Here's the promised second one...and I love this chapter. It was great to write. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing!

Next chapter will be up on Sunday. Hopefully.

Chapter 22

When Sam spotted the orderly in the small glazed office he fought the urge to roll his eyes. Okay, so today was apparently the day every stupid dick this facility had to offer was on duty.

Griffin looked up from his magazine, the expression on his face showing the same enthusiasm, and stood. Sam continued his approach to the second door, not slowing down.

"Hi Griffin", he greeted, "you can stay put, I know the way."

"Hold your horses, doctor", the bulky man replied, stepping out of his glassy box and planted himself beside the office's door with crossed arms, "I'm sorry but no one's allowed to go in there."

Sam stopped abruptly and turned toward Griffin. "Says who?"

"Says doctor Salinger."

"And for what reason?"

Griffin shrugged, "Looks like Dean had a little conniption this morning. Completely freaked out in Salinger's office."

Sam's alarm went off immediately. "What did he do there? What happened? What did Salinger want from him?"

"I brought him up for a session. The doctors Salinger and Rosenberg had..."

"What?" Sam exclaimed, taking two long strides until he stood right in front of Griffin, "Why wasn't I notified?"

The orderly raised his hands in a mock surrender, "Easy, okay? How should I know, I'm just doing my job here, alright? Only thing I can tell you is that I've been instructed to get Rodgers from his cell up into Salinger's office, secure him there and wait outside. That's what I did."

Sam whirled around, a low growl building in his throat. Fantastic. So those fine doctors had grabbed his brother for a little chit-chat, leaving him out of it very deliberately. Because they knew Dean was more vulnerable without Sam shielding him from their queries and attacks. Meaning to downright break his brother up, inspecting how he'd react on certain questions without someone intervening.

And he hadn't been there. Running a desperate hand through his hair realization dawned on Sam. Dean had probably no clue where Sam was. Oh God, how must he have felt? And what did Salinger and Rosenberg trot out about his absence? Did they tell the truth? Did they lie Dean straight in the face?

The Winchester turned to Griffin again, who hadn't moved, just kept staring at him in mild astonishment.

"Wait...what kind of conniption were you talking about? What happened?"

"Well, I don't know the details, but I heard someone scream. Salinger then called me into the office. Dean was on the floor, had pulled the whole chair over with his freak out. Salinger gave him something of the harder stuff to knock him out and told me to get him back into his cell. No admittance for anyone."

Sam just gaped at the other man. Right now, he was so ready to throw punches. At Griffin for his flippant tongue, at Salinger for not involving him, for betraying him, at Rosenberg because Sam was hundred percent sure he was behind all this.

"Listen big guy", he hissed, stepping closer into Griffin's personal space, their noses almost touching due to the orderly's equally impressive height, "I don't care what Salinger orders. You are going to stomp back into your glass cubicle over there, press the big button and unlock that door now, clear?"

Griffin's face darkened. "Sorry buddy, not happening."

The two men stood like this for what felt like ages, glaring at each other, before Sam turned once more and approached the heavy door leading to the cells. He banged against the window pane with his fists, cursing the bulletproof glass.

"DEAN! DEAN, CAN YOU HEAR ME?" he yelled, but deep inside he knew that this was for nothing. The metal was too thick, the window too sound absorbing. There was a complete hallway lying in between this and Dean's cell door. His sibling wouldn't hear him, even if he was conscious and aware, what Sam didn't know and honestly doubted.

With one final howl Sam whirled again, storming towards the exit, passing an amused Griffin.

"Salinger's office, 4th floor", he sang, "but for all I know the complaint book is already full!"

Sam ignored him, opened the door to the hallway with a determined push of his shoulder, stomping towards the elevators.

"Go away", Dean slurred, pulling his legs up and turning his head so he wouldn't need to look into the abhorrent face.

Mike slumped down in front of him with a satisfied sigh. Dean felt his gaze on him and cringed.

Wow. That's what I call hospitality. So, where were we?

"You know, the only reason I wished to be down there again is to have the opportunity to wring your scrawny neck." Dean was sure he was talking, he felt it and he could hear someone. But every word, every syllable ate so much of his strength. The same weight pressing down on his limbs prevented him from using his tongue.

Ah, come on. Now you're lying.

"Right, wringing your neck's boring. How 'bout I rip you to shreds?"

That's not what I mean. Mike leaned closer. Killing me isn't the only reason.

Dean slowly turned his head and met Mike's gaze with a deep, sluggish frown. "What's your point?"

You know that you belong down there, tiger. You're like all those creatures and monsters and abominations creeping along through the unholy halls of hell, but then, you're some kind of upgrade, don't you think?

"That's crap..."

Think about it. You're a wolf in sheep's clothing, Dean. All the new souls arriving...they meet you, think themselves safe...and then you can strike, lash out like a poisonous snake, do the things you're really good at.

The Winchester blinked owlishly at the figure in front of him.

Sam didn't bother knocking. Salinger should be glad he was able to keep himself from kicking the cheap thing in. So when he entered the office, three sets of saucer-like eyes looked at him.

Scanning the room, Sam wasn't surprised to find the usual suspects all gathered in the same place. Rosenberg sat in one corner, glaring up at him over the rims of his glasses, a notepad on his lap. Salinger leaped to his feet with wearing an expression of surprise and anger on his haggard face.

The only person Sam hadn't expected sat at the other side of the desk, on the chair Sam called the 'chair of the accused': Phillip, hunched up, shoulders slumped, staring at him in confusion.

"What the..." Salinger started but Sam decided he didn't want to hear it.

"I want to know what's going on here", he spat, shooting daggers at the two doctors, "why's there a session without me and why am I not allowed to see my patient?" Sam felt ridiculous, talking like this. He wanted to shout, he wanted to throw a few things, maybe rip that stupid, pain in the ass pendulum from the long case clock and slap it at those two doctors heads. He didn't want to know why 'he wasn't notified for the session' because he already knew there was some hanky-panky going on. He didn't want to be 'doctor Larsson' anymore, he had enough of the charade, he just wanted to get Dean and drag him out of here.

"Doctor Larsson, how about you take a seat and we talk this out?"

"Doctor Salinger, how about you call your gorilla downstairs in the solitary confinement and tell him to open the doors for me?"

"Mr Rodgers needs some time on his own", Rosenberg spoke up, pulling the glasses from his nose in the most arrogant way Sam had ever seen, dropping the notepad on the desk.

"Oh yeah?" the Winchester returned, regarding the man, "Why's that? What did you do to him that he needs that so desperately?"

Rosenberg snorted, "We didn't 'do' anything, young man, this is a mental facility, people are here to get help. And sometimes this requires to use practices which aren't easy on the patient."

"So that's why you didn't involve me today, because you didn't want to see your practices endangered with me sitting here and put a question mark over every word you say..."

"Maybe."

Sam shook his head in disbelief, darting desperate eyes to Phillip who had remained silent and was watching him with a mixture of compassion and misery.

"I won't do that again. I should have never ever done what I did in the first place." Dean wanted to sound convincing. Why wasn't it working? Why did he sound like a whiny little bitch?

Oh, but you did. And you were good, Dean. Let's see...

Mike slumped down beside him with a satisfied sigh, crossed legged and Dean wanted nothing more then to leap to his feet and run, be as far away from this thing he was forced to listen to every damn moment. The hallucination that stank of hell. The vision that had eaten up everything left of him. Of his sanity.

It's your choice. You won't get rid of us anymore, that's a fact. We're going to be your personal déjà vu for the rest of your sorry life. Which you are going to live all alone, I might remind you, because Sammy's gone. And you won't get out of here. You don't want to, I know, but how crappy is that? Being a nut job in a nut house, a bunch of very talkative hallucinations on your shoulder, no visitors...oh and I don't think you're going to get out of this cell ever again because, hey, you killed someone!

Mike nodded at something in front of them. Dean didn't want to look. Didn't want to listen. Didn't want to be anymore. He raised his heavy head nonetheless. And flinched at all the people gathered his cell.

I know you hate us. Show us how much.

"Help me understand, doctor Larsson", Salinger began, "how is it that you're so anxious for Dean's health, but at the same time advising Phillip here to stop giving him his meds? I seem to miss the point here."

"I'm sorry", Phillip muttered, running a defeated hand over his face.

"You're kidding, right? Haven't you noticed anything during the last days and weeks? Do you even look at your patients?"

"What do you want to say?"

"Can't you tell the difference, the change in Dean's demeanor from the day he came here until now? He isn't the same person anymore, what do you think is causing this? The food?"

"You're walking on thin ice, doctor", Rosenberg stated and looked as if he was about to say something else when Salinger motioned him to let it go.

"Howsoever", Salinger said, "we can't tolerate something like this. You can't just advise to discontinue medication without our knowledge and permission..."

Sam barked out a humorless laugh, "Oh, wow, so I can't do anything without your knowledge while you're happily destroying my patient without mine? Now that's cute..."

"Not your patient, ours. Remember, we discussed that the first time we got to know each other. Dean's our patient in here, our responsibility."

"Then how about you start to take that responsibility, doctor?"

"I do." The older man took a deep, sad breath. "Doctor Larsson, I'm sorry but I don't see another way. I'm forced to ban you from the house with immediate effect. You are no longer in charge of Dean."

"No..."

They were sitting, standing, pacing. Every single person was looking at him, accusing him, reminding him how deep he had fallen. Dean looked at them, unwillingly regarding their injuries, every bloody spot his eyes took in throwing him right back to the time and place he had caused all the pain and agony.

Dean shook his head, burying his face in his hands.

How could they be here? How could they all be here? Inside of this room? Why wasn't he safe? Oh God, was he going to be safe ever again?

How about rejoining the family, huh, Dean? Slicing and carving fun everyday, happy hours included? That's where you're an expert. The best. Alistair's going to be thrilled when he gets you back. He's really really devastated since you're gone, you know. So much potential. Such a perfect student.

Someone was sobbing. It took Dean a few moments to realize that it was him. Tears were streaming down his face. His nose hurt. His mouth hurt. His heart beat on and on like an emotionless battery, keeping his body alive. Keeping this sickening monster he was alive. How could this stupid thing keep him in this world he didn't seem to belong in?

Leave it. Let it go. Mike. Stop. Heart. Stop.

You can have us up here, driving you insane until you're a drooling, sobbing shadow of your former self. Or you can come back down, where you can do whatever you want with us.

Dean looked up, his breathe hitching. Mike knelt in front of him again, surrounded by the girl he had burned alive. The woman he had cut into ribbons. The guy he had pulled out all his limbs. And all the others he had tortured and destroyed.

You're not the bad-ass hunter anymore, Dean. You're barely human these days. You're damaged, tainted, wasted. But down here you're a killer. A prince of doom. A specialist. You're time on earth is up. Make a new start in the basement.

He dropped his gaze at the stark white dressings around his right wrist. A constant companion since he came here. Never leaving. As if it wanted to say something. As if it wanted to remind him that there was always a way out.

Now he listened. He was all ears.

Sam stared at Salinger in utter disbelief and shock. From one second to the other his whole wrath faded into a crumbly, parched blossom.

"You can't do that", he whispered, the consequences of this decision dawning on him in an instant.

"I'm afraid I can and I will. I'm sorry it had to come to that." He looked at Sam long and sad before he took the receiver of his phone, calling some security staff into his office.

"Doctor Salinger", Phillip spoke up, raising from his chair, "allow me to speak, I don't think this is a wise move. I know that patient, if you will pardon my saying so, better then doctor Rosenberg or you. This is a fatal move for Mr Rodgers, I don't know if he's going to bounce back from this without doctor Larsson..."

"Phillip, I know you and Dean are close and I appreciate that, really, but..."

"But that decision is not anywhere near your pay grade, Phillip." Rosenberg stood from his place and walked up to him, patting the nurse's shoulder. He then reached out a polite hand to Sam. "Thank you for the interesting collaboration, doctor Larsson."

Sam was thunderstruck. He felt his insides turn to ice. He stared at Rosenberg's large, old hand, realizing for the first time that this was it. He had forfeited not only his best and probably only chance to get Dean back into freedom, he had also lost his foothold, that one, unstable boot that kept that heavy door from falling shut with a thunderous blast, cutting his only and last connection to Dean being kicked out in a vicious manner.

What was he going to do now? Should he plead? Should he throw a tantrum? Should he just go? Find another way in?

"Please", he tried again, schooling his features to stay as unemotional as possible, "doctor Salinger, doctor Rosenberg, I know I should have talked to you in advance, but for me it was the right thing to do, I couldn't..."

Sam was interrupted by the door opening and three huge orderlies march in. He threw a desperate glance at them over his shoulder before he stepped forward towards Salinger again.

"Doctor, you're making a terrible mistake. Please."

Sam looked at Salinger, beseeched him without words, begged him to revisit his decision. And for a tiny second it seemed as if it worked. A flicker of doubt rushed over the other man's face, a twitch of his lips, an uneasy blink, a swallow.

"Son..."

"That's enough", Rosenberg spoke up, waving at the three men, "would you guide doctor Larsson outside, right to his car, please."

Sam's jaw worked in unison with his trembling chin. He held Salinger's gaze before he was gently but firmly pulled backwards to the door. He whirled around, hissing an angry "Don't you touch me..." at the orderly closest to him and marched out of the office, flanked by the three men.

Mike was smiling at him. For the first time in hours he kept his piehole shut. Just knelt there, watching him sympathetically, encouraging him without saying one single word.

Unwrapping the dressings had been arduous, using the left hand paired with his clumsiness. Clawing open the neat, almost healed stitches had costed him quite an effort. But then, the pain had helped him to get his mind off all the faces around him, watching him with curiosity and interest. The task had gotten even harder then, all the blood, his whole arm and body shaking, the agony almost kicking his lights out before the task was finished.

Good thing that they hadn't bothered to cut his fingernails. Good thing he had his teeth. Good thing the human skin and flesh and tendons were soft and easy to tear.

Not across the wrist. This won't work. Lengthwise. From the wrist up to the elbow.

The elevator doors at the end of the hallway blurred and he wiped his eyes angrily. Damnit. Damn, damn, damn. What was he supposed to do now? Just what?

"Sam", a familiar voice with a slight breathless quality sounded beside him, "Sam, I'm sorry. I'm going to talk to Salinger again, maybe I can convince him otherwise."

"Let it go, Phillip", Sam stopped him with a wave of his hand, "you did everything you could, don't jeopardize your job any further."

"I don't know how those two found out about the medication, I didn't tell them and normally they don't..." Phillip shook his head and swore. Once again Sam could only smile a sad smile at the nurse that had become a true friend to Dean and him.

"It's okay, really." The small crowd stopped in front of the elevators and Sam pulled Phillip closer, scowling at the orderlies and motioning at them to step back. "I need a second, with your permission." He then looked at Phillip intently. "When was the last time you saw Dean?"

"I heard about the session and checked on him shortly before. When Griffin brought him back afterwards I only saw how he was brought back into his cell. I wanted to see how he was but Griffin didn't let me through to him."

"How was he? In what condition is he now?"

Phillip didn't answer immediately. And Sam's stomach dropped.

"Phillip?"

"He wasn't well before his meeting with the doctors, due to that...well, cold turkey. A bit depressive, tired. Agitated. I don't think he slept last night."

"And after the session?"

Again small pause before the nurse replied. "Catatonic. They gave him something, he was awake but not really there. They only do that when a patient loses it. And from the way he was bleeding, I think Dean lost it fairly ferociously."

"He was bleeding?"

"Yeah, his nose and bottom lip."

"Those fucking..." Sam gritted his teeth and kept his thoughts from tumbling from his mouth in the presence of the orderlies. "Phillip, does he know that I'm here? How did they explain to him that I wasn't there?"

Phillip shook his head unhappily, "I'm sorry, I don't know."

A slight cough reminded Sam of his unwelcome escort and he felt another wave of anger and desperation building up in him, tears of rage and panic blurring his vision once more.

"Okay, okay. Phil, I know it's a lot to ask for and I know they're going to try to hinder you but maybe you can manage to keep an eye on Dean until I found another way. Would you do that for me? For us?"

A determined nod was Phillip's answer. "Of course..."

Another cough. "Doctor, if you don't mind, it's time to go now."

Sam didn't bother with a reply, didn't even graced the orderly with a simple glance. He raised his hand, squeezed Phillip's shoulder, the cheeky remark his brother would surely blurt out at the gesture sounding in his ears, 'Aw, come on Sammy, could you be more gay?'.

Dean watched in weary fascination as the dark, warm liquid flew freely from his arm, felt it pool underneath him on the floor, felt it being soaked up by his pants and shirt, cooling rapidly and causing him to shiver. His heart, that stupid, blind organ, was hammering in his chest. Once again, a small war was sparked in his head, the rational part of his brain jumping and screaming and begging him to do something, while the other part that had already shut down just grinned dumbly.

No one would come. The good doctors had made sure of it. Sam was gone. The best decision ever, little brother. And he wouldn't veg out in some nut house, talking to Mike and all the other souls, let them kick his ass over and over again. No way. He was done up here. Time to return. Kick their asses downstairs.

We're really, really looking forward to see you again, Dean.

The Winchester looked up slowly, met Mike's gaze through the fog and graying edges of his vision.

"Funny", he whispered feebly, "here's me...thinking you're glad I'm gone...not able to do any harm anymore."

Yeah. That's where you're right. But you know what? Mike leaned closer once again, reaching out to him, and Dean felt a cold hand caress his cheek. We learned a lot. And we're just itching for giving something back to you.

The three walking wardrobes had indeed ushered him right into the Impala and were now watching him drive off. While their bulky frames became smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, Sam fumbled with his cell phone, his eyes darting from the street to the display.

Who could help? Who could go back in there instead of him? Bobby. He was going to call Bobby first. And if the old man couldn't rough up that facility, maybe he knew someone who could. And if nothing else worked, he was going to ask Ruby for help.

Maybe now was the time for some supernatural forces.

Sam threw his cell onto the passenger seat and gripped the steering wheel in a vice like grip. There was something nagging at him. A weird feeling, lingering there like an unpleasant aura which he just couldn't put a finger on. Was it concern? Yeah, of course it was concern, from what Phillip had told him Dean was in bad shape, and not only physical. And from the way Sam saw it there was no one looking out for him right now. Griffin? Right. He could imagine the son of a bitch standing at Dean's cell door, watching him through that small window, mocking him.

Sam was truly worried about his brother, not knowing what the doctors had told Dean, had given him. Depressive. Tired. Agitated. No sleep last night. A complete freak out including a bloody nose and mouth? Dean was done. And if Sam didn't know better he'd say his sibling was on the brink. As rational as he was, who knew what kind of devastation all those drugs and no-drugs in combination with the memories had caused. Thank God there was no way in that padded cell for Dean to do anything stupid.

Having finished that thought Sam stomped onto the brakes, his whole body slamming forward, his face almost impacting with the dashboard. Jerking the wheel violently with a barked "Damnit!" Sam made a fierce U-turn, the Impala fishtailing for a moment before the big car headed back into the direction it just had come from.

To be continued...