New Sunday, new chapter. Gonna make this short, Im sure you're all excited to read. A giiiiiaaaaaaaant thanks for all of you who're reading and taking the time to leave a review! All you lovely people out there!

Chapter 18

Sam had a feeling of déjà vu.

He was on his way to Salinger. Again. After receiving a mystery call concerning his brother. Again. Only this time there was no mention of any accidents. But somehow this didn't reassure him in the slightest.

Leaving the elevator and jogging down the hallway to Salinger's office – again – he studied all possibilities. Dean was certainly still in the hospital ward, in bed, resting, so Sam was sure there hadn't been any trouble with other patients or the staff. Okay, so maybe he had gotten into an argument with that cocky nurse and Sam couldn't even blame Dean for it. That woman was such a broom.

But maybe there had been a change in his condition, and that was a road Sam just didn't want to go down right now. Road being the catchword here, because his brother had been hit by a car, for god's sake. It was a damn miracle that his injuries had been that superficial, there could have been much more damage quite easily.

Sam reached Salinger's door and took a deep breath before he knocked and entered without waiting for the other man's reply.

Salinger sat at his desk, talking to someone on the phone. He motioned Sam to come closer and take a seat with a stern face.

"This wasn't my question, what I need to know is if we're able to treat him here, can we handle this or shall we transfer him over to St. Mary's?"

Sam sank down onto the chair that must had an imprint of his butt on it's seating surface up to now, concerning how often he sat in here. He pricked his ears, tried to catch the words the other person said, but didn't succeed.

This didn't sound good. At all.

"Yes, I'd appreciate that. Thank you." Salinger hung up and interlaced his fingers, looking at Sam intently.

"Is Dean okay?" Sam asked, trying to keep his voice even. He had a really nasty feeling about this.

Salinger licked his lips. "Actually, I'm not quite sure how he is", he stated, "do you remember the conversations you had with him? Did he talk to you about how he feels, if there's something bothering him?"

Sam almost laughed out loud. What kind of question was that?

"Even if he did", he replied, adjusting his tone to his highly reserved dialog partner, "you do know that I'm not obliged to tell you, right?" As the question, so the answer.

Salinger nodded and Sam could see a muscle jump in the man's jaw.

"One of our patients lies in the hospital ward, completely knocked up. Broken nose, broken jaw, cracked cheekbone, a few teeth missing, take your pick. We're currently debating whether we can take care of him here at all or if he needs to be in an intensive care unit."

Sam blinked, the words sinking in. "You wanna say Dean did this?" he asked in disbelief.

"Dean was in the recreation room on my advice", the doctor continued, "there he got into some kind of argument with the patient who's fighting for his life right now."

"What kind of argument?"

"The nurses didn't hear the quietly spoken parts", Salinger answered and pulled a sheet of paper close that lay on his desk, reading aloud, "but at some point Julian – that's the other patient – had been shouting, 'You deserve to be on that rack again' or something like that, that Dean deserved to suffer and die and that he's a masochistic son of a bitch."

Sam felt abruptly sick. As if some invisible fist had punched him right into the guts.

"Well, and that was enough for Dean to run berserk. According to the nurses and orderlies he was like a machine, they haven't even been able to get him off Julian, they had tried to stop him, hold him, but he was just..." Salinger shook his head and pulled his glasses off dejectedly.

The two men lapsed into heavy silence. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sam closed his eyes. There were so many questions forming in his head while the answers were already there as well. At least a few. For example if there had been a demon around.

"Doctor Salinger", he began, clearing his throat, "did Dean say anything while he...I mean...during that whole incident?"

The doctor nodded. "He had been talking all the time, unfortunately the people around didn't get everything. Mrs. Fowler, our senior nurse, said he was speaking Latin at some point."

Talking about wrong place, wrong time. Exorcising a demon in a crowded room. Geez, Dean.

Sam took a deep breath, knowing that his next question might sound a bit weird in Salinger's ears. "Did something happen?"

The elder man just gaped at him blankly. "I'm not quite sure if I understand that question. No, of course nothing had happened. Except of Dean switching from aggressive to lamblike in the blink of an eye, that is."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam narrowed his eyes.

"Well, the nurses say he had stopped at some point, as if he had realized what he had done. Like waking up from noctambulism and finding oneself in the kitchen instead of the own bed."

Now that was strange. Nothing had happened? A demon leaving it's host was surely something that didn't get by unnoticed. Except there hadn't been one in the first place...

"Nurse Fowler also thinks Dean might have been seeing things, maybe a person. He was looking at someone or something, backing away from it. But there hadn't been anything, just a table and the wall."

This was the moment Sam couldn't keep up the kick-ass psychiatrist facade. Shoulders slumping, he leaned forward, his upper body suddenly too heavy, and rested his elbows on his knees, running tired hands over his face in a gesture of defeat.

He was at his wit's end. It seemed as if every day got worse and worse, his brother standing in the middle of a greedy swamp, sinking deeper inch after inch while Sam always came running with a rope that turned out to be too short every damn time.

"Doctor Larsson, we need to find a way how we can handle Dean." Salinger's voice was understanding, but firm. He definitely had enough, that much Sam realized.

He knew the solution. He knew how to 'handle Dean', how to solve this problem.

Just hand out the keys.

"I'd suggest we fix a date for another session, one that should have taken place much much sooner, I might add."

"Whatever", Sam replied, knowing that the scolding was directed at him, "but right now I want to see my patient."

"Fair enough." Salinger reached for the telephone, ordering someone to take Sam 'to Mr. Rodgers'.

Sam followed the bulky orderly who just wouldn't stop giving a lecture on the weather and the temperature of the lake, completely lost in thoughts. There were things he could grasp and others he just couldn't.

"...I think we'll get snow this year, I mean, come on, at the rate the temperatures are dropping..."

An exorcism. Yes, okay. But in a room with other people; patients, nurses. Seriously? Okay, the demon had provoked Dean with knowledge so sensitive he had lost it quite rightly.

"...fish stocks might dwindle thanks to the freaking cold and that'd be a real disaster because..."

Since when was Dean that irritable, anyway? Lashing out immediately? Pulpify that kid? Who obviously had been human?

"...do you know those snowblowers? They're really handy, and not expensive at all..."

But then, how did a human, how did that boy know what had happened to Dean, which role his brother had had down there? How did that Julian kid know about all that and not freak out?

Hello. Mental institution, Sam.

The orderly stopped walking and talking at a door that was a lot heavier and more solid then the doors Sam normally went through when he was in here and he noticed for the first time that he was in a section he never had been in before.

"Where are we going?" he asked the key card-fumbling orderly.

"This is the solitary confinement section", came the answer, followed by a dull Slide. Beep. Click.

Sam stayed behind and watched the other man step through the now opened door, stunned. Okay. They meant business with Dean now. What was next, electroshocks?

"Doctor Larsson? You coming?"

Blinking, Sam nodded and followed, trying to ignore the oppressive feeling that crept up in him. It was deadly silent here. No voices. Only the sound of the orderly's and his footsteps on the linoleum covered floor. Heavy doors with tiny windows on the left-hand side, nothing but naked walls with equally tiny windows, providing the hallway with weak daylight on the right.

Reaching the door with a giant '7' painted on it, the orderly looked through the window into the cell before he opened it.

"I'll wait right here. If you've finished, just knock on the door then I'll let you out."

"Thanks", Sam answered and slipped into the cell carefully.

First thing he noticed was the acoustic. The second he was fully inside the small room, every noise became one muted mire, like being under water. Scanning the walls, Sam found the cause of that irritating sound effect.

Padded walls. If you weren't crazy before you'd get it as soon as you had to spent an hour in here.

The sight of his brother however was enough to erase every fit of amusement over the strange hearing sensation.

Dean sat on the floor in the corner of the cell, knees pulled up close to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs. His hair was unusual tousled, his skin almost as white as the ever present bandage on his wrist. Dressed in those blue pants and the white shirt he looked so vulnerable all of a sudden, it was horrible to see.

But the most disturbing sight were Dean's eyes. Hooded, dull, the sparkle gone, the usually bright green seas switched to pale brackish water. Dean looked straight at him, but Sam wasn't sure if his brother was seeing him at all.

"Dean?" Sam tried cautiously, stepping towards his sibling tentatively.

"He's dead, right?" Dean asked, his voice so soft and quiet, it shook Sam to the core.

Those damn sons of bitches. What had they done? What the fuck had they done?

Sam took another step closer and sank down onto his knees. "You mean Julian? No, no Dean, he isn't dead. Just a bit banged up, that's all. He'll be okay." Hopefully.

Dean held his gaze, seemed to consider his brother's words. A look that was almost unbearable.

"I could have sworn I've killed him", Dean continued, finally averting his eyes, "I was so angry."

"Dean..."

The elder Winchester raised his hands, held them up for Sam to see. "I felt his bones give way, Sammy. I heard them crunch and break. Because I held the belief that he's a demon. A damn freakin' demon."

Sam swallowed heavily while he watched Dean's eyes water up. The last time he had seen his brother like this had been while he had told him about hell. Only then Dean had held more power somehow. What sat in front of him here had nothing to do with his strong, confident brother.

"He wasn't a demon, I know", Sam said softly, "but Dean, you did what every hunter would have done. That guy...where did he have his intel from if he's not a demon?"

"I could have tried the exorcism before bashing his head in." There was it, a minuscule glimpse of Dean Winchester, a flicker of sarcasm. When he looked at Sam again however, it was gone again. "They're right, Sam. I'm a monster. I'm dangerous."

Sam held his hands up, "Woah, wait a minute, who's right? Who says you're a monster? That's crap, Dean, just bullshit." He ran a desperate hand through his hair, "What's wrong with you, huh? What did they do, what did they give you?"

Dean snorted, "It's not necessary to do anything or give me anything, I'm totally messed up anyway..."

"No, you're not", Sam stated, trying to keep his temper in check, "since when are you that highly sensitive? You couldn't know, you didn't think, you just acted, that's your regular MO since I know you and you were always fine with it, I was fine with it, so stop blaming yourself. The kid's going to be fine, don't worry."

"And that's the point", Dean said quietly, his soft trembling voice a stark contrast to Sam's agitation, "I've been like this since you know me. I've always been like this. You can domesticate a tiger, can make it jump through burning hoops, but it's still a predator..."

"Dean. Stop it." Sam stood abruptly. This whole thing made him want to tear his hair out in hanks. Struggling for words he exhaled forcefully, beginning to pace the small padded cell. He checked the door and the window before he spoke on in a hushed tone. "Listen, I know about the whole escaping thing, that salt'n burn you and Phillip pulled back there. What I need to know is how Phillip got you out of here, okay? Can you tell me that?"

A faint smile appeared on Dean's lips. "Let me guess, you found out by yourself, right? Sly dog, Sammy."

"Shut up. How did you get out?"

"Why?"

Sam stopped his pacing and stared at his broken brother as if he had grown a second head. "Why? Are you serious, Dean? Because when you got out once, you can get out a second time, that's why. And this time I'm going to make sure no one runs you over."

Dean looked back at him, long and searchingly. Sam almost thought he had zonked out when the shook his head slowly. "No."

"No? What, no?"

"I won't get out. I'm staying here."

"You what?" Standing on a carpet being pulled away under your feet was by far less shocking then that.

Dean let out a shaky sigh. "Look Sam, I'm a risk. I'm aggressive, I'm crazy – I'm seeing things, I'm hearing things, I'm swayed by them." Sam almost flinched at the raw emotions mirroring in Dean's glassy eyes. "I almost killed someone because I just lost it and I ..." He stopped, running a hand over his face. "Right now me being in here and everyone else being outside...it's the best situation." His voice broke with the last words and he looked away quickly, wiping his eyes.

The silhouette of his brother blurred when Sam felt his own eyes water. Oh god, what had happened here?

He had waited too long, he hadn't gotten Dean out of this damn institution and now nothing was left, only a broken unreasonable shell, talking nonsense, self-esteem trampled down. Dean was a wreck. And this place was responsible for it. He was responsible for it.

"Okay, you know what", Sam started, clearing his throat to get rid of the lump, "This ends. Now. I'm going to take care of this." He turned towards the door and raised a fist, ready to knock.

"Sam? What..."

At Dean's confused tone he hesitated. He turned to his sibling once again.

"Trust me", Sam said, soft again, his wrath against this whole system abating at the sight of Dean's questioning look. When his brother's face lit up the tiniest bit, Sam knew he still had a chance.

"Of course I trust you", Dean whispered, a feeble smile perceptible.

To be continued...