Just as he had suspected, he was tethered to the bed. Trapped like an animal.

Jessica's pregnant.

Now that he was back in this world, all he wanted to do was return to the other.

Whoever was casting this curse him, quite obviously thought that treating his emotions like a yo-yo was amusing.

He wondered briefly how much a say his own subconscious had in this whole thing. Could he have made Jessica pregnant?

He chuckled stupidly at the irony of that thought.

Of course he had. One way or another.

"What's so funny crazy boy?" A voice sounded from the doorway, making Sam jump as much as his restraints allowed.

"Who are you?" He asked frantically. He knew immediately that it was not Dr. Kabala. That fact assured him only marginally, given his position at the moment.

"I'm a coo-coo crispy, just like you." The person moved within Sam's line of vision.

A patient, he realized. A young man, no older than Sam himself, with a high-pitched voice. He was as skinny as could be; Sam could actually see his ribs poking through the thin hospital gown.

"What?" Sam asked, still trying to get a hold on everything.

"I'm a nut." He stated factually. "I've gone bonkers, I'm a whack job. Although I'm not as bad as you. You're the mumble and the rumble of our humble abode. Did you know?"

"…Dr. Seuss?" Sam questioned stupidly. But really, what else could he say to that?

"A brilliant man." He nodded, and kept nodding. He stood at the foot of Sam's bed, nodding repeatedly. "An inspiration to all. A friend to many a child. Wild and mild, like a brilliant bull."

"...right." Sam said. "How'd you get in here?" Skinny rhyming guy shot him an odd look. "Doesn't Dr. Kabala keep the door locked?"

"Kabala is the monster that prowls at night." He said with a shudder and Sam raised his eyebrows. "The others are here, but they don't quite care."

"Others?" This was the first real person he'd spoken to, other than Dr. Kabala, since his brother had left him here. Sam didn't care how crazy he was, he would try his best to get information out of him.

"The others that don't care." He nodded, as if that answered the question. "We're free to play during the day." He smiled, but then stopped abruptly. "But it's a quiet game, the loser will be put to shame."

"So we all have to be quite?" Sam guessed.

He smiled widely and started nodding again. Sam couldn't help but note the bags under his eyes and his pasty skin. Was this guy simply nuts, or was he another one of Dr. Kabala's victims? Or both?

"Hey," An idea came to him. "You think you can undo these restraints for me?" He shook his arm, indicating what he was referring to. "So I can play too?" He added.

Skinny guy bit his lip, but complied after only a moment. He shot nervous glances at the door the whole time, but eventually managed to get Sam free.

"Thanks, man." He said, standing up and shaking out his limbs. There was a bandage wrapped around his arm, which still throbbed slightly.

He was also slightly dizzy, but he thought that might have been from malnutrition, as he could not recall eating anything since he got here. There was certainly nothing hooked up to him, supplying him with nutrients, as there would be at a normal hospital.

"The game is pointless." He said to Sam's thanks.

"What?" Sam asked.

"We all lose." He said. "You can't run, you can't hide, they're all waiting, all inside."

Sam's head turned sharply at the words. "What!"

"Shhhhhh." He said frantically in response. "They'll hear, and be near. I don't want to be there."

"Okay." Sam backed off immediately. "I'm sorry. I'll be quiet."

Rhyming guy nodded, seeming to calm a bit. Sam chanced it, "What you said before. Where'd you hear it?"

"Here." He answered simply. "Here, there and everywhere. They're everywhere."

"Who is 'they'?" Sam asked, fed up. He was sick of mind games.

"They make the game that we all play. We hide at night, but it's not alright." He obviously was not going to prove to be much help to Sam.

He sighed out loud. "Aright, fine." He decided. "They come at night and make everyone play a game. Dr. Kabala is evil."

As he listed these things, the mental patient nodded. "Do you know where my things might be?" Sam decided to try a different route. "The stuff that I brought with me here?" He said, just to clarify.

The guy simply shrugged and Sam was grateful for the non-ambiguous, non-rhyming, answer. Even it didn't help him.

"Well, how 'bout a phone?" He tried hopefully. "I really have to get a hold of my brother. Something bad is going on here."

"You can't hide." He quoted one of the lines and Sam gritted his teeth.

"No," he agreed slowly. "But I can get us out of here."

"They're all waiting."

"All inside." He finished angrily. "Yeah, I get it. Thanks."

Sam decided that he had had enough of the crazy guy and walked past him, cautiously into the hallway. Which had seemed much less confining when he there with his brother.

The hallway was deserted and Sam couldn't help but be grateful. The last thing he needed now was a run-in with Dr. Kabala. Although Dr. Seuss guy had more or less indicated that he was only present at night.

He doubted that that was an entirely accurate assessment. After all, it had been daytime when Sam and Dean had arrived here the first time. Perhaps the doctor only made his rounds at night.

Sam let the pointless thought drift away from him as he made his way through the corridors of the hospital carefully. He had to find a phone and contact Dean. Before the crazy, evil doctor realized he was missing. Or before his other world pulled him back, as it had been doing more and more frequently.

His other world, where Jessica was pregnant. Where he was going to be a father.

"Wake up Sam."

Jessica's pleading, tearful voice filled his mind suddenly. Sam braced his arm against the closest wall. She was right there. Right on the edge of his conscious...

"I need you Sam. I'm so sorry..."

"Don't fall over." Sam spun around when he heard the Dr. Seuss guy's voice.

"Thanks." He said. And meant it genuinely. He was on the brink of going back. But he couldn't. Not yet.

He had to get to Dean.

"Thanks are for banks, I come for the ranks."

"Sure you do." Sam agreed easily and patted him on the shoulder. He had no idea what that meant. But he was still here.

Sam continued to creep along the wall slowly. The skinny guy was following him, copying his movements.

They stopped at a corner, waiting for a woman in a white uniform, pushing a cart along merrily, to pass. Sam was almost relieved to see another life form.

"What's you're name?" He asked in a whisper once she had passed, he was thoroughly sick of referring to him as 'Dr. Seuss guy' in his thoughts.

"You've reached the Ku Klux Klan, take a number and we'll get back to you momentarily." He paused for a moment, staring straight ahead. "Beep."

"Ah..." He didn't quite know how to respond to that. "My name's Sam." He tried.

"Sam I am." His face lit up instantly and Sam cringed. Right, the Dr. Seuss story that shared his name. Dean had teased him enough about it when he was a kid, how could he have of forgotten? "I do not like Green Eggs and Ham."

"Of course you don't." Sam agreed. "Are you sure there's not something I can call you?"

"The KKK took my baby away." He stated factually and Sam snorted.

"That's a good song."

The guy gave Sam a weird look, so he explained. "The Ramones, right? My brother loves them."

He looked at him blankly, "David Hasselhoff."

Sam stared at him, blinked twice, and then shook his head. "Coast is clear."

They proceeded down the hallway. Sam looked in every room that they passed, ignoring his crazy tag along. At least this guy was the fun kind of crazy, he thought, and felt only mildly guilty for doing so. He was the kind of crazy that took Sam's mind off the true insanity that had been plaguing his life lately.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of fruitless searching, he came across a promising looking room. It wasn't a patient's room, that was for sure. It was spacious, decorated with a long table in the center. Snack, coffee and pop machines were present. A nurse's lounge, he realized.

Not that it mattered. No, all that mattered now was the phone Sam had spotted on the counter. It was sitting there so innocently. Sam almost wanted to cry at the sight of it.

The room was empty and Sam was struck with the urge to shoot a look up at the ceiling and shout, 'Well it's about fucking time something went my way!'

"Wait!" Dr. Seuss guy whispered frantically. Sam sent him a panicked, exasperated look. Who knew how long this place would remain empty. Why was he wasting time? "That's off limits. It out of bounds. Un-solid grounds. We can't go there, it's not fair..."

"I told you before," Sam said, cutting him off. "I have to talk to my brother."

The guy bit his lip and his eyes widened and darted from Sam to the room and back again nervously. Sam scolded himself for trying to use logic on an obviously mentally unwell person.

He thought about pulling away from the skinny guy and entering the room anyway. But he didn't want to risk him making any noise. He was so close; he would not blow it now.

Okay. He reasoned to himself. Normal logic wasn't going to work. Why not try something else.

"Do you want to win the game?" Sam asked.

He nodded, but was still biting his lip. Sam felt suddenly sorry for him. The guy may be nuts, but no one deserved to be left in the care of Dr. Kabala with no way out.

"Well, my brother can help." Sam told him. "He can help us win the game."

"Does he hold the magic vessel?" He asked, completely serious.

Again, Sam had no idea what that meant, but, "Yeah. Yeah, he does. Can I call him now?"

He looked hesitant, but nodded. Sam felt relief crash through him and was left with the vague desire to give this guy a hug. He restrained himself though, saying instead, "Good. Can you keep an eye out, and let me know if anyone's coming?"

Dr. Seuss guy nodded and Sam wasted no time in dashing across the room. He thought briefly that perhaps he should just make a run for it. Find the front doors of this place and take off. Yet he knew that was illogical.

This town was tiny, and the mental hospital was miles away from any form of civilization. Plus he had no mode of transportation. No, contacting Dean was his safest bet. But this seemed too easy, which made him uneasy.

He dialed his brother's cell phone number, ignoring that feeling, being sure to hit 9, so he could reach outside the building. His hands were shaking and his stomach felt hallow.

This was too easy.

The phone was ringing and his apprehension rose. He could feel it threatening to over whelm him. He'd never been in a scarier situation in his entire life. And that was saying something, considering what they did for a living.

He defiantly needed his brother.

The ringing continued and Sam couldn't help but panic slightly.

"Come on Dean. Pick up the goddamn phone." He mumbled. "You always have your phone. Answer now, or I swear to God..."

"You've reached my voicemail." Dean's recorded voice cut him off and Sam swore under his breath. "I obviously can't get to the phone right now. Leave me a message and I'll get back to you."

Sam waited impatiently for the tone that indicated he could start his message. And began babbling as soon as it sounded.

"Dean." His voice was much less calm than he'd have liked, hell, it was downright panicked, but he couldn't help it. At least his brother would pay attention to it immediately. "I need your help. The doctor here is nuts. He's doing something Dean, I don't know, but it's not good and you have to come get me out of here, I..."

A gunshot rang out and Sam jumped, clutching the phone to his side. He whirled around to find himself facing an incredibly sadistic looking Dr. Kabala; Dr. Seuss guy's body had crumpled to the floor, blood was pouring out from his obviously fatal gun wound, spreading itself around the doctor's feet. Thick and almost mesmerizing in it's solidness, it looked almost untouchable, sacred.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to return to the phone in his now shaky hand. His voice sounded scared and hollow to his own ears. "Help Dean. I can't get out of here myself, I need you..."

Dr. Kabala raised the gun again, aiming first at Sam's head, then suddenly down and to the right. Only when the shot rang out did Sam notice that he had been firing at the phone jack on the wall, which was now affectively destroyed.

Sam dropped the phone and looked him straight in the eye. Something his father had taught him to do years ago. If you acted scared of the enemy, he had always said, you might as well forfeit.

"Sam, Sam, Sam." He said in that raspy, throaty voice. Sam clenched his teeth.

This guy was a murderer. He had just killed one of his own patients in cold blood. "What did I tell you? You are a hindrance to your brother. Dean's not coming back for you."

Either Dr. Kabala truly believed that, or he was a full-fledged sociopath. His face betrayed absolutely nothing, not the slightest hint of fear or anxiety.

The doctor took a step towards him, and Sam immediately fell into a fighting stance. The kung fu, and other various fighting techniques he had mastered over the years, would in no way prove useful against a gun and a psychopathic doctor. But there's no way he wasn't going down fighting.

Kabala just raised the gun, pointing it steadily at Sam's head. "I don't understand why you hate me so much, Sam." His voice was still as calm as could be. "Most people would die for my cause." He smirked wickedly, and Sam got the pun.

Sam's eyes continually darted between the doctor's face and the gun. He made himself ignore the growing stench of blood and death that was rising from the doorway, from the dead body in the doorway.

"What is your cause?" Sam asked, attempting to sound steady. He was trying to stall the doctor, but found also that he wanted to know the answer. Dean would know by now.

"I help people Sam." He said simply, advancing slightly on him.

"No you bastard," He said angrily. "I help people. You kill them."

"You think a lot of yourself, don't you boy?" He asked and chuckled. "And if you're referring to Jimmy over there," he gestured to the corpse in the doorway. "That was an unfortunate outcome. But don't you worry; his death won't be for nothing. It might not be as useful as it should have been, but it won't go to waste."

"No, of course not," Sam said sarcastically, sidestepping him slightly, trying not to be obvious in his attempts at gaining freedom.

"Your death won't be for nothing either Sam." Dr. Kabala took a step closer; he was directly in front of him now, blocking him entirely. Sam could do nothing but stare. "They'll be waiting for you Sam."

With that, Dr. Kabala pulled the trigger. Sam let out a harsh, pain filled scream. His fighting stance collapsed as he grasped at his upper arm, where the bullet had hit him. Dr. Kabala was still staring, and before Sam could even manage a coherent thought, the doctor began to sing in a low tone.

"You can't run. You can't hide. They're all waiting. All inside."

He stopped and grinned wickedly. Sweat had broken out on Sam's forehead, dripping into his eyes, impairing his vision. Pain consumed him and he thought absently that a minor gunshot wound shouldn't hurt this much. That's why they call them 'minor'. No organs had been hit; it was just his arm, his left arm…

"I hate guns, Sam." He said simply, sounding as regretful as a man incapable of emotion could. "They're so barbaric."

So he raised the barbaric weapon again, and Sam was staring down the barrel of the gun helplessly. The doctor's trigger finger curled, but before the shot could be fired, Sam was gone.

He blinked rapidly at the darkened room and grabbed at his arm immediately, but wasn't that surprised when it was not at all painful. He found himself once again, in a hospital bed.

"That's turning into a really good defense mechanism." He said out loud. Since the room was dark, he wasn't entirely sure he was talking to.

"Oh God, Sam." Jessica's voice was immediate, and Sam was almost blindsided when she threw herself into his arms. She planted her face in the crook of his neck, whispering in his ear tearfully. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean make you go away. I just wanted you to know."

Sam soothed her, rubbing her back, encircling his arms around her. "It's okay." He mumbled, he was beyond filled with relief to see her again. "I'm okay."

Here anyway, he thought to himself. In the real world he might be dead. He cringed at the thought. What would happen if he died in the real world? Would he stay here?

What if Dean broke the curse?

Dean. Crap. Sam had called him. He had called him, but he probably wouldn't be conscious if his brother showed up.

When his brother showed up.

Dean would show up to save him, he knew that.

The question now was, would there be anything left to save?

End Chapter.


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