Confused much? Nah, there's an explantion for almost everything, right?

Let me put a big fat THANK YOU in the middle of the room, with candy and marshmellows sticking on it, for everybody who reads and takes the time to review! It's so great that there are so many of you really enjoying this story, wow. You're AWESOME (let me tell you, this is my current favorite word! I love it. You say "aaaaaaawwww" with your mouth huge and wide and then comes this cute little "some" right after it, and I love to pronounce it like "smmm", which makes "aaaaaaaaaawwwsmmm". Gotta love that word. Next one in the list is "Awkward". Guess why...and hey, in case there's a german word you like, let me know...).

Yes, I'm done already, I'm going to shut up now and let you read on...

Chapter 16

It was quiet. A humming somewhere. A low hiss. Cold air caressed his cheeks and forehead, not strong or cool enough to be annoying, but definitely worth noting.

He felt comfortably numb. Comparable to sitting in a bathtub filled up with foam, covering every inch of his body. He was warm. The noises were dulled. It was peaceful.

A rustling to his left. Paper. A book? A magazine?

Dean opened his mouth and complained. Told whoever was there to back off and leave him alone with his foam. He even attached a few swear words, for good measure. Only that the sound reaching his own ears was a simple groan, a feeble, raspy one at that. And the answer he got wasn't peace and privacy but someone saying his name.

He was sick and tired of someone saying his name.

Instinct kicked in. Slowly. Clumsily. It literally worked it's way through the fog that was currently clutching Dean's brain cells. Instinct behaved like Hansel and Gretel, it scattered questions and memories and facts all around like bread crumbs.

Crumbs, Dean.

Problem was, he wasn't in the mood or condition to sort all that crap out right now. Even recognizing that penetrating voice that kept saying his name and some other thing's he couldn't wrap his head around was a heavy task right now.

Dean searched his mind, tried to remember what had happened, where he was, where his current haze came from.

It had been night. A cemetery. He hadn't been alone there. Sam? Had Sam been there with him?

Phillip.

Yes.

Phillip and his ghost problem.

Right.

One memory after another lit up like the screens on the puzzleboard of 'Wheel Of Fortune', filling the gaps in Dean's head, dissolving the fog. He remembered a successful salt'n burn, could almost smell the fire. He remembered the sound of a gun being cocked, the little revelation towards Phillip concerning the way Dean felt, held captive in that mental hospital.

Phil had let him go. He had been free. Dean remembered the road, the lights of the town beckoning him closer.

Screams.

Dean gasped, the memories crashing down on him like a breaking wave.

Blood.

He felt a rumble in his chest, heard a groan, hands touching him.

Cries of pain and terror.

He needed his hands. Why did his freakin' hands didn't obey? Who held him down, damnit...

'Leave me be...'

'I'm sorry...'

The groan was gone, replaced by sobs and gasps and words and something told him it was his voice, his mouth those god-awful sounds escaped from.

'LOOK AT IT, DEAN!'

He needed to breathe. Please. Somebody. Sam. Sammy.

Crying out in sheer horror Dean tore his eyes open, at the same time jackknifing viciously, his upper body jerking from 0° up to 90° angle.

There was something on his face, poking his nose, but he couldn't reach for it. His own hands were tied down while other hands, foreign hands were on him, pushing him, forcing him to lay back. Voices, too many of them, around his head, in his head, ringing in his ears, talking, soothing. Leave me alone. Leave me be. Take your hands off. I'm sorrysosorrysosorry...

"DEAN!"

Sam.

Sammy?

Dean froze, every muscle locked, his whole body shivering, teeth gritted so vigorously it hurt. He blinked, tried to focus. He had heard Sam, so his brother was here. He needed to focus so he could see him, right. No problem. He could do that.

"That's it, easy."

Definitely Sam.

Oh God he had made it. He had found him. Had reached the motel.

"Okay, Dean. And now I want you to look at me, otherwise I feel impelled to do something rather girly."

Dean blinked, his jumbled mind processing his baby brother's words. Something girly? What the...

He turned his head slowly, took in his surroundings, disorientation switching to confusion. This didn't look like their motel room. It didn't look like any motel room at all. It was more like some kind of windowless basement of a very old building, judging by the stucco on the ceiling. And then again it smelled like hospital, even had the equipment, allocated everywhere in the room.

Where the hell was he?

When his foggy gaze met Sam's, relief washed over him, the feeling of being at home enveloping his inner turmoil. From the way Sam's tense features relaxed, his brother was glad as well.

"There you are", Sam stated with a smile, gripping Dean's upper arm, "you okay?"

Dean didn't answer right away, his senses still trying to catch up. He looked past Sam and spotted a woman standing a few feet behind his brother, watching him like a hawk, ready to strike any second. She was dressed in clean white clothes.

Nurse.

Nurse?

"Who the hell are you?" Dean rasped harshly, meeting the woman's steely eyes with equally icy ones. Sam patted his arm and turned to her.

"I think we're good now, thank you", he said in his most charming tone, "could you give us a minute?"

She didn't look very convinced. "You sure, doctor?"

Doctor? What...

"Yeah, really. I'm going to call you if I need something."

She nodded carefully and picked up a tray from the table beside her, a rather big syringe laying on it.

Wait a minute...

Dean felt his heartbeat quicken once again. No. No way. He had been free. He had seen the town.

The woman vanished through the only door in the room. The moment it clicked shut, Dean yanked at his restrains, grunting when the movement tore at his bandaged wrist.

"Dean, relax. What's wrong with you?" Sam tried, taking a step closer and tightening his grip on Dean's arm.

"Take those off!" Dean growled, all the while continuing to get free but keeping the tugs to a more cautious level with his right. "What is this? Where am I, Sam?"

Sam pulled his head back in bewilderment. "This is the hospital ward. You had an accident, fell down the stairs. Dean, do you remember that?"

Dean stared at his brother, waited for him to smirk and slap his shoulder in an 'Just kidding!' moment. What was he talking about? He didn't remember stairs, there weren't any stairs, he didn't fall.

"No Sam", he shook his head vehemently, "I was out. I was on my way..." He stopped and looked down to the floor as if all the answers to al his current questions were laying right there.

"You've been on your way where, Dean?" Sam's voice was soft, sympathetic, the right way to talk to someone who had lost his mind.

'Leave me be...'

Dean was still shaking his head. This whole mess was way beyond his current ability to reason.

"Dean?"

'I'm sorry...'

"Not now, Sam. Please. Gimme...just a moment, okay?" he was surprised to hear his voice switching back to it's trembling quality. Although, as he was on the verge of crying, it wasn't surprising at all.

Without looking at his brother Dean knew what Sam's was expression reflecting, the disappointment, the consternation. He could almost hear Sam's shoulders slump. And a part of him felt truly sorry, Sam had to be as confused as him.

Something bad had happened, that much Dean had figured. Those hallucinations...they had been annoying and creepy so far, but the things he had seen, had actually smelled and felt last night...geez, he was indeed on his way to become insane.

"Okay", Sam sighed, "do you want to be alone?"

Looking up from his musings Dean almost flinched at the puppy dog eyes roaming his face for a way to understand. He didn't want to be alone. Right now, he needed Sam close, needed a rock in the roaring waves he was caught in.

Sam was worried, he wanted answers. But how could Dean give him answers when he himself was slowly drowning in a puddle of drift sand, wasn't able to detect the reality?

"Could you get Phillip for me?" Dean asked. And he noticed the tiniest flicker of hurt in Sam's eyes.

"Sure", Sam answered and without further words took the dark jacket from the chair. It was only now that Dean noticed he wore the suit. Sam was doctor Larrson once more. He was really back in this place. Goddamnit.

Sam turned and headed to the door.

"Sam", Dean called, waiting for his brother to stop and look back at him, "you going to tell me what kind of girly thing you had in mind earlier?" Dean tried an uncertain smile.

Are we good, Sammy?

Sam blinked at him. "I would have taken your chubby face in my sweaty and calloused hands, you jerk." And with Sam's lips turning upwards into a tiny smile Dean's darkness lit up at least a little bit.

Bitch.

Dean had stopped trying to wriggle his right wrist free soon after the pain had gotten too immense to bear. The bandage protecting what he had assumed being fresh stitches wasn't thick enough to absorb the scraping of the leather belts.

He was frantically working on his left when a voice from the door caught his attention.

"You're going to hurt yourself further, why don't you let it go?"

He looked up and cursed over the fact that he wasn't able to lunge at the man. "Move your skinny ass in here and close the door", Dean growled, "oh, and while you're at it, get these off!" Dean yanked at his restraints, wincing when the pull hurt his injured wrist.

Phillip walked in and shut the door as he was told. He stepped up to Dean's bed like a kicked dog.

"I can't do that", he said sadly, "safety regulations."

"Safety regulations? Tell me something, Phil. Why do I still have to listen to that crap? Why am I here?"

"You don't remember, do you?"

And the next person asking him that question would earn himself a first-class head-butt.

"Actually, I did some thinking", Dean spat coldly, leaning forward, "I know, I know, I might be a bit squishy in the head lately and maybe not everything that pops up in that moldy melon right now mixes well with the whole fucking reality, but here's my theory: you didn't shoot me, which is nice and I still thank you. I walked out of those gates and unfortunately a few of my less charming hallucinations, which are a messing with my cerebral matter since I'm stuck in here, decided to make an appearance and scare me a bit, throw me off balance. They can do that, they're good, you know. And then there's this light, and every other poor fellow on this crappy planet would think: 'It's god, I'm going to heaven!' Well, me, I thought it was someone else, but that's another story. Turned out it wasn't the person I thought, though. I think it was you, running me over with the van, you son of a bitch!"

Phillip gaped at him thunderstruck, wide-eyed, his Adam's apple bopping from heavy swallowing. He grabbed the chair Sam had occupied earlier, pulled it close and sank down on it, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I'd never do that..." he murmured, barely audible.

"Never do what?" Dean hissed, "Too much gore on the windshield? Too many questions?"

"Not I ran you over, Dean", Phillip suddenly yelled at him, slamming the palm of his hand onto an accessory table which answered him with a metallic clunk! and rolled sideways. Both men watched the table's path in astonishment, both of them surprised at Phillip's sudden outburst.

"You marched right through those gates", Phillip continued shakily, his voice quite and soft once more, "I stayed back, cleaned up the mess, working out an explanation for the magical escape of Dean Rodgers. And then I heard you cry out."

Stop it...

"You were crying out and sobbing, it was terrible. So I ran onto the street, just in time to watch you being hit by a damn car."

Cas...

"What were you thinking, Dean? I was screaming your name, for christ's sake. Didn't you see it coming, didn't you hear it honk? You were staring right at it and still you didn't consider it advisable to step aside?"

...about freaking time.

Dean just blinked at Phillip. Of course he had seen the light. Had heard something resembling a honk. Only that realizing that it hadn't been what he had hoped it to be had taken him some time. For example the 30 minutes in between Sam leaving and Phillip showing up.

"God help me", Phillip ran his hands over his face, "I thought you were dead, I thought this was it for you. You were bleeding like a stuck pig."

Carefully clearing his throat, Dean licked his lips, noticing for the first time that he was really thirsty. "What about the car? The driver?"

Phillip snorted humorlessly. "The kid was so far beside himself, I can tell you that. No driver's license, the car borrowed from his dad who had no clue about it, all that stuff. I sent him away, told him I'm a nurse, that I'd take care of you."

Dean's anger flared up, spiked with a pinch of sorrow. "Why did you bring me here?" he asked, "You know how I feel of being here."

"And what were I supposed to do? Leave you there? You would have bled out, you moron, you would have died..."

"At least I wouldn't be in here."

Phillip closed his mouth with an audible click. "I had no choice, Dean. If I'd have brought you to a hospital, they would have gotten you back here anyway. The amount of time you've been unconscious would have been enough for the orderlies here to notice that you're missing."

A heavy silence arose between the two men, each one working out their thoughts and feelings.

"The staircase", Dean spoke up hoarsely, feeling the conversation starting to strain him, "how did you..." He stopped, looked intently at Phillip.

"I treated your wrist on-site, you've torn the stitches there, as you might've been told or figured already. Then I brought you back the same way I brought you out, with he laundry cart. The staircase isn't under video surveillance. So, well...I draped you along the bottom of the stairs and...well, the rest is history."

The image appearing in front of Dean's inner eye could have been hilarious. Like a gay decorator draping a piece of silk or a feather boa on the floor, humming a happy tune. A real hoot.

Only that Dean felt more like crying.

He was desperate because of the place he had woken up. Desperate, angry, panicky. He was depressed, probably because of the drugs flowing through his veins, and wasn't that funny because he had almost thought drugs were meant to make you happy. His mind was chaos, reality and hallucinations still melting together, the ability to figure out what was real and what wasn't being completely lost to him right now.

And to top it all he felt downright sick, every part of his body beginning to point to the fact that it had taken a rather heavy brunt a few hours ago, bumps, bruises, cuts and sprained whatevers calling to mind.

"Guess I owe you a thanks", Dean whispered, staring onto the light blue hospital blanket covering his legs.

He heard Phillip swallow. "Listen, maybe we...we could try something like that...you know...it worked one time, it'll work a second time. Just without the whole ghost thing. Let's just wait a few days...until everybody calms down again, the dust has settled. Until you're fully recovered."

"Yeah, okay", Dean replied, his eyes drooping, "jus' don't leave me hangin', Phil. Need to be out."

"I won't. Rest now, Dean. Lay back, you're going to be fine."

And Dean wanted to believe in those words. God, he wanted so hard to believe.

To be continued...