It's the first Advent Sunday today, I hope everyone's snuggling into a warm blanket in front of a burning candle?
Once again, many many thanks for all the lovely reviews, you guys totally rock! And here's the chapter most of you are looking forward to: where the heck is Sam?
Enjoy!

Chapter 03

Steely green eyes met blue ones. A mixture of blue and grey watching him with the same coldness, yet masked with empathy and understanding.

"Doctor Larsson, I really appreciate that you came the whole way from New York, but I'm afraid I can't commit the patient to your care…"

"Not 'the' patient, doctor Salinger, MY patient." He was surprised at how naturally the role of the bad-ass psychiatrist came to him. Maybe it was because of the objective he had set himself. He was capable of a lot more than this if someone would get in his way.

"Yes. Of course. But you must understand that the circumstances don't allow a relocation, not yet. Your patient is charged with a crime. Capital murder. Plus he's suffering from obsessive ideas, he's a danger to society. I already told him that he's a lucky kid he's waiting for a therapy in here and not for the lethal injection in a prison."

A shiver ran down his spine at those words. Man, this was one deep shit hole his brother has made himself comfortable in.

"My patient isn't capable of doing the thing he's accused. He might be quick-tempered, he might be defiant and insolent, but he wouldn't kill someone." And wasn't it a good thing that Dean was far away and hadn't heard this statement.

"Doctor Larsson, he's violence-prone. He almost took my office to pieces."

"He was in panic. From what I read in the report he was brought here in a straitjacket, as if he were Hannibal Lecter himself."

"He believes in werwolves."

"Yeah, well, others believe in Santa Clause or the tooth fairy, I don't see your conclusion."

"He's uncooperative."

"Well, of course he is, no one wants to be imprisoned in a mental institution without a judicial hearing!" He could continue this game all day long.

"How about deliberate self-harm?"

That shiver again. Had he just heard right?

"Excuse me. What?"

He watched Doctor Salinger pull the glasses from his nose and put it on his desk. He couldn't quite pinpoint the expression on the older man's face, but he knew he didn't like it.

"The nurse responsible for the crisis stabilization brought Dean breakfast this morning. He found him on the floor of his cell, unconscious, his face all messed up and bloody."

The invisible fist punching a hole through his stomach almost sent him jumping off the chair. He tried to keep his composure.

Stay professional. Stay alert. Something's wrong here.

"And you think he did that to himself?"

"I don't know what to think, Doctor Larsson. I haven't been able to make a reliable diagnosis on Dean, but from what I've got to know of him self-harm doesn't fit."

He swallowed. Salinger didn't know squat of Dean, psychiatrist or not. But the good old doc had made one good point: self-harm didn't fit. At all. Starting a fight after a hunt gone bad, yes. Being reckless in certain situations, sure. Suicidal and self-sacrificing when it came to his little brother, absolutely.

But slamming his own head against a wall? No way. No fucking way.

"Is it possible that there was another patient involved? A nurse, an orderly? Was there a fight?" Let's start with the living people strolling around here. We can get to the dead possibilities later.

The doctor smiled a smile he instantly disliked. Did he say something funny?

"No, there was no one involved and there was no fight. He got his medication from the nurse…"

"What kind of medication? When there's no diagnosis how can you administer medication?"

"Nothing strong, only vitamins, minerals and a soporific. Nothing to worry about, doctor Larsson."

Oh, nothing to worry about. Sure.

"Who gave it to him?"

"The nurse responsible for the crisis stabilization. He was accompanied by two orderlies due to Dean's…outburst. The patient was perfectly fine by then."

"Says who? Them?"

Doctor Salinger's expression seemed to darken a bit before he put his glasses back on and leaned deeper into his leather chair, the wry, almost pitiful smile back in place. "How long has Dean Rodgers been your patient, doctor Larsson?"

For a second he didn't know whether he should laugh at that question or pull the doc over his desk and show him where he could put his psycho crap. He decided to return the smile in similar manner.

"For as long as I can think, doctor Salinger." And if that wasn't 100 per cent true.

The doctor nodded and leaned forward again, lowering his tone dangerously. "That's been long enough. Now he's OUR patient, doctor Larsson. In here, I have the responsibility for Dean. I'm forced to share that responsibility with you because he's been your charge for a long time, and I'm willing to share said responsibility because I hope to get to the bottom of the problem with your help. But don't you dare to assume the right to say anything against my staff, don't you think you could march in here as if you knew it all. You're far too young to have seen everything."

A crunch of teeth signaled him that he was clenching his jaw so hard his skull might crumble any second. A sting in his eyes urged him to blink. He hadn't noticed that his face had also darkened during Salinger's tirade, that he was looking daggers at the older man.

Speaking of daring something. No one had the responsibility for Dean except him. No one decided what was good for his brother except him or Dean himself. Something was completely wrong here. And he would find out what.

"Fine", he growled, reaching for his documents that lay on the desk and stood, "I want to see my patient now, if this isn't too much to ask."

Doctor Salinger scrutinized him while he fumbled with the intercom on his desk. "Would somebody accompany doctor Larrson to the visitor area, please. He's going to meet patient 77." He didn't wait for a response and stood, reaching his hand out. "I'm going to contact and inform you over the further procedures and actions to be taken, my esteemed colleague."

Never ever had he shaken a hand with more reluctance. He clothed his face in cold smiles, relieved to escape the office and doctor Salinger. Relieved to finally see his brother. Eager to find out how he was.

Anxious to get him out.

To be continued...