Back again. And deeply sad. I missed getting a ticket to the Asylum Convention 2011 in Germany. **sniff** But then I would have had bought them sometime in July already, without even knowing when and where it takes place and without knowing who'll be there. Now I have to suffer for my rigorous common sense.
Speaking of, let's see what Sam and Dean are doing...enjoy!
Chapter 04
This place gave him the creeps.
Walking after the orderly that had picked him up from doctor Salinger's office Sam let his eyes wander over the concrete walls, the huge cross-barred windows, the majestic skylight hanging over them, giving a good view to the dark grey clouds.
During world war I the facility had been a munitions factory, which explained the hospital atypical look and the ample hall they currently passed through. To Sam it was a mixture of a classy old hotel and a modern, stylish prison. But it wasn't the building that chased the shivers down his spine.
The sounds were.
There were their footfalls. Two pairs of shoes on the stone floor resounded from the high walls, the echoes so strong Sam wanted to look over his shoulder to see who was after them.
And there were the noises the inmates made. Those noises weren't loud or numerous, they were more like accents in the deafening silence in the hall.
But did it matter how loud a whimper was? How many single outcries you had to listen to?
Oh god, Dean. Please be okay. I'm going to get you out of here.
The two men reached a huge french door that was so out of place in this kind of facility yet so fitting to the building it was fascinating. They entered a large room with tables and chairs, bright light streaming in from the giant windows. In the far end of the room sat a couple, holding hands over the table, the man's face glistening with tears that ran down his face.
Sam was so moved by the sight he almost jumped when the orderly spoke up.
"You can take a seat, the patient will be brought in a few minutes." With that Sam watched him walk away to a completely different door, obviously one that lead to the inmates, disappearing behind it.
"His name's Dean", Sam mumbled angrily and let out a sigh. He looked over to the couple once more, witnessing the man having a full-on break down and his wife or girlfriend trying to soothe him with words and gestures.
He bit his bottom lip in frustration. Damnit, this was all kinds of wrong.
To notice that there was something rotten in the state of Denmark didn't take long for Sam. When Dean hadn't returned from the diner and Sam had been unable to reach his brother's phone, he had known.
To find him hadn't taken much longer.
When the first police cars had rushed by, with sirens wailing and blue lights flashing, Sam hadn't taken note of it at first. But with Dean being overdue and the Winchester luck always right where it was needed it had been a matter of seconds before his worry had turned into fear.
He hadn't seen Dean at the crime scene, but a few carefully selected questions to gapers and a police officer later he had his answers.
And was torn between cursing and panicking since then.
His head jerked up when he heard the heavy door the orderly had gone through earlier open with a hiss. The sight that greeted him was both delightful and despairing.
Even from a distance Sam could see his brother was pale and tired. The left side of his face was one colorful bruise, two tiny white spots that looked like medical strips shone out from above his left eyebrow. He wore the typical outfit, light blue pants, a white t-shirt and white sneakers – suicide safe, lacking the shoestrings.
Dean hadn't seen him yet. The second he did however, was absolutely apparent.
His expression changed immediately, as did his whole demeanor. His face lit up, in surprise, in joy, in relief. He straightened visibly and the slow shuffling turned into purposeful strides.
The closer Dean came, the more Sam felt himself cringe at the vicious bruises and the pallor. God, his brother looked terrible. And he had only arrived in here two days ago. Sam didn't want to know how Dean would look next week.
No. Next week Dean would be out of here. He would make sure of it.
Sam stood, his own face lighting up, his lips forming a genuine smile. When Dean came to a halt at the other side of the table he looked so vulnerable Sam wanted to drag him out.
"Sit down", the orderly demanded and patted Dean's shoulder, "You got 30 minutes." He then stepped back, leaving the Winchesters some privacy without being too far away so he could intervene if needed.
Sam pointed at the chair next to his sibling, "You heard the man." Dean snorted, still eyeing Sam in happy disbelief before the brothers sat down in unison, both leaning forward he moment their butts touched the chairs.
"How did you do that?" Dean asked in a low tone, his smile managing to mask the pained expression he had earlier.
"Do what?"
"They told me my psychiatrist came the whole way down from New York and wanted to see me. I had to bite my tongue to avoid asking who they meant."
"Well, you know I'm good."
"You're crazy, that's what you are."
"Says the inmate to his psychiatrist."
"Shut up. They're going to lock you up right next to me when they find out what you're pulling here." The words were serious, but the way Dean said them wasn't. There was honest delight, such sheer relief in Dean's far too glassy eyes, Sam knew exactly how he meant it. "Man, it's good to see you."
"Likewise." Sam watched Dean's face a second longer, searching for anything that told him something about his brother's frame of mind. He nodded at Dean's bruised face. "What happened?"
The muscle in Dean's jaw jumped and his face darkened. "Griffin happened. An orderly I had some difficulties with. I accidently broke his nose so he decided to scrub the cell wall with my face."
Sam nodded, a surge of anger rushing through him. "Yes, I thought so," he mumbled, "I take it you told them but they refused to believe you?"
This triggered another snort from the older Winchester, "Damn right. They think I did this to myself. As if I'd slam my own head against a wall, come on, really? Who does that?"
The brothers lapsed into silence, both becoming absorbed in thoughts before Sam cleared his throat.
"So, a werwolf, huh?" he asked, hoping the slight tremor in his voice went unnoticed by his brother. Fascinating how this special issue was still able to arouse a pain in his chest, still managed to stir up emotions that seemed to be dormant too close under the surface. Even after almost two years.
"Yep, lucky me. He almost got her Sam, it was so close."
"So, you had to kill him right in front of her eyes plus you had to ramble a bit about him being a werwolf and all that stuff?"
"Damnit Sam, I..." Dean hissed but turned it down a notch instantly, suddenly remembering that they weren't alone, "A lecture isn't helping right now, okay? How many people had to learn the hard way that there are bad bad things out there in the dark, thanks to us, and how many of them have put the cops or the lovely staff from the lunatic asylum onto us? How many, Sam? It's not my fault that it's me coming across screaming meemie in the middle of the night."
"Calm down, I get it." Sam let out a tired sigh before he continued, "I met your doc…"
"Salinger? Yeah, funny guy. But as my real psychiatrist is here now I can happily ignore him, right?"
Sam bit his bottom lip. "Dean, listen. They took the bait, I'm doctor Samuel Larsson, I'm your shrink from New York and I know practically everything about you. But as long as you're in here I only play minor walk-ons. Salinger's in charge, he's the boss and I have the feeling he's totally dotty about you."
"Meaning?"
"He's set on getting to know you better. I guess he's eager to crack such a tough nut like you."
"But Sam, I won't stay in here. I don't want to talk to that guy, I don't want to talk to any shrink at all. Whatever I say, they're going to twist my words to their advantage, whatever I'm gonna do, they're going to find it weird, I don't stand a single chance."
Sam held up a placating hand, trying to calm his agitated sibling down, "I know that, Dean, I know. You're not alone in this, and as long as I have a saying in this nothing's going to happen. But we have to be careful not to crush our chances, okay?" There were new emotions flaring up in Dean's eyes Sam didn't want to see there. It looked suspiciously like panic and desperation. He watched Dean averting his gaze, running a hand over his face. It was only then when Sam noticed the bandaged wrist.
"What's this?"
Dean looked at the bandage and shrugged, "Talons. My lupine friend was kinda specific about how to kill me."
"Is it deep? How heavy did it bleed?" Sam wanted to grab Dean's wrist and check for himself, but he knew his brother wouldn't let him.
"Let it go, Sam, it's fine." Dean pulled both hands close as if he had read Sam's mind, "Speaking of, how's the girl doing? She okay?"
"I don't know and I don't care. Right now you are my priority."
Sam watched Dean's expression turn into one of those 'Attention, ambiguous remark on the way' type of expressions, but whatever was to come got choked off by the orderly's deep timbre.
"Two minutes, gentlemen!"
And gone was the nascent lightness, replaced again by anxiety and weariness.
"So", Dean cleared his throat, "I really have to stay here, huh?"
It almost tore Sam apart. "Yeah. I'm sorry. But I'm going to find a way. I've already gained foothold, now everything I have to do is enter." Dean didn't look at him, only fidgeted with his fingers. Sam ducked his head to catch his brother's eyes. "Dean. Hold on, okay? I'm doing what I can. Just…be nice, eat your vegetables and avoid trouble, alright? I'm getting you out, I promise. Jerk."
Dean looked up and at the raw emotions in the big green eyes another wave of sorrow hit Sam full force. He always wished his brother would let his walls down once in a while. Would let him know how he felt. However, if Dean did, Sam wanted to build them up again, as fast as possible, because he couldn't bear the emotional shoals he found behind the ruins.
"Yeah, okay." It was a whisper. It was a testimony to Dean's repulsion against the whole situation, against being here. But while the brothers looked at each other Sam could see the ruins re-erect, could watch how the walls were rebuild again and Dean's composure returned.
"Time's up. Doctor Larsson, do you know the way out alone?" Sam hadn't noticed the orderly step up behind Dean, and from his brother's reaction Dean hadn't, too. He cleared his throat and leaned back.
"Yeah, thanks, I'm good."
The orderly nodded and signaled Dean with another pat on his shoulder to get up. At Dean's annoyed eye roll Sam's mouth twitched and with a mixture of amusement and sadness he watched Dean's slow rise from the hard plastic chair.
The mouthed 'Bitch!' he received as a farewell before Dean was brought away, back into his cell, surrounded by real lunatics, mass murderers and crooked orderlies gave him a tiny ray of hope.
When the door closed behind him, the retreating footsteps of the orderly launching the next hours in complete loneliness, despair and panic once again threatened to overwhelm him.
Dean slumped down on his cot, bent forward and took his head in his hands, hissing when the palm of his hand touched the swollen side of his face.
The fact that Sam was there and had taken some kind of control over the situation didn't manage to comfort him. It was not because he didn't trust Sam with this, no. Dean knew that Sam would left no stone unturned to get him out.
Question was if Sam would be able to do so. There was only so much one single person could make out against a mental facility.
Dean prodded gently at the cut above his eyebrow, cringing when a jolt of pain ran through him. Damn, he hurt. His whole head hurt. He wished he could just unscrew the damn thing and throw it into the darkest corner.
Approaching steps grabbed his attention and he tried to see the window without lifting his head. One part of him hoped the steps would pass his cell, he wasn't in the mood for another argument with Griffin. The other part yearned for some company, for some diversion from the whole staring and thinking thing. That was how those hospitals worked. You get all the time in the world to think about everything crossing your mind, and you are either cured afterwards or your own thoughts let you freak out at some point.
It was Phillip's face that appeared in the window and Dean didn't bother to hide his annoyance. He dropped his head down again, this time more mindful of his injuries, and listened to the slide – beep – click of the lock while he stared at the floor.
"Bad day?" Phillip asked, his shoes appearing in Dean's limited line of sight.
"You have no idea."
"How's the head?"
"Peachy."
The sound of the tray being put on the table was answered by a groan from Dean. Phillip stayed unfazed.
"Saw your psychiatrist today. He seems to be a nice guy. Is he good in his job?"
"Yes."
"And he's young. Interesting."
At that Dean looked up and raised his eyebrows at Phillip, wincing when the motion pulled at the cut. "You want his number?"
Phillip laughed a hearty laugh that actually sounded really good in the dark cell. It brought some warmth inside.
"Christ, no, I'm good." He held up his left and waggled his ring finger, where a silver wedding band flashed, "Don't think that my wife would appreciate someone beside her. No, what I meant is that young psychiatrists are interesting because they have other opinions and therefore different methods then the old school doctors, you know. They learn other things."
Dean knew his expression was one giant question mark. Was Phillip discussing the advantages of younger people in the nuthouse business with him? Really?
Noticing his mistake, Phillip waved him off, "Never mind. I brought your medication."
The Winchester slid his eyes to the tray and counted the pills. Then he looked past the nurse at the door.
"I have two questions, Phil", he began, "question number one, where are the watchdogs?"
Phillip threw a look over his shoulder as if to see for himself if there was someone or not before he replied, "I thought the watchdogs weren't necessary tonight."
"Very courageous."
"And number two?"
"Question number two, there are some new pills in town. I wonder what they are?"
Phillip smiled and crouched down beside the table. He waved a circle with his outstretched finger around colorful arsenal beside the plastic cup. "These are the ones you already know. And those..." he made the circle over the new pills, "...are painkillers and something doctor Salinger prescribed."
And if that didn't let the alarm bells ring.
"What kind of something?"
"Something to calm you down." It was marvelous how quiet and cool Phillip stayed at Dean's persistence. Maybe he had a copious supply of those calm-down-drugs under his pillow?
"I'm totally calm. I don't need them." Dean leaned back against the wall, pulling his legs up. He noticed that he had the exact same position as yesterday evening. There weren't many positions possible anyway.
"You're totally calm? Have you passed a mirror lately?"
At that Dean's head shot up and he ignored the pain flaring up at the sudden movement. Okay, he might need a few of those relaxing meds if Phillip wouldn't shut his mouth.
"Listen", he growled angrily, "I didn't do this to myself, are we clear? I told you, it was Griffin training for the olympic games, ask him who needs to calm down. And now take your quack remedy and leave me alone."
Phillip just continued to watch him. "Okay then, no pills tonight? You sure?"
"I am. Back off."
The nurse nodded and stood with a tired sigh, but didn't leave. Dean threw the darkest glare he could muster up at him. "Anything else?"
Phillip nodded and answered almost sadly, "Yes. Don't struggle too much. It's for your own good."
What happened next was a blur. Suddenly three orderlies stormed the cell, rushing at Dean who couldn't react as fast as he should have. Two giant men grabbed his arms while the third pushed his legs down, successfully keeping Dean from kicking out.
Of course he struggled. He tried to flail, to kick out, to buck, to push the heavy men off him in utter desperation and fury. He grunted and cursed, he screamed and protested but to no avail. His eyes filled up with tears of pain and anger, he felt something warm run down the side of his face as one of the orderlies took his head in a stranglehold, opening the cut above his eyebrow in the process.
From the corner of his eye he saw Phillip approach him, a syringe ready.
Once more he renewed his efforts to get away, to escape, but only succeeded in cutting off his air supply when the meaty forearm of the orderly keeping him in the headlock tightened.
He felt a sting at the side of his throat, near the carotid, followed by a burning sensation that almost caused him to pass out from pain. He heard himself scream, a hoarse, tormented scream, threatening to let his head explode.
The fight left his body. So did his strength. He yelled an armada of swear words at the people around him, but all he heard were moans and grunts. The warmth surrounding him vanished and his brain registered the orderly's withdrawal.
No. Stay. Please. I'm freezing. Stay.
A face in his line of sight. A smiling one. A disappointed smile. A voice.
"Rest."
And suddenly he was alone with the sounds of chains rattling in the distance.
To be continued...