I was mean, right? Leaving you dangling there with such an evil cliffhanger. But as it's already posting time again, I guess it wasn't too hard.

Thank you sooo much again for your kind words and praises! Awww. Wow.

Chapter 23

Sam was out of the Impala before the wheels came to an entire halt. The janitor shouted something at him about the disallowance of parking in front of the facility's entrance, but Sam wouldn't have stopped if a meteorite would have impacted in the front yard.

He was praying, pleading, swearing, to himself, to God, to Dean while he rushed up the countless steps, stormed through the heavy doors, passing the gaping nurse at the reception.

"Doctor Larsson, what are you doing here, you're not..."

He ignored the elevators and almost stumbled down the steps, taking two at a time. When he reached the first door leading to the solitary confinement, he started to yell his brother's name from the top of his lungs.

He didn't care if he was currently making a spectacle of himself and if he'd reach the cell door and Dean was there, smiling at him, slurring something at him about funny colors and silly shapes Sam would gladly let himself being lead out of the building for a second time, would even endure a dressing-down from the doctors and the janitor for storming this building.

But right now his heart told him something else. That odd feeling. The sixth sense he seemed to have when it came to Dean. Right now everything was screeching and screaming at him.

Griffin was already waiting for him when Sam entered the small room.

"Second try, doctor?" he sneered, presenting a dirty grin.

Reluctantly, Sam skidded to a halt. "Griffin, when was the last time you checked on Dean?" he gasped, trying to get his breathing under control.

The bulky man ducked his head, taking a look at the clock in the office. "About half an hour ago."

"Open up", Sam ordered, his tone leaving no room for arguments, nodding at the second door leading to the cells.

Griffin didn't react, just snorted. "Excuse me, who died and made you the boss here?"

For the second time today Sam stepped into Griffin's personal space. "I'm going to say this once", he said, his voice a low, dangerous growl, "open the doors, this one and the one to Dean's cell. Now. Or I swear to God, I'm going to hurt you."

Griffin's smirk faded slowly from his face but he still didn't show the slightest inclination to move.

"I don't like your tone, milksop."

Sam glowered at the last human obstacle that stood between him and Dean. The last polite gesture he had for Griffin was a curt nod.

The right hook that sent the orderly's head and whole upper body whirling around was delivered with such a brute force that Griffin dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes where he stayed, knocked out and bleeding from his nose.

Looking down at the unconscious man, it was Sam's time to snort. "All hat and no cattle", he spat, "dumbass." He then pulled Griffin's key card off his belt and leaped into the small glass cubicle.

"Comeoncomeoncomeon...", he muttered, his panic spiking when he didn't find the door opener. The moment he found it, pushed down onto it like a maniac, he started to shout for his brother again.

"DEAN! I'M HERE! I'M COMING! DEAN!"

Sam didn't know how he had covered the small distance from the office to Dean's cell. Did he run? Bolt? Dash? How long did he take? Had he ever taken a break from yelling his brother's name?

However, the moment Sam reached his goal, his runningboltingdashing being stopped by the cell door, finally able to look through the small window pane, his whole world stopped turning.

"No", Sam gasped, paralyzed with shock, his ability to move, to twitch, to breathe suddenly on hold. "Nononononono..."

While he fumbled with the key card, tried to open the door with a trembling left, he slammed his clenched right hand against the window, screaming Dean's name in panic and despair over and over again.

SlideSlideSlide "FUCK! OPEN THE HELL UP!" SlideSlide. Beep. Click.

Sam lunged into the room. Dropping to his knees in the middle of the cell, sliding the last inches like a baseball player up to his brother who sat in his damn corner, the same fucking corner Sam had seen him the last time, only that then Dean had been awake, talking, unscathed, not surrounded by blood, his legs not in an awkward position, one outstretched, burying the other that was bent at the knee.

At the sight of Dean's right forearm, a jolt of horror tore through Sam, the gory mess of flesh and blood, pulsatile, flowing, forced out in squirts, causing his stomach to churn.

Had Dean done this to himself? Was it possible that someone did this to himself? Oh God, Jesus Christ...

Swallowing, gritting his teeth, Sam pulled his jacket off, hesitating only for a second before he pressed the bundled fabric onto the mauled limb, sobbing apologies for having to do this, for using a dirty jacket, for not having the time to be as careful as he wanted to be.

He felt the alarmingly cool liquid crawl up the fabric of his jeans. With hands so shaky and uncoordinated he almost had no control over, Sam let go of his jacket and grabbed the sides of Dean's face, took in his brother's pallor, the coldness of his skin, his slightly parted lips, the closed eyes.

Not again. Please, not again. How often was he going to witness his brother bleeding out right in front of him?

"Dean. Hey. Dean? Come on, man, come one..." He felt his own eyes water again, his voice choked and high pitched with terror, "Open your eyes. Please. Open your fucking eyes, man..." He straightened, yelled over his shoulder, "HELP! I NEED HELP IN HERE!"

The shaky, uncoordinated hands slid down to Dean's neck, frantic fingers searching for a pulse. Sam skidded closer, turning his head so his right ear downright pressed down onto his brother's nose and mouth, desperately trying to hear a breath, despairingly trying to feel at least the softest waft of air.

"You stupid...how could you...damnit...don't you dare giving up like this...Dean, please..."

The tiny puff tickling his ear, accompanied by the feeble rhythm of what was certainly the last fluid ounces of blood in Dean's body was all Sam needed. With a howl of relief he grabbed the sides of his brother's head again.

"Hey", he encouraged, a ridiculous joyful quality to his tone, "Dean? Don't worry, I'm going to take care of you, I'm here now, bro."

Once again he hollered over his shoulder for help before he moved Dean gently and ever so slowly to the ground so he was flat on the floor, his head in Sam's lap. The younger Winchester then took Dean's right arm and held it upright, careful as not to jostle it any further.

"Hold on, okay", Sam mumbled, feeling very lonely and insecure all of a sudden, "I hope this is working. It looks very professional at least. Doctor Larsson at your command." It was supposed to sound convincing. Playful. But somehow Sam didn't believe his own words right now.

Dean's light blue clothes were soaked with blood. His shirt, his pants, it was a terrible sight. There were still ruby red rivulets flowing freely from underneath Sam's jacket, each little river causing Sam's heart to sink further. He wanted nothing more then to hold Dean, pull him close and rock him, reassure him that he was safe.

"Dean", he choked out, the possibility of losing his brother again too tangible, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I screwed up. I wasn't fast enough. I haven't found a way to save you. Again."

Sam heard the outside doors being opened. Voices. Steps. Someone crying out, probably because of the big, stupid Yeti lying unconscious in front of the office. He was about to turn around once more and scream at them to get their lazy asses in here when a weak whisper caught his full attention.

"S'm'y..."

Bending down as far as physically possible, Sam leaned closer as not to miss any single breath, whisper, grunt, moan, whatever he was granted with, his eyes blurring once more in relief. "Dean? Hey! Hey, open your eyes. It's me."

In the hallway, someone barked his name. Larsson. How he started to hate that name.

Sam watched Dean's eyelids flutter, felt his brother's fight against his waning strength. But apparently his obstinacy wasn't on top of it's game. Dean's eyes stayed closed. A few soft frowns were the limit.

"Y'here."

"Yes, I'm here. Of course I am. Where did you think I was?"

Sam felt and heard the presence of the cavalry, even with his back to the door. Shocked gasps, mumbled 'My Goodness's', someone finally barking for an ambulance and hospital ward staff. He didn't know how many people there were or who exactly stood behind him. He didn't care. He was just glad that right now no one intruded this moment.

"W'ld've...'nderstood..."

"Shhh...let's save the talking for later, okay? Just...try to relax, help's coming."

"D'nt wanna...d'nt..." Dean started to struggle, began to roll his head from side to side – movements that, under normal circumstances, were powerful and difficult for Sam to cut off. But with Dean so weak, barely alive, it was frighteningly easy to hold him down.

"Don't, come on, stay still", Sam soothed, letting go of Dean's wrapped arm with one hand and pushing his agitated sibling down, "what is it? You don't want what?"

"L've...", Dean breathed, relaxing under Sam's touch, "d'nt wanna...live..."

Sam felt as if he'd just been sucker-punched. He wanted to answer, wanted to say anything, but just couldn't find a single word.

He had hoped for an explanation for this. He had hoped that his earlier suspicion had been just that – a suspicion. A false alarm of his ability to conclude and his instincts. Sam had felt that his brother wasn't able to take any more. Knew that he was a ticking time bomb, ready to explode.

He wouldn't have thought that Dean would implode.

With sickening dread Sam realized that his initial apprehension had proved to be true. There was no weapon, no tool, nothing Dean could have used to hurt himself in here. Except that Dean had been hurt before. And why searching for a tool when you already got one?

Dean had done this to himself. Deliberately. No demon, no monster, no orderly, no other patient involved.

"Dean..." Sam choked out, tear-filled eyes darting to the wrapped-up forearm, fine streaks of blood still creeping out from underneath.

He flinched as someone touched his back, but when Phillip appeared next to him, dropping to his knees beside Dean, Sam felt a small weight being lifted from his heart.

"It's okay", the Phillip comforted, sounding very calm and professional, entirely different to the times Sam had met him before, "the ambulance is on it's way and a doctor from the hospital ward will be here any second." He then addressed Dean, who was still and unmoving again, a few soft moans the only signs of life he showed.

"Dean? Dean, can you hear me? It's your old friend Phillip, remember me? What are you doing here, repaint the cell? Don't tell me you didn't like the color, it was the most beautiful beige they had in their catalogue."

A pained smile flitted over Sam's face at Phillip's attempts to keep his brother awake and in good spirits. He watched the nurse check Dean's vitals, listened to his playful, reassuring ramblings he wasn't sure who they were directed to – Dean or him.

It were Phillip's eyes and his voice betraying him. Those glassy orbs, concern and fear mirroring in them. The slight tremor in his soothing words. He was as shaken as Sam was.

"'m c'ld...S'mmy..." A violent shiver ran through Dean, causing Sam to pull him slightly closer into his lap, whispering words of comfort.

Phillip eyed Sam's jacket around Dean's forearm, but didn't touch it. He then looked at Sam. "He didn't", he whispered, "Tell me he didn't."

When Sam answered with a dejected nod, Phillip swore and rubbed his forehead.

Hurried steps announced the approach of more people and it was only then that Sam noticed the murmurs and mutterings that had been their background noise the whole time. He looked over his shoulder, checked the gawkers for any familiar faces he might vent his anger on, Rosenberg or Salinger for example, or maybe Griffin hadn't enough yet and was up for another round.

But there were only some orderlies he had never seen before, some nurses including the one he had passed at the reception. Obviously everyone too afraid to step into the cell, offer their help, too occupied gaping at his brother Sam and Phillip were thank God shielding from their prying eyes.

The small crowd was divided by a group of paramedics, led by a man wearing a white coat. And for the first time Sam noticed the tiniest allergic reaction to people wearing those. He tightened his grip on his brother, warily watching the paramedics kneel down and start to work on Dean who started to struggle again with the foreign presences.

"Nnn..." Dean groaned, trying in vain to shove the helping hands away, "go 'way...l'eav'mme'lone..."

"Sam?" Phillip's voice jerked Sam's attention back to the nurse, "you have to let go now. He's in good hands, trust me. The paramedics know what to do."

Sam trusted Phillip. And he trusted the paramedics. He might trust that doctor, whoever he was, as well. But to let go of Dean, to slide out from underneath his brother's head, being forced to put it onto the cold, hard floor even if Sam's legs really appreciated the change in position and the opportunity to stretch out again, was an almost impossible task.

He didn't even get up from the floor, just slid back so he could lean against one of the padded walls, knowing that this was the safest option. Sam wasn't sure if he'd be able to stay upright at the moment. His gaze was glued to his brother, who had given up pawing at the people working on him, Sam's anxiety rising when Dean's sluggish movements ceased entirely.

"This is doctor Winston", Phillip explained quietly, his voice almost drowning in the bustling and the cacophony of barked orders, "he's actually from St. Mary's, dropping in once, sometimes twice a week to check the patients in here. Don't worry, he's a good guy."

Sam nodded, "So, they're going to get Dean to a hospital?"

Phillip nodded. "Lake Okeechobee isn't equipped with an ICU. And I guess this is where Dean needs to be right now. So yes, they're going to transport him into town."

Again, Sam could only nod. He watched his brother's first care in a state of trance, blocking out the staring people, the ugliness of the room itself, the biting smell of blood and sweat. Phillip's shoulder grazing his kept him grounded when a stretcher was brought in, making him feel less alone while Dean was lifted onto it. He blinked in surprise when doctor Winston snapped at the gaping crowd to move their lazy asses out of the way.

While Sam followed him and the paramedics pushing the stretcher with it's precious cargo, tried to get a glimpse of Dean's face, buried underneath an oxygen mask, another surge of tearfulness washed over him.

He had done everything he could, right? With failing and screwing up the whole time during Dean's stay in this facility, could he be sure that he had at least now done everything right? In time?

The distance from the cell to the courtyard was a blur. But it became instantly clear and sharply focused when the medic's calm and serene bustling switched into a frantic hurry the moment Dean was loaded into the waiting ambulance.

"He's crashing", one of them yelled, "vitals are all over the place!"

When the last few minutes had been like a bungee jump to Sam, this was him being caught by the cord. Only that it wasn't a springy one. It was like a common rope. No bouncing, no soft breaking of a too long, too fast fall.

"Dean?" he breathed and leaped forward, only to be grabbed by a set of arms from behind.

"Sam, don't. Stay back, let them work!"

Sam struggled and bucked against Phillip's surprisingly strong grip, lashed out and threw his head back in an attempt to free himself while he hollered and shouted in desperation and rage.

"Let go of me, you son of a bitch, take your hands away, I need to..."

"Trust them, Sam, have some faith, they can help him! Sam, calm down!"

"Let me go, Phillip, or I swear, I kill you..."

It was like a bad slideshow to Sam. The medics working on Dean in the cramped space of the ambulance, performing CPR, shouting, counting, barking vitals, numbers and terms Sam didn't know what to do with it. Dean, completely still now, hidden by people in white, machines, tubes, things Sam didn't want anywhere near him. One of the medics jumping out of the vehicle, closing the rear doors and then running to the driver's side and vanishing behind the wheel.

It was too much for him to take. He couldn't lose Dean again. There was no way he could be without his brother. When the engine started, the siren started to wail and the ambulance lurched forward, Sam sank to his knees, his rage dissipating, the angry howl tuning into helpless sobs.

"I know it's hard, I know you learned to distrust doctor's stuff thanks to this place and I'm terribly sorry for it." It was only then that Sam realized that Phillip was still there, kneeling right beside him, still holding him. "But now's the time to get that trust back, you hear me? Sam? He'll be okay."

The ambulance rushed out of the facility's courtyard, turned onto the road with squealing tires until it vanished behind the high walls surrounding the building, the blaring of the sirens fading.

Sam stared at the naked stone walls as if he'd be able to look through them, able to follow the vehicle with his eyes. He wanted to believe in Phillip's words. He wanted so hard to believe.

He felt Phillip release him, the death grip the nurse had on Sam's arms easing, but not vanishing completely.

"Come on, I'll get you there. I'll get you to Dean", Phillip encouraged, squeezing his shoulders lightly.

And because this was the only place Sam wanted, needed to be right now, he let himself being pulled up to his feet ungrudgingly.

To be continued...