Wow. You guys are great, you know that? I know, I know, I already said that. But that doesn't mean you don't deserve it to be said every week, right?

So, this one's about Sam. The most of you are asking themselves what the guy's up to and why he has his thumbs up his...you know...lovely butt. He knows that, too. He's totally aware of him doing a crappy job at the moment. Here are some of his thoughts...

Chapter 19

Pacing. Something he seemed to do very often lately.

This time he paced an alley, not once regarding the beautiful arranged garden surrounding him. Hospital gardens. Mental institution gardens. All the same. He didn't need any of them.

Sam's steps were too vigorous to pass for an attentive stroll. Every now and then he looked up, checking the exit of the building for the person he was waiting for.

He was alone in the garden. Good. No need to be polite then. No need to mask his anger.

Dean's words still reverberated in his ears, the broken, tearful voice causing shivers to run over his spine once more. How could his brother have fallen so deep in such a short amount of time? When they'd had that little argument over the research, the hunt Dean had gotten involved in despite Sam's advice to just leave it, his sibling had been fine. Had been Dean.

Later, in the hospital ward, Sam hadn't noticed a change in his demeanor, either. Still Dean. Maybe a bit confused, but wasn't that to be expected after having such an accident?

What Sam had witnessed back in that cell just now was a completely different person.

Those people. The drugs. This building. Everything here was destroying his brother, poisoning him. Macerating the shields of protection Dean had built up when he had come back from hell. And now all those carefully stowed memories and experiences came boiling up, haunting his brother, threatening to drive him insane.

And he had done jack squat to stop it. For every case he found a solution, for every supernatural thing he found a way to kill it, but he didn't manage to get the most precious person in his fucked up life to freedom.

What kind of brother was he? If tables were turned, Dean would have gotten him out already, he would have shoplifted a tank, would have shot a hole in the damn walls of the building to get him out.

Sam had been useless so far. Moreover he was responsible for Dean's current condition. If he hadn't been that stubborn, would have helped his brother and Phillip out the other night with that hunt, Dean and him would be sitting in the Impala right now, heading as far north as they possibly could.

Tears of anger welled up in Sam's eyes, the guilt engulfing him. "Damnit", he hissed, yanking his head up to check the exit again. He clenched his jaw when the person he was waiting for emerged from the door. Swallowing, he wiped at his eyes, trying to regain his composure.

Phillip spotted him immediately and jogged over, a worried expression on his young features. And not for the first time Sam wondered if the nurse was indeed their enemy.

"Doctor La...I mean, Sam...I came as fast as I could. Sorry for the delay." Phillip skidded to a halt in front of Sam and stretched his hand out.

"Thanks for coming, Phillip", Sam greeted him, his voice holding an icy quality. He took the other man's hand and shook it briefly, reluctantly. "I have a few questions I hope you can answer. Do you have a minute?"

"Sure", Phillip replied and Sam could see from his posture that he was already suspicious – he crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall of the building.

"Good. Let's begin with this one: did you run Dean over with a car or do I have to find someone else I have to break the nose?"

Phillip's face cleared from all emotion and color in one fluid motion and Sam was sure he was going to hear the nurse's chin impact with the stone floor any second.

"What..."

"You heard me, Phillip. I know what really happened, I know about your escape, I know about the accident and I know there was no staircase involved." Sam stepped closer into Phillip's personal space, anger propelling him to just knock the guy out or at least choke him a bit, but reason holding him back. "What I want to know now is who's been driving the car and what, when it hadn't been you, was the motive to hit Dean while he was walking along a road at night, unarmed and obviously confused?"

Phillip's mouth opened and closed like that of a stranded fish. "Did Dean tell you that?"

Sam barked out a humorless laugh. "Have you seen him lately? I'm not sure if he still remembers what had happened thanks to all that shit you're pumping into him..."

"Sam, wait", Phillip held his hands up in surrender, "let me explain..."

"I'm all ears."

"Okay, okay. Yes, that staircase story was a lie, a made-up story. But I didn't run Dean over, I'd never do that, to no one, okay? It was an accident, someone just overlooked him, hit him with a car. He got hurt, I tended his wounds and brought him back to this place."

Sam wanted to shout, wanted to shake the other man, ask him why he hadn't brought his brother to his place, to him. He stopped himself. How was Phillip supposed to know? He didn't know their real names, the motel Sam was staying. That Sam wasn't a doctor Larsson at all.

Phillip's expression changed from desperate to insecure. "Do you...uh...do you know why we were out there?" he asked carefully, his tone hushed.

Sam met Phillip's gaze and considered his answer. Friend or foe? Friend? Or foe?

Then he nodded. "Yes. I know. I know about that ghost and the grave you two dug up."

"And you're not...I mean, you're not...you don't think we're...this doesn't sound weird to you?"

"No, I don't, okay? And this is not what I wanna talk about here." Sam let out a sigh. "What about the person that ran Dean over, do we have to fear that he or she might cause trouble?"

Phillip blinked at Sam, seeming to process the fact that he wasn't going to certify him insane right here and now.

"No", the nurse answered and cleared his throat, "no, don't worry."

"What happened? Back there? Did he knock you out and escaped, only to run into a car? What happened?" Sam's tone didn't soften. But the anger towards Phillip had faded.

Phillip stared into thin air. "I...uh...let him go. I let him wander off."

"Why?" Sam asked in disbelief and narrowed his eyes. That just doesn't made sense. At all.

"Why? Because...I don't know...it felt like the right thing to do, that's why." The nurse pushed himself off the wall and ran his hands through his hair, walking past Sam. "I just think...I think Dean doesn't belong in here. I...call it a hunch."

Sam watched Phillip pacing the small path he had paced earlier. Okay. So was it possible that they had met someone who didn't want them dead or locked up or at least suffering for a change? Was it possible that someone really saw them, saw Dean for what he was? Someone who just wanted to help?

"He changed, you know", Phillip continued and chuckled, "who am I talking to, of course you know." He was not looking at Sam but scanning the garden instead, "he's not the person he was when he came here. That night, when the accident happened? There was something going on with him. I heard him crying and sobbing, I guess whatever went on there is the reason he was on the street and the car hit him. And today? This morning? I was looking after him this morning, after I heard what had happened in the recreation room, with Julian." He then turned around, facing Sam. "I swear to God, this isn't Dean. I don't know what they did, but this...it's a downward spiral and I have the feeling I'm a part of it but I don't want to, you know?"

Sam opened his mouth but didn't know what to say.

"I did some thinking, Sam. I love this job. I see myself as some kind of tour guide. The people coming here have lost their ways and it's my job to take their hands and guide them, show them the way, how too get out of here, of this again." Phillip snorted again. "Of course I'm only the guide. The tour operators are Salinger and Rosenberg. And I often don't agree with their methods, but it's not for me to oppose, I'm no specialist." He paused, swallowed. "But with Dean I felt that this whole system's limping. It's not the first case I feel like this but it's the one that hurts me the most. So when we were on that cemetery and he told me about those things that had happened to him, the things he had tried to push back and that exactly those things were back, haunting him, driving him crazy since he's in here..." Phillip stopped and looked away. "I had a gun, you know. I didn't want to let him go at first. My career, all that." When he looked back at him the Winchester almost flinched. "He said I had to shoot him. Dean wanted to be dead rather than being in here. So, tell me, Sam – that system I'm working for...I'm working with...what's wrong with it? Why isn't it helping people?"

Sam clenched and unclenched his jaw, Phillip's dread, disappointment, incomprehension spreading onto him, the weight of the other man's words threatening to crush him. It seemed as if Dean wasn't the only victim here.

"The drugs Dean's getting", Sam began, his voice disturbingly shaky, "I want to shut down all the medication he gets. Discontinuation. Now."

Phillip answered him with a sad smile. "If it were so easy..."

"Oh, it is. No pills, no mixtures, and the second I see someone with a syringe near him I'm going to show you how it looks like when I go berserk."

"No, Sam, it isn't that easy, you can't just discontinue all the meds at once..."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because there are some drugs with dangerous side effects when the patient stops taking them."

Sam felt his anger spike again. What kind of shit did they give his brother? "What kind of side effects?"

"I'm not sure, I need to check the exact meds he gets, but some can trigger depressions and anxiety states, heavy stuff..."

In two long strides Sam was right in Phillip's face, gripping his collar and yanking him around against the wall where the nurse impacted with a painful grunt.

"Do you have the feeling those magic pills you're forcing down his throat make him all funny and happy? Does he look not-depressive to you?"

"No...but Sam..."

"It's worth a try, right? You said yourself, you're not sure about the side-effects. And as long as he's down there in that rubber room I don't think he can lay hands upon himself, right?"

"He can't."

Sam nodded and let go of Phillip. "Okay", he hissed, "Cold turkey. Do it. And I want you to have an eye on him whenever I can't, you understand? And as soon as he's clear in the head again we take it from here. "

Phillip didn't say a word, just gave a curt nod in return.

God, he felt like an ass. There he was, manhandling the only ally they had in this. Him! Famous for the puppy dog eyes and the charming approaches.

"Look, Phillip", Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I'm sorry, okay. I'm just..."

"You're not Dean's psychiatrist, are you?"

The question came so bluntly, so unexpected and still entitled, it caught Sam off guard. He looked up, met Phillip's gaze. The nurse smiled softly.

"It's okay. You don't have to answer. But maybe, when this is all over, we can sit together and have a beer, talk about ghosts and werewolves and have a good time. And maybe you're gonna tell me who you two really are." He licked his lips and checked the building's entrance. "Okay, I need to go now. I'm going to make sure Dean won't get any meds anymore. We just need to make sure Salinger doesn't find out."

Sam looked at the other man. He hadn't felt that grateful for a long time. "Thank you, Phillip. I have to admit I was wrong about you."

Phillip smiled and put him off. "No problem."

When Sam watched him walk away towards the building he stopped him again. "Phillip?"

"Yeah?"

A smirk Dean would be proud of. A set of raised eyebrows. "You don't happen to pass Salinger's office, do you?"

Sam took a long swig from the bottle, the cool beer refreshing, putting some life into him. His burning eyes kept on scanning the blurring words and passages on the documents that lay spread out on the table in front of him.

Phillip hadn't been very enthralled by Sam's request to smuggle these files out of Salinger's office. Break into the man's room had been risky enough, but making the copies had been a venturous task and when Phillip had slipped Sam the envelope he had some pretty impressive beads of sweat on his forehead.

And now Sam sat here, skimming through the life and therapies of Julian Todd, 25 years of age, held prisoner in between padded walls and therapy sessions since his sister's suicide three years ago.

Working through this stuff was like wading through mud – tons of technical terms Sam needed to look up in the internet, pages over pages filled with gobbledygook certainly no one understood except the person who had written it down. It would have been easier if he would have just talked to the kid, ask him flat out which kind of problem he had with his brother and where he had his knowledge of Dean's past, of hell, of the things that happened down there.

Not happening. Who knew if Julian would wake up ever again?

Sam hadn't seen him, but from what Salinger had told him he knew it was bad. And he knew Dean. Knew his strength, he had been on the receiving end of his brother's rage often enough himself and he was Dean's baby brother. Which meant the shiners and bloody noses and bursted lips had always been results of the softer punches.

Dean fighting what he had assumed to be a demon? For minutes? That didn't bear contemplating. That kid was a goner.

Sam sighed, dropped the page he had been currently reading onto the table and rubbed his eyes.

Damnit, Dean. Leaving him back there in that stuffed broom closet had been one of the hardest things for Sam to do since this mess had started. It had been hard enough when Sam had noticed his brother's unease and subliminal panic during the first days. But then it had been Dean. At least there had been a whiff of the famous Dean-Winchester-mask-of-nonchalance.

That mask was gone now. The nonchalance was blown to hell. Literally. Sam wasn't sure what had been the trigger, what had pushed his sibling so close to the edge, if it had been the accident or the drugs or everything in combination – but Julian had been the one shoving him over. And Sam knew that the explanation he was looking for was right here, somewhere buried between all those terms and empty phrases printed out in front of him.

To be continued...