Chapter 5 ~ Screams in the Dark

The older Winchester let out a deep sigh as he entered the motel room. His gaze fell on Bobby, sitting by the small table in front of Dean's notebook and studying one of the police folders beside him.

Bobby looked gratefully at Dean and nodded a tired welcome. He must have spent the entire time Dean was at the hospital researching and thinking... pondering where this all would lead.

"You know, you boys are always welcome in my house," the retired hunter stated thoughtfully. "No matter what."

Dean let out another deep sigh and threw his jacket over one of the chairs near the bed. "I know, Bobby," he moaned. "And I'm very thankful for all you did for us so far. I really am. Let's have this talk later, okay?" He knew his friend just wanted to prove he wasn't useless after everything. "Right now, I just need a shower so I can get back to the hospital before Sam wakes up."

Bobby cleared his throat. He wanted information on how Sam was doing. This was the first time he'd seen Dean for more than five minutes at a time since he had arrived. He wanted answers.

The retired hunter gazed at his adopted all-but-son, trying to get a feel for Dean's state of mind. "You're not saying a lot about what's going on there. What did Sam say? Are there any leads? Did he tell you anything about the men?"

All Dean had told him on the phone was that Sam had been tortured, his body was a mess, and he didn't know for sure how his little brother was managing or how he should or could manage to help him. But that was yesterday. Today... today Dean knew he would persevere no matter what. He would take care of his little brother as well as he possibly could.

Dean lowered himself down onto the bed and looked at the older man for quite a while. Then he rubbed his reddened eyes with both hands.

"He's not talking, Bobby." Dean seemed disappointed, desperate. "Sam hasn't said a word yet. He won't even look at me." He buried his face in his palms. "I don't even know if he knows I'm there or who I am." Another, longer, pause, then he continued. "Sam is... far away at the moment, Bobby. I'm not sure if we'll be able to fix it. Not this time."

Bobby didn't say anything. He just sat there and frowned, like he was waiting to hear more.

Dean wasn't one to talk about feelings and all this stuff. He'd grown up as the tough big brother that he was, ignoring his feelings and swallowing them down until he couldn't take it anymore. And he'd reached that point. Now it didn't matter who got in his way. He'd beat the shit out of anyone who crossed him right now, verbally or physically.

"Fuck." He sounded desperate. His eyes were watering. Dean sobbed, "He's broken."

"You can't break a Winchester that easy, Dean." Bobby shut the file in front of him, obviously trying to pick his words carefully. "You know that."

"You haven't seen him," Dean countered quietly.

"But I will. Tomorrow, when we take him home, I will. We'll take care of this, patch him up and give him the time he needs - time to adjust and heal." Bobby sounded pretty certain about it, as if he knew they could glue Sam together again. "You'll see. He just needs some time."

The older Winchester nodded. He was exhausted, troubled, tired. His whole body ached. And his heart tore more with every beat...

Then he looked up. "I talked to his doctor today. He didn't sound very enthusiastic about us taking Sam home. I think he wants to keep him there longer." Dean bit his lower lip. "He said Sam might suffer a massive breakdown if we change his surroundings this drastically. Said we'd have to drug him for the trip." The older sibling swallowed down his sobs.

"Bobby, you haven't seen him. He's a mess. Everywhere he's sitting... he just curls up. He won't even walk. He doesn't seem to understand what I'm saying." Dean's eyes filled with tears again and he swallowed them down hard. One lone tear rolled down his cheek. "I left him behind and thought it would all be okay. Guess cutting me out of his life didn't work so well."

He brushed the tear away. "I don't know if I can do this, Bobby. Not after all we said to each other. Even if he doesn't remember - I do."

"You don't think he remembers the fight?" Bobby turned around in his wheelchair to get a better look at Dean and frowned.

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "No." He wasn't sure, but he was convinced that if Sam did remember, he wouldn't come near his brother the way he did. Not if he'd recognized him. So he was glad, guiltily glad, that maybe Sam didn't remember. He'd be happy if Sam totally forgot the whole past year entirely.

"Then leave it that way." Bobby hesitated. "Maybe, when he's up on his feet again..."

"Then what?" Dean asked, sniffling. "I said horrible things, Bobby. Things no one should say to his brother. I said I wished he was dead. I said I wished I hadn't saved his ass a million times. I told him I couldn't be around him anymore and I left - I left him back there, Bobby. I knew I hurt him, I gave him hell. I was so mad at him. I was mad at myself. And he just sat there and said he was sorry for everything. Everything. And I... I told him that he should put his 'sorry' where the sun don't shine, that it was all a little too late."

Silence fell depressingly between them.

"I think you should just live life one day at a time. When this topic comes up, you'll both have to handle it. But right now something else is important, boy," Bobby reminded him with a slight smile. "Wanna know what I found out so far?"

Dean nodded. Changing the topic... yeah, that was probably the best thing at this point.

"Well, boy, the fingerprints these guys left behind - there were actually five different prints. Two of them matched folks who went missing in the late '50s, and one of them vanished about two months ago."

"Demonic possession," the younger hunter guessed, his eyes narrowing to small slits. "You think demons did this to him?"

"Yeah, I think they did." Bobby nodded again. "The question is why? What demons would dare hurt and torture Lucifer's vessel? Who would be that stupid?" The older man licked his lips. "And why the hell would they just leave Sam back there? Demons aren't that dumb. I don't think they made a mistake. I think they had some kind of plan behind this."

"Yeah, well, that question is on Sam to answer." Dean sighed again.

"First things first." He stood up from the bed and strolled towards the bathroom. "Do me a favor and order something to eat in the meanwhile? We need to get more flesh on Sam, and I don't think he likes the hospital food at all." And with that, he disappeared behind the bathroom door.

Dean returned to the hospital two hours later, a big paper bag in one arm and a cozy, fluffy blanket in the other. He'd actually gone shopping, looking for something Sam might like, when he saw this blanket in autumn colors, a plaid design on one side and fluffy fur on the other.

Old Sam would probably have hit him for buying such a "girly" blanket. But hopefully this new Sam, upstairs in room 57, would love the thing. Those hospital blankets felt too scruffy and itchy, and Sam should at least be as comfortable as possible. Even if he wasn't there mentally, his body was still there.

When Dean reached the fourth floor, he heard a loud, panicked scream and a familiar voice begging. "Sammy?!" he took off like a shot.

By the time he reached Sam's room, Dean was breathing hard. Yes, the screams were definitely coming out of Room 57 - heartbreaking cries, interspersed with sobs and pleading. The older Winchester's face went pale. He let all the stuff in his arms fall to the ground as he burst into the room.

Sam wasn't where he'd left him. Dean had placed his sleeping brother on the bed, with three blankets covering his shivering body. He'd been so damn sure Sam would sleep for at least a couple of hours.

Dr. Roberts was kneeling on the floor behind the bed, near the corner where Sam used to sit. Behind him was the nurse called Dylan, who turned towards the door when Dean entered.

What's going on?" Dean shot out, panting.

"Please, don't!" Sam's voice sounded desperate, full of panic and fear, as Roberts stroked his knee gently. "Please... please..." his sobbing voice echoed again, begging in a lower register.

"He just woke up a couple of minutes ago and was like this," Dylan explained, his eyes sorrowful. "I didn't knew what to do, so I called Dr. Roberts."

He should have called Dean.

Dean didn't hesitate. While the male nurse was still explaining, he rushed past him, pushed the doctor aside and knelt in front of his little brother.

Sam could heard the chain grinding across the naked basement floor. Fear tightened in his chest. He knew what came next - new bruises, new pain, and no way to cry out. He was back at the very beginning, shortly after they'd stitched his mouth shut - the first time had been the worst. Everything had felt new, extremely raw and cold. The fear had been the strongest at the beginning. That was back when he'd still been fighting back, trying to do what Dean would do if he was there. Still holding on to a little bit of hope that someone would come and rescue him, or at least release him...

It took him too long to realize his mouth was no longer sewn up, that the sounds he was hearing weren't chains. That the sounds were coming from him. He heard himself screaming and begging for help, desperate for comfort and something to hold on to. He heard himself sobbing and crying over his nightmare.

Sam tried to calm himself down. It was just a dream. He needed to calm down fast before they heard him. He knew what would happen if he kept screaming.

He had to hold on, stall for time. What the hell was he thinking, losing control like that? The faster they were done with him, the faster they'd start tracking down his big brother somehow. He couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't let him down again. Not this time. He curled up tighter, pressing his body harder against the surface behind him, hoping they hadn't heard him. Oh god, he would give anything to die - everything.

Just not Dean.

Sammy... he heard that familiar voice again, felt a gentle touch running over his hair, a soothing mumbling calming him down. Someone embraced him warmly.

Could it possibly be true? Was the familiar body next to him actually there? A gentle grip on his shoulders forced him to lean against something soft and warm, leading his head downwards until he heard that soothing sound again... thump... thump... thump...

The older Winchester felt his heart bouncing against his ribcage as he gently maneuvered his little brother to lean against his chest, holding him tight and rocking a little bit. He wasn't sure the rocking was necessary - and, well, maybe it was more for his benefit than for Sam.

"It's okay, Sammy," he whispered quietly. "Everything's okay. You're safe. Safer than you ever could be, kiddo."

Dean knew he had to get his little brother home. It was the only option.

He didn't want to imagine what he'd been through in the past weeks. And that made him wonder whether it all was worth this... if this was worth it. As he felt his little brother shaking and sobbing in fear and panic, he wondered - was being alive worth living like this?

Bobby changed his plans. He pleaded with Rufus until he agreed to come over early, before they got back, to prepare the panic room and build a fire in the living room. It got pretty cold there, and Bobby didn't want to bring Sam into a cold, unprepared house.

He had a damn bad feeling deep down in his gut as they took off from the hospital, a sedated Sam Winchester spread out on the Impala's backseat. Bobby was following Dean in his own vehicle - he might be in a wheelchair, but with Rufus's help he'd managed to rebuild one of the old trucks so he could at least drive a car on his own.

The further away they got from the hospital, the worse Bobby's gut felt. Unease wrenched its way up and formed a knot in his throat. Something was badly wrong. After all those weeks, the demons had just taken off, leaving their bait behind back at the basement? It was like they wanted Sam to be found. Or maybe...

Maybe they needed him to be found.