The Eyes Don't Lie
Disclaimer: I own nothing supernatural. Unless you count a few math textbooks…
A/N: Please forgive any grammar mistakes, I'm really tired.
"And there's nothing more you can do? Any other drugs that might…"
"No, Mr. Winchester. I really don't want to give your son any more drugs unless I really have to."
"But you just said it yourself, his delusions are getting worse, he's violent… He tried to hurt someone, for crying out loud!"
"I understand your anxiety, Mr. Winchester, I do, but I still think giving him more drugs isn't the right solution. As it is, he is sedated and somewhat relaxed. He's not hurting anyone, I don't see a reason…"
"But you said it yourself," she interrupted him for the first time, "Dean attacked someone."
"Yes, Mrs. Winchester," he sighed, "but I'm sure he wasn't aware of his actions."
"All the more reason to up his dosage, don't you agree?" he sighed, his look going from one parent to the other. He could understand their worry, but it wasn't usual for parents to want their son sedated beyond the point of recognition. As it was the boy could barely stand up straight.
"If you're asking for my professional opinion, then no. I don't think so. More drugs could seriously damage his brain." The woman gave a small whimper, burying her face in her husband's shoulder as he pulled her closer.
"Then what else can we do?" the husband asked. He paused, thinking. There was something strange about those two. Something strange about their boy, too, but he had seen enough people in the same situation. Too many, he thought with a sigh.
"I think your son would benefit more from a different sort of treatment." He said, leaning back in his large chair.
"What do you mean?" the woman asked him, wiping her eyes, and he offered her a box of tissues, which she gladly accepted.
"I think Dean would benefit from therapy. Whatever delusions he obviously suffers from might be the result of something else altogether." He said, wishing for the thousandth time today that the stupid 'no smoking' rule didn't apply to his office as well.
"You think it's some sort of stress?" the woman asked him.
"Could be."
"Doctor, our son has been in hospitals like this most of his life. Dean had been diagnosed at the age of seven. What the hell kind of stress would a seven year old have?" the man shouted at him. He looked at his notes. Oak Park institute, in Kansas. He'd never heard of that hospital before. Then again, he'd only worked with clinics in the East Coast up until now.
"Dean's delusions are quite persistent. He keeps mentioning…" he checked his records, just to be sure, "Sammy. He seems convinced he has a brother named Sammy."
"Doctor, I have two boys and two girls, and I assure you, none of them is named Sammy." The woman said, her voice trembling. He looked at her for a moment, lost in her golden hair. She was beautiful. It was easy to get distracted when she was around, but he quickly cleared his throat and returned to the subject at hand. Dean Winchester.
"I see here he's been a patient in Oak Park for the past twenty years." He said, seeing the small nods from both parents. "Tell me, what made you transfer him here, now?" they exchanged glances.
"You think that's why he's being so…" the woman started, and looked at her husband for help.
"Is that why he's acting up?" the husband finished. He took a deep breath, nodding lightly, crossing his hands over his desk.
"Possibly. He's been in an environment he'd grown used to, felt comfortable in. Maybe it is just the move that's making him so upset. But I must tell you, those things he's talking about… Demons and spirits and…" he shook his head, and the woman reached for another tissue, a new bout of tears streaming from her eyes. "He's disoriented, and very protective of this Sammy." He went on, "He only makes threats or lashes out when he's confronted with the possibility that this Sam character doesn't even exist." He sighed.
"Again, doctor, what can we do?" the husband asked tiredly. Obviously, this wasn't the first time they've had this talk.
"Therapy." He said, "That would be my best bet. And I think seeing more of his family might help. Also, if there're things that used to be in his roomat Oak Park, anything that will make him feel more at home, help him settle in…" the woman nodded as her husband got to his feet. "If I may," he interrupted, and the husband sat back down. "You never answered my question. After so long, why did you decide to take your son out of Oak Park?" it's been botheringhim for a while now. A patient being in a hospital for so long, you don't just take him out like that. Especially not someone like Dean, living in a world of his own creation.
"Our youngest daughter graduated from school," it was the woman who spoke. "They all moved away. We… I couldn't stand to stay at that big house anymore. So we moved here instead. My oldest girl goes to NYU, so we figured…" she didn't finish her sentence, but he still nodded. Empty nest syndrome. That could explain things.
"It would really help your son if you could come visit as often as possible." he said, coming to his feet, "At least until he acclimates."
"Of course." She smiled at him, and then turned to her husband. "I'm going to say goodbye to Dean." She said, and then shook his hand and got out of his office.
Mary went to Dean's new room, knocking on the door. Just a formality, really. The door was locked, Dean wouldn't be able to open it even if he wanted to. A nurse smiled at her and she smiled back, waiting for the nurse to open the door.
"Nice to see you again, Mrs. Winchester." The nurse said.
"You too, Elma. Taking care of my boy?" Mary asked.
"Of course." the old nurse siad kindly. "It's a shame, really. With looks like his," she shook her head, "should have had girls throwing themselves at him." Mary smiled, getting in the room and closing the door after her.
"Mom?" Mary's smile grew. She neared him, caressing his bristled, pale cheek. He looked ill. Probably the result of the medication.
"I'm right here, honey." She said.
"Where's Sam?" he asked, and then gasped, moving away from her. "What have you done to him? What have you done to my brother?" he cried.
"You really should relax, Dean. You don't want them to restrain you again, do you?" she asked softly.
"You're not my mother! My mother's dead!" he shouted.
"Of course she is." Mary smiled, her beautiful eyes turning a sickening yellow. "And as soon as I find that brother of yours, you will be, too." She whispered in his ear and he cried out. She kissed his cheek as Elma opened the door. "Good night, love."
The End