Dreamweaver

by mayalaen

Henriksen ends up catching Sam and Dean at the end of Nightshifter, but because of the nature of their crimes, and after a quick psych eval, Dean's sent to a criminal psychiatric hospital.

1. Friday - Week 1

Title: Dreamweaver
Rating: Mature/PG-13
Pairings: None/Genfic
Word Count: 96k

Summary: Henriksen ends up catching Sam and Dean at the end of Nightshifter, but because of the nature of their crimes, and after a quick psych eval, Dean's sent to a criminal psychiatric hospital.

Notes/Warnigns: There are multiple medical examinations in this fic, all of which Dean doesn't want, but the staff aren't abusing him. They're doing what they think is best for him. This includes examinations, forced medication, restraints, etc. There are also hallucinations, dreams & nightmares, and disturbing imagery. This fic is meant to make the reader feel like they're experiencing everything that's happening to Dean.

The things that happen to Dean in this fic are a combination of personal experiences (my own and friends), research, supernatural elements, and just plain fiction. It's not meant to offend or defend anything having to do with mental illness. Everyone's experience is unique. Everyone's disease is unique. This is Dean's.

I started this fic in 2007 almost immediately after Nightshifter aired. I worked on it for a few months, and it's been sitting on my hard drive ever since because I just never felt comfortable with it until recently. I'm clearing out my folders, so I'm posting this along with a bunch of other things that have been waiting around.

I'm not a big fan of first-person POV fic, but I really wanted the readers to get stuck in Dean's head, to see and feel everything right along with him, so I hope I accomplished that. Enjoy!

---

FRIDAY – WEEK 1

It was stupid of us to let our guard down only a week after hearing Henriksen's voice over the bank phone. It was even stupider to walk into a trap.

I'm thankful that Sam got hurt when everything finally went down. I'll have blackmail material until the day he dies for the sheer amount of stitches he most likely needed to fix the gash in his forehead when he tripped, but he was taken to the hospital. As soon as he recovered enough to move, he escaped even though he was under police custody at the time. That's my Sammy.

In the meantime, I was sent to lockup. It wasn't so bad. I know how to fight, and didn't even end up sending anybody to the infirmary while I was in jail.

I did, however, undergo a psych evaluation I don't know what I said, or maybe if it was the grave desecration that sealed my fate, but I was declared mentally unstable to stand trial.

"Step out of the vehicle, Mr. Winchester," the guard says after he opens the van door for me.

I'm still in my orange jumper, handcuffed with waist chains. I'm shaking a little bit, but I'm hoping the guard doesn't notice. I've heard stories about psychiatric hospitals. I know they've come a long way in the last fifty years, but I'm still nervous about this.

I squint as I step down onto the asphalt in front of the hospital. It's bright outside, and I haven't seen much of the sun where I've been lately. I let the guard guide me into the building.

"Sign here, please," the intake nurse instructs the guard. The nurse looks to be in his mid thirties, stupid buzz-cut blond hair. He's more muscular than me, but he's about my height. "Ah, this was the one that got redirected here at the last minute," the nurse comments.

"This is the one," the guard says. I watch as the guard hands the nurse a bag of my personal belongings, the only things that were on me when I was arrested. He then signs the form. The guard turns to me and takes my cuffs and waist chain off.

"Come with me, sir," the nurse says to me as the door to my left buzzes, and the guard opens it.

"He's all yours," the guard says, then leaves me with the nurse. I see two male orderlies come into the hallway.

"I'll explain everything to you as we go, Mr. Winchester," the nurse begins as he gestures toward a door to my right.

One of the orderlies opens the door, and I go into the room. There's a drain in the middle of the floor, shower hose on the far wall. A long table is set up on the right side of the room. Fuck! It's got a towel, gloves, and a tube of lube on it.

"Remove your clothing, please," the nurse instructs as the two orderlies guard the door.

I let out a nervous chuckle. I know where this is going, and I don't like it. "I don't suppose we could skip this part and-"

"If you don't cooperate, the orderlies will do it for you," the nurse interrupts me, nodding to the two men behind me.

I reluctantly start to pull the orange jumper off. I kick the shoes off, get the jumper completely off, then stand up. I can't help eying the gloves and lube as I pull the shirt off over my head. I finally pull off the ridiculously bright orange boxers they gave me, shove everything to the side next to the shoes.

"Lean your head down and run your fingers through your hair," he tells me.

I've never felt more exposed and vulnerable in my life. Why couldn't they just send me to prison? I've been there before. I know what to expect. I have no clue what's going to happen to me here. I decide to do as I'm told. For now.

"Arms out to your sides," the nurse instructs. He pulls a penlight out of his pocket, uses it to look at both my armpits. "Lift your dick and balls for me," he says.

I try not to laugh as I obey him. This whole thing is just making me feel off and uncomfortable. I laugh when I'm uncomfortable. I can't help it.

The nurse finishes checking me out, turns off the penlight, puts it back in his pocket. "Put your hands on the table and spread your legs," he instructs as he picks up the gloves.

"I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said I didn't have anything of interest in there, would ya?" I ask with a wince.

"The orderlies can hold you down, if you prefer," the nurse threatens me, one eyebrow raised.

"Ah, thanks, but no," I say as I put my hands on the table. No way do I want to be held down for this.

"Spread your legs and relax for me, Mr. Winchester," the nurse tells me as he squeezes some lube onto his fingers.

My stomach clenches as the man walks around behind me. I try to remember to breathe as he spreads my cheeks with his left hand. As he pushes two fingers in, I go up onto my toes, let out a grunt.

The nurse's left hand wraps around my hip, pulls me back down to the floor, holds me still while the fingers of his right hand go in deeper than I really think is necessary. But I've never had a cavity search before, so I wouldn't know if he was doing it right or not.

Finally the fingers are gone, and he lets go of my hip. I hear him snap the gloves off, but I'm too busy grimacing over the squishy feeling back there to be excited it's over with. I hope this doesn't happen too often around here as that was not fun at all.

"Go ahead and shower," the nurse says, gesturing to the far wall. "There's shampoo and a bar of soap for you over there."

There's only one knob on the wall, but the water that comes out is fairly warm. I shower quickly, wanting to be clothed again as soon as possible. The nurse hands me a towel when I turn off the water, and I walk back over to the table as I dry off.

"Change into these, and then we'll show you to your room," the nurse tells me as he points to a set of white scrubs on the table. "You are to keep your slippers on at all times unless you're in bed," he says as he points toward said items of clothing.

I feel like telling him to fuck off, but I decide that probably wouldn't be met with too much enthusiasm from the two guards behind me.

"Follow me," he says as he heads out the door. "The unit goes on lockdown from eleven p.m. until six a.m. every day. You will not be allowed to leave your room during this time," he says as we walk down a long hallway.

We come to an elevator, and the nurse presses the button. There are picture windows to my left that show a courtyard. There are people out there wandering about, sitting on benches. It's actually quite nice out there.

We get in the elevator and he presses the button for the third floor. "Breakfast is at eight a.m., lunch is at noon, and supper is at five p.m. Meals are not served at other times, so be sure to get to the cafeteria on time," the nurse tells me.

We get off the elevator and head to the right. I'm getting more and more nervous the farther we walk into this place. I'm totally out of my depth here. I don't think I'll be able to just bullshit my way through this one.

"You are to be up and dressed by nine a.m. every day," the nurse continues. "You're expected to keep your room picked up and make your bed daily. Do not close your room door at any time for any reason. This will be done for you when the unit is on lockdown. There will be a privacy screen in your room to dress behind, so there should be no reason for you to close your door."

We stop at a door and the nurse uses a key card to open it, then gestures for me to go into the room. I warily step in through the doorway.

"This is your room," he says. "Your belongings will be sent up to you after we go through them. You can either have them put in a lock box or you can keep them in the room with you once it has been decided if you may have them or not."

I would laugh at that if I wasn't feeling so insecure right about now. My belongings consist of my wallet, keys, ring, amulet, and a lighter. I doubt they'll let me have any of those things here, especially the lighter. Should I ask him just to see the look on his face?

"Your psychiatrist is going to be meeting with you today at two o'clock," the nurse informs me. "That's one hour from now. Tomorrow morning at eleven a.m. you'll be getting a physical from Dr. Blackstone in the infirmary. Don't be late for that appointment."

Well that totally ruins tomorrow. I hate doctors. I don't need a physical. I'm fine. I certainly don't need a psychiatrist either, but I understand why they're sending me to one.

"Visiting hours are from two to four p.m. every day," the nurse says. "There are no phones in the rooms. If you would like to make a call, it must be done from the nurse's station during visiting hours. You will be accompanied by an orderly while you make the call. It will be recorded."

The room is really small. There's a single bed on the right side of the room with a nightstand to the left of it. To the left of that is the screen he promised me for privacy. It's just a three-fold metal screen with gauze curtains. It doesn't really give all that much privacy in my opinion.

"Your daily schedule is on a piece of paper just outside your room. Do you have any questions?" the nurse asks me.

I shake my head. "No," I tell him, trying not to let my voice give away how nervous I am.

"Right now most of the patients are in the common room," he says as he points off down the hallway. "It's free time right now, so you can either go there or remain in your room. You can request reading material at the nurse's station or you can play games with the patients or watch TV in the common room. If you have any questions, you can ask the head nurse, Robert. Just go to the nurse's station, and he'll help you," the man tells me. He then nods to the two orderlies, and they head off down the hallway.

Now I can relax just a bit. Those orderlies were kind of freaking me out. They were big, and they didn't seem in the mood to put up with any shit. I don't think I want to get them angry with me. Not that I couldn't kick their asses, but I'd rather not see where they put me in here if I'm violent.

"I'll see you around, Mr. Winchester," the nurse says, then leaves me alone.

Well, I don't suppose I can sit around all day in my room. I guess I'll go to the common area. I really don't know what to expect. I would think that they put everybody together no matter what their problem is, so I have no clue what kind of people I'm going to meet.

As I walk into the common area, I see people milling about; some on couches, some on chairs. Most of them are watching a TV that's mounted on the wall to my right. To my left is what I am assuming is the nurse's station.

"Dean?" a male voice calls from the nurse's station.

"Yes, sir," I answer as I head toward the man. He's tall. He looks about as tall as Sam, only he's a little more muscular. Is everybody here built like this? I suppose they have to be if they deal with unruly patients.

"I'm Robert," he says with a smile. "I'm the head nurse here. If you need anything, let me know, and I'll try to help you."

"Thanks," I say almost shyly. I can't believe I'm acting like this. Where's my confidence? Oh, yeah. I think I left it outside in the van.

With nothing else to do, I decide to sit down on the couch and watch TV with the rest of the patients. Some black and white movie is on. I don't recognize it, and I really don't pay much attention to it, either. I'm too busy worrying about Sam, wondering where he is, if he's working at getting me out of here. I hope he doesn't get himself caught trying to help me break out.

I know Sam, though. He's thorough. He's smart. If anyone can get me out of here, it's him. He may need help, but he'll do it. I just have to sit tight until he comes for me.

"Dean?" I hear a different male voice call.

I look up to see a man in a white coat with graying hair. There are glasses riding low on his nose and he's looking over them at me. "Yes, sir?"

"Come with me, please," he says, turns on his heels, and heads down the hallway to my right.

I hurry to catch up with him. He takes me down the hallway to a door, swipes a keycard through the security system, then opens the door. The office is totally different than everything else I've seen so far. It's warm and cozy compared to the rest of the hospital. The floor is carpeted and there is an oak desk to the left, bookshelves behind that are full of all different kinds of books. To my right are more bookshelves, a chair directly in front of me.

"Have a seat, Dean," the doctor says as he gestures to the seat in front of the desk. "I've gone over your file."

"I hope you were pleasantly entertained," I say with a smirk. The nameplate on his desk reads Dr. Matthew Richards.

He pauses for a moment, seemingly unsure if that was a joke or not. He then gives me a tight smile. "The psychiatrist that evaluated you suggested a drug regimen that I agree with. You'll pick up your medication every morning no later than ten a.m.," he tells me.

"Whoa, I don't take medication, doc," I tell him with a nervous chuckle.

"Yes, well, you will be taking medication here. It's required," he says with an irritated grimace.

I shake my head. "I don't take medication," I say again.

"Unfortunately, Dean, you don't have a choice in the matter," he tells me as he leans forward, puts his elbows on his desk.

"Yes, I do. I choose not to take them," I say adamantly.

"Yes, it is your choice not to take them voluntarily," he says as if he's talking to a child. "But if you refuse to take them voluntarily, you will be restrained and medicated intravenously."

"Oh," I say stupidly, completely shocked. I hadn't expected that one. I probably look a little dazed.

"I would prefer you start them immediately," the doctor says quickly. "So when you leave here, I would like you to go to the nurse's station and pick them up. I already have them waiting for you."

My stomach clenches. I don't want to do this. Why do I have to be on medication? I'm not nuts. I wish I could get a hold of that psych evaluation from the last doctor I talked to. Maybe I could see why they think I'm psychiatric hospital material.

The doctor flips through a few pages in my file on his desk. "There will be daily support meetings. I would appreciate it if you are on time with them and that you participate. It will be a small group. You are not required to participate, but I would prefer that you do," he tells me.

"Am I required to go to these meetings?" I ask, eyebrow raised. This is just going from bad to worse as far as I can see.

"Yes," he says with a tight nod. "The meetings begin at three p.m. sharp. When you leave here, you will go directly to the nurse's station to take your medication, then Robert will show you to where the meeting will be held," he says, never taking his eyes off my report.

I sit and watch him read through my file for a few moments. There's no expression on his face, so I can't tell if what he is reading is good or bad. I guess I should assume that it's bad as I ended up in here because of it.

"You will be meeting with a counselor twice a week, and you will be meeting with me twice a week," he says, glancing up at me.

"Why am I going to be seeing both a counselor and you?" I ask.

"I merely prescribe medications, Dean," he says, tone of voice almost patronizing. "For your mental health, you will be going to Dr. Jim Morgan. Dr. Morgan will be conducting the meetings you are required to attend every day."

Can I admit that I'm scared? This is just plain overwhelming. I don't want to do any of this shit that he's told me about. I want out. I already miss being able to do what I want, when I want. I miss Sam.

"Your appointments will be on your schedule," he informs me. He flips through a few more pages, lets out a sigh as he closes the file, sits back in his chair. "I think you'll find that the staff here is quite pleasant. If you follow the rules, do as you're told, you should have a fairly nice stay here, Dean," the man tells me.

I let out another nervous chuckle. A nice stay? That's just sick is what that is. This man should be on drugs, not me.

"That's all for today, Dean," the doctor says as he stands. "Go straight to the nurse's station," he says as he opens the door for me.

"Yes, sir," I mumble as I slip out the door.

He closes it behind me and I realize I'm shaking. I'm fucking shaking. I don't want to take the drugs he prescribed. Maybe I can sneak past the nurse's station and get to my room.

"Dean," Robert says as I pass by. How did he know I was there? His back was turned to me.

"Yes, sir?" I reply as I stop, probably looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

He holds a small cup out to me. "Here are your medications," he says with a smile. He really does seem nice.

"Oh, the doc said I didn't need to take them today," I say as I start to walk away.

"Dean, you're scheduled to take meds today. Come take the meds, please," he says, still sounding pleasant and helpful.

"You can ask him if you want," I say, really hoping Robert doesn't push it.

"There's no need. You're on the schedule. Please take the meds," he says again. This guy is patient, I'll give him that.

"I really don't think I need them. See, we talked, and I think I'm cured!" I say with a winning smile, turning my charm up as far as it'll go.

Robert turns to his right. "Can I get a little help?" he asks, but I can't see who he's talking to because of the way the nurse's station is set up.

The door to the left of the nurse's station buzzes and two orderlies come out into the common area. Robert is behind them and has a syringe in his hand.

"Oh, fuck," I breathe as I start to back up. "Can't we talk about this, guys?" I ask as I hold my hands up in front of me. They start moving toward me and I totally panic. "Fuck, no!" I yell as I dart around them, taking off toward my room.

I hear them coming after me, so I run faster down the hallway. I lose my right slipper in the process, but I make it to my room and start to slam the door closed. Both of the orderlies get there just in time and start to push on it. I'm no match for two men, and I fall backward into the room, landing hard on my ass.

"No! No, I don't need this!" I yelp as I scramble backward. The two orderlies come at me, each one grabbing an arm as Robert comes in the door. "No! Let me go!" That's when I see the syringe again.

I can't stand shots. I know it sounds ridiculous with all Sam and I go through all the time, but I really, really don't like shots. It's not just the pain. I can handle pain. It's knowing that it's coming that I can't stand. Well, that and the fact that there are drugs in the syringe.

"I don't need the shot! I don't need the shot!" I yell quite loudly.

"Calm down, Dean," Robert says as he comes into the room, uncapping the syringe.

"Please let me go! I don't need the shot!" I scream as the orderlies turn me over.

Each orderly grabs an arm and a leg, holds me down so tightly I almost can't move at all. I'm trying with all my strength to get them to let me go, but they don't seem to be working all that hard at holding me down. Frankly, it's a little bit insulting. I'm a hunter, right? Trained to fight since I was a kid?

"Just relax, Dean," Robert says from behind me.

I feel my pants being lowered. "No! No shots! I really don't need it! I'm sorry!" I scream at them. "Fuck! No, stop!" I yell as I feel the needle in my left cheek.

"I'll go get a wheelchair," I hear Robert tell the orderlies.

The orderlies turn me over again and sit me down on the floor, manhandling me as if it's nothing. In the time it takes for Robert to go get the wheelchair, everything starts to look blurry and I feel funny inside. There's a buzzing sensation deep inside my body that seems to be getting louder. My muscles feel weak all of a sudden. I don't feel good, and I squeeze my eyes shut, let out a moan.

"Get him up and into the wheelchair," I hear Robert say, but he sounds far away, almost like I'm listening to him over a bad phone line.

I feel myself lifted into the chair and Robert puts his hand on my shoulder to steady me, starts to push me out of the room. Okay, now I'm officially scared. I have no idea where they're taking me, and there's no way I can defend myself. I feel like shit.

"Just calm down, Dean. We're going to take good care of you," Robert says, sounding almost sad.

I open my eyes as they wheel me into a room. Everything is blurry, but I see a hospital bed directly in front of me. There are straps at the middle and end of the bed. I suddenly realize they're going to strap me down! I start to pant I'm so scared.

Robert cups the back of my head with his hand, leans down. "Listen to me for just a second, Dean. I want you to calm down. Nobody's going to hurt you. We're going to put you in restraints and put an IV in you, but nobody's going to hurt you," Robert says in a reassuring tone.

I let out a whimper as Robert steps away from the wheelchair and the two orderlies pick me up. "No! Please don't!" I yell as they lay me down on the table. They must have given me some really strong kind of sedative, because I fight with all my strength, yet it doesn't seem to do anything but tire me out.

They get me onto the bed, and while one holds me down, the other attaches the restraints to first my wrists and then my ankles. Then there's a strap that goes across my stomach. Once they're finished, they stand off to my ride side as if ready for anything Robert might tell them to do.

"Please let me go," I say, words a little bit slurred.

Robert then comes to stand over me. He runs the fingers of his right hand through my hair. "I'm going to put an IV in your arm now. Try to calm down for me," he says with a smile.

I wish he wasn't so nice to me. I'm kind of feeling like a jerk now. I still don't want to take the medication, and I certainly don't want to be tied down. "Please let me go!" I beg as I pull at all the restraints.

"Hold his left arm for me," Robert says to an orderly, who then walks over and gets a good hold on my left arm.

"No! No IV! No drugs! Ow, no, don't!" I yell as I try to get away from them, but Robert already has the IV in and he tapes it down to my arm.

"He fought the drugs, didn't he?" I hear Dr. Richards ask from the doorway.

"He sure did," Robert replies as he picks up a clipboard and hands it to Dr. Richards.

"Start him on the usual loading doses," Dr. Richards says as he scribbles on the clipboard. "Call me tomorrow when he starts coming off of them."

What's a loading dose? I'm going to be like this until tomorrow? What are they giving me? I squeeze my eyes shut and turn my face to the ceiling. I'm still panting. I don't want to be tied down. I can't defend myself and I'm completely vulnerable to anything they want to do to me.

I hear Robert to my left and I turn my head so I can see him. He's a little fuzzy and wavy, but I can see that it's him standing there. "Please don't give me any drugs. I'm sorry I ran from you. Please let me up," I beg, trying to sound calm and rational even though I feel anything but.

Robert turns to me with three syringes in his hand. "What we're going to do is give you quite a large dose of each medication to begin with," he says as he lines up the first syringe with the port on my IV.

"No! Don't, Robert, please!" I yell again, just in case he didn't hear me the other times I asked. I try to pull my arm away, but I can't move very much at all. The restraints are pretty tight.

"You're going to feel pretty out of it for a day or so on these medications. You're probably going to sleep a lot. Don't worry about anything. We're going to take care of you. You just work at keeping yourself calm and relaxed," he says as he finishes with one syringe and begins another.

"I don't want drugs in me! You've got to stop!" I say through clenched teeth. When he doesn't stop, I let out a growl of frustration.

"It's going to take about ten to fifteen minutes before you feel the full effects of these drugs," Robert informs me as he pushes the plunger on the final syringe.

I try the restraints again even though I know they won't give. I start to sit up, but Robert's hand on my chest stops me.

"If you don't lie back, I'm going to have to put the head strap on," he warns me.

"No, don't. Don't do that," I mumble as I lay back and squeeze my eyes closed. I hear Robert doing things off to my left, but I try to ignore him.

"What I'm going to do now is put a catheter in," Robert says as he comes up to my left side.

I open my eyes wide, blinking up at him in surprise. "No! No, don't!" I yell as I look down at his hands and see the clear tubing.

"Do you need the head strap?" Robert asks me, not unkindly.

"No! No, I don't! But I don't need that thing, either!" I tell him, my eyes fixated on the catheter hanging from his right hand.

"You're going to be pretty out of it for the next day, and you're not going to be able to hold your urine that long," Robert explains.

"Yes I can!" I nearly squeal as Robert reaches down and pulls my pants down lower on my hips.

"No, Dean, you can't. I'm sorry, but you need this," Robert says as he grabs my dick with his left hand, squeezes the end of it, and inserts the catheter.

"No! No! Please stop! Robert, stop!" I scream as I use every muscle in my body to try and get away. "Please stop, please stop, please stop!" It goes so quick that I don't have much time to complain about it, but it feels awful.

"All done," Robert says with a smile as I relax down into the hospital bed panting.

I watch as he pulls my pants back up, attaches the end of the catheter to a clear bag, and hangs the bag on the side of the bed. I feel fucking terrible. The drugs are making me queasy already. "My stomach hurts," I moan at Robert.

"Do you think you're going to throw up?" he asks, concern evident in his tone of voice.

I shake my head. "No, I just don't feel good," I complain.

"Okay, then, I'm going to give you one more shot," he says as he turns and opens a drawer.

"What now?" I ask, totally sick of this game, and honestly terrified of what's going to possibly happen to me now.

"It's just a drug that's going to help settle your stomach. It'll work almost right away," he says as he uncaps the syringe, pokes the needle into my port.

"Oh, good, more drugs," I say, my words coming out not quite as sarcastically as I'd meant them to. But that's probably because my whole body is feeling more relaxed. It's the drugs, not me.

"Now I'm going to check in on you every once in a while, but for the most part you're going to be left alone," Robert tells me as he stands over me with his hand on my left shoulder.

"No! No, don't leave me alone!" I say, eyes widening, completely freaking out yet again.

He squeezes my shoulder gently. "You're going to be fine, Dean. Just work at controlling your breathing, relaxing, and trying to get some rest," Robert says softly.

I shake my head. "You can't leave me alone!" I yell at him, eyelids already feeling heavy. I close my eyes when Robert starts to run his fingers through my hair again. How can that simple gesture feel so good and comforting?

"You're going to be fine," Robert assures me. "Try and sleep," he tells me as he runs his hand down to my shoulder, gives it another squeeze.

I open my eyes again as I hear Robert leaving. "Don't leave! Don't leave me here! Untie me! Please untie me!" I beg as the door closes.

I let out a groan that turns into a whimper. I should've taken those fucking pills. They couldn't have been that bad, could they? This is horrible! Anything would be better than this. Well, at least he didn't turn off the lights.

I look around the room now that I'm alone. I'm fucking alone! There are no windows in the room, so I can't even tell what time of day or night it is. My bed is in the middle of the room, to my left a long countertop extending along the whole wall, to my right the door.

There's an IV stand to either side of my head, the one on my left connected to me. Surprisingly enough, the walls are white. I guess they don't want people to be stimulated in here, because there is absolutely nothing of interest to look at unless you get off on IV stands. There are no pictures on the walls, wallpaper, anything.

I let my head flop back onto the bed and squeeze my eyes shut again. I've got to calm down. I'm still panting from exerting myself and shouting. There's definitely no way I'm getting out of this, so I might as well just try and relax. The drugs are already making me feel tired. Oh, and I just noticed that my stomach doesn't hurt anymore. Go Robert!

My head doesn't feel good. It feels as if there's something pushing my head down. I'm not sure how long it takes, but I finally drift off into a dreamless sleep.

SATURDAY – WEEK 1

The next day goes by slowly. In between episodes of passing out, Robert visits me to give me more drugs. Most of the time I'm so out of it that I don't even talk to him. He talks to me, though. He says reassuring things, touches me gently, wipes the drool from the corner of my mouth whenever I sleep with my head turned to one side.

"Good afternoon, Dean," Dr. Richards says one of the times Robert is in to check up on me.

I turn my head enough to look at the man. He's standing at my bedside with a clipboard in his hands, flipping through a few of the pages. Fucker.

"Are you willing to take the medication I've prescribed to you now, or do we need to keep you in here for another day?" he asks me.

Not another day. I can't take another day. This is torture, and he knows it. They did this to make me cooperate with taking the pills. I don't like being manipulated.

"I'll take them," I mumble, not sure if what I said was intelligible.

Dr. Richards smiles down at me. "Excellent. We'll start weaning you down on the medications now, and by tonight you'll be sleeping in your room," he tells me.

Does he want me to thank him? If I wasn't restrained and drugged, I think I would beat the shit out of this guy. I close my eyes and turn away from him.

"Here are the orders, Robert," Dr. Richards says. "Let me know if you have any more problems with him."

"Will do," Robert replies, then I hear the door close. "You're getting out of here tonight, Dean," Robert says cheerfully.

How can I be mad at this guy? He's spent the past twenty-four hours taking care of me while I was as vulnerable as an infant.

Robert walks up to my left side. He's smiling. "You've just got a few more hours in the Pit, and then you can sleep in your own room," he tells me.

"The Pit?" I ask.

Robert chuckles. "It's what the patients call this particular room. Nobody likes coming here, obviously," he says, smile still in place.

"I have no idea why," I say with a lopsided smile.

Robert puts his hand on my upper arm. "Those drugs should be wearing off to the point where you'll be a little bit more with it soon, but try to keep calm and relax until tonight. This little trip wears your body out. You need a lot of rest to recover from it," Robert tells me.

Rest? They're going to make me sleep after this? I highly doubt I'll want to sleep after I've been in and out of a near coma for the last twenty-four hours. "Okay," I say anyway.

"I'll be back in a bit," Robert says as he leaves me alone yet again.

Each time Robert leaves, my stomach clenches. I don't freak out as bad as the first time he left me, but I have a hard time each time he leaves. I don't know what I think is going to happen to me, but I'm alone. I don't want to be alone.

I drift off again, this time dreaming, but I can't remember of what when I finally wake to Robert's voice. "Are you feeling better yet?" he asks me as he pulls a couple of gloves out of a drawer.

I quickly take inventory of my body. "Yeah," I say with a smile, feeling about halfway back to normal.

"Good," he says with a big smile as he walks up to the left side of the bed. "I'm going to take your catheter out now," he says as he pulls my pants down again.

"This isn't going to feel good, is it?" I ask with a wince.

"Well, it's not the best feeling in the world, but it's better coming out than going in, if that helps at all," he says as he grabs my dick.

I yelp as he starts pulling on the catheter. "No, it definitely doesn't feel good!" I growl. It's actually not as bad as I imagined it would be.

"Okay, I've got a wheelchair for you right here," Robert says as he pulls it up to the edge of the bed. "I'm going to help you transfer. You're going to be wobbly, so go ahead and put as much weight on me as you need to," he instructs me as he starts to undo the restraints.

I'm so thrilled to be getting out of the restraints, I feel like kissing the man. Robert helps me sit up, and the room decides to spin a little bit on me. I start to fall back, but Robert holds me up.

"You're doing good. Just take it slow. Keep breathing," Robert says as he wraps an arm around my midsection. "Scoot to the edge of the bed, touch your toes to the floor, and get a feel for where you are. I won't let you fall," he reassures me.

I finally get my feet to the floor, but it doesn't feel like my legs will hold me up. "I don't think I can stand up yet," I tell Robert, looking him in the eye.

"You're not going to be standing up on your own. I've got you. Scoot off the end," he says confidently.

I do as he says, and he does hold me up. He doesn't seem to have any problem getting me into the wheelchair, either.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks as he puts a pair of slippers on my feet.

I let out a chuckle. "No," I admit.

Robert steers me out of the room and down the hallway. "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you do me a big favor?" he asks as we turn a corner.

"I hope I can," I say with a smile.

"Would you please just take the medication tomorrow when I give it to you? Some people need to go through what you just went through two or even three times before they finally get the fact that we're in charge. I'm hoping you're smarter than that," he tells me.

"What are the medications going to do to me?" I ask with a wince.

"I will admit that they're going to make you feel funny. But I can guarantee that it's nothing compared to what you just went through," Robert assures me.

"I don't want to do that again," I say with a shiver.

"I'd rather you didn't have to go through that again myself," Robert says as he squeezes my shoulder.

We finally get to my room and Robert wheels me up to my bed. "I still feel funny," I warn him.

"And I'm still not going to let you fall," he tells me as he gets a good hold on me. Between the two of us, I finally get into my own bed. "I left you a book in case you wanted something to read. I'm not quite sure what you're into, but murder mysteries are pretty popular around here," he tells me as he pulls my slippers off and puts them on the floor at the end of my bed.

There's a book sitting on my nightstand. "Thanks, Robert," I say with a smile.

"Lights go out in a few minutes, but you can read until then if you feel like it. You can request something different tomorrow morning if you don't like this one," he says. Robert closes up the wheelchair. "Your physical has been set up for tomorrow at ten a.m. Just come to the nurse's station and I'll take you to the infirmary," Robert says as he heads out the door.

"Okay," I say on a yawn. I fall asleep hard enough that I never hear the orderly close my door at eleven.

SUNDAY – WEEK 1

"Dean," I hear a male voice say.

I slowly wake. It feels like I've been sleeping forever. "Yeah?" I reply as I rub my eyes.

"It's nine a.m. Time for you to be out of bed and dressed. You missed breakfast," the orderly tells me.

I still feel totally out of it. I feel like I could sleep for another twenty-four hours. "I'm still tired," I mumble.

"Hospital rules. You've got to be out of bed by nine," the orderly says as he pulls my blanket down off me.

"Okay, okay," I grumble. "I'm getting up." The orderly stands back and waits for me. "I said I was getting up," I tell him, annoyed now that I see he's just waiting there.

"Out of bed, Dean," the orderly says as he gestures to the floor beside the bed.

This is getting old fast. Is everyone going to tell me what to do around here? I give him the finger as I sit up in bed.

The orderly chuckles. "You can hate me all you want, but I've still got to get you out of bed," he says with a smile.

"Fucker," I mumble as I make my way to the edge of the bed.

"You were in the Pit yesterday, weren't you?" he asks as he steps closer.

"Yup," I say with a nod.

"Be careful. This is the first time you're going to be standing on your own in a couple of days," he says, sounding concerned.

"I'm fine," I say as I stand up, then promptly sit back down as my legs wobble.

"Give yourself a minute," the guy says, hovering.

I stand up again, this time able to stand on my own. "I'm fine," I tell the orderly.

"Don't bend over right away," he says as he grabs my slippers and puts them down in front of my feet.

"Uh, thanks," I say with a blush. Why does everyone have to be so nice to me? If they were jerks, I could treat them a lot worse, and I would feel so much better.

"Are you steady?" he asks me, hands out and looking ready to catch me.

I nod. "I think so," I tell him.

He walks over to the dresser on the other side of the room, opens the drawer. "I'm going to take you to the showers. You've got a ten o'clock appointment with Dr. Blackstone, so we have to keep moving," the orderly says as he pulls a fresh pair of scrubs out of the drawer.

I groan. "I was hoping they'd forgotten about me," I grumble as I rake my fingers through my greasy hair.

The orderly chuckles as he walks up to me and offers his left arm. "Do you need an arm?"

I shake my head. "I think I'm okay to walk," I tell him, really not wanting to have to lean on this guy just to walk.

The showers are actually just down the hall a little bit from my room. It's a rather large room. On the wall to my right there are sinks taking up about a third of the wall and stalls with no doors for the toilets and urinals taking up the other two thirds.

To my left are the shower hoses taking up almost the entire wall. There are no stalls or any kind of privacy whatsoever for the shower are. There are little shelves with each hose holding shampoo bottles, shaving cream cans, and bars of soap. To the left of them are the towels stacked and placed into cubbyholes.

"I'll be right over here by the doorway. Let me know if you need anything or if you're feeling like you can't stand any longer," the orderly tells me as he backs away from me.

"You really don't need to stay here. I'm fine," I tell the orderly.

"I'm afraid you're stuck with me this morning," he says with a smile, still completely friendly even though I'm being a bit of an asshole. "You can put your clothes in here," he says, pointing to a large wheeled cart in front of the cubbyholes. It's already half filled with other patient's dirty scrubs and used towels.

I guess I'm not going to get any privacy whatsoever here. "Can I, um," I say vaguely as I point my thumb over my shoulder at the toilets.

"Sure, just remember that we're on a schedule," he tells me as he leans against the doorway.

I get my business done and over with as quickly as I can. It feels so strange sitting here with no door. It's one thing to take a shit while your brother and father are walking around the motel room, but a hell of a lot different when it's a dude I've only just met.

I flush, come out of the stall, kick off my slippers by the cart. I take off the scrubs, feeling totally ridiculous. I can't believe I'm being watched like a little kid. I try to not think about it as I toss the scrubs into the cart and walk over to the shower heads.

"If you want to shave, there's a basket of disposable safety razors in that cubbyhole," the orderly says as he points toward the wall of towels.

"Thanks," I say with a smile as I reach in and take one.

"Throw it out after you're done with it. Do not get caught outside of the shower room with that razor. You'll get put on suicide watch if you do," he warns me.

"Gotcha," I say, then walk up and turn the water on.

The water feels great. As soon as I get under the spray, I have an urge to stay here all day. I turn it up, getting the water as hot as I can stand it and let the water run over my head a few minutes before I wash up. I try to ignore the fact that I'm not alone. It's making me feel kind of twitchy and nervous.

As soon as I turn off the water, the orderly hands me a clean towel. "Thanks," I say as I take it and dry off.

"We're going to run by the nurse's station to pick up your meds before we go to the infirmary," the orderly informs me. I let out another groan. The orderly chuckles at that. "Ah, I think I see the reason you were put in the Pit," he says with a smile as he takes the towel from me, hands me the scrubs.

"You got it," I say with a grimace as I pull on the pants.

"Don't think they won't put you in there today if you refuse again," he warns me.

"Yeah, I thought that might be the case," I say with a wince as I tug the shirt over my head. I get the slippers on and watch as the orderly tosses the towel into the bin.

I walk with him to the nurse's station. Robert is there again, and he gives me a big smile as I walk up to the counter. "How are you feeling this morning?" he asks as he turns to the medication cart behind him.

"I feel a little funny, but much better than yesterday," I tell him.

He puts my cup of meds on the counter. "You'll get used to the feeling the medications give you pretty quick," he tells me. "You're going to feel funny with them, but just try to stay calm. Make sure and let somebody know if you're having a hard time, though."

"Okay," I say with a smile. I pick up the cup and look down into it. "There are five pills in here!" I nearly scream, eyes wide as I look back up at Robert.

"Dean, you've got to calm down," Robert says in a voice that makes me feel good despite how badly I'm freaking out. "You already have most of that in your system from the IV yesterday. These are just the pill forms of those same meds," he reassures me.

That doesn't make me feel any better. I feel numb. This is getting into scary territory again. I don't like this. I let out a whimper as I stare down at the pills. "I can't-"

"Dean," Robert says in an authoritative tone of voice that instantly makes me look up at him. "You only have two choices here. You can either take the pills willingly or we set you up on the IV again," he tells me.

"It's really not as bad as you're thinking, Dean," the orderly says from somewhere to my left.

"Do you need a cup of water?" Robert asks me.

I shake my head no. "No, I'll take them," I say, still dazed, as I turn and start to walk away, cup in hand.

"Come back here, please," I hear Robert say before I even get two steps away.

I turn and look up at him. "What?"

"I've got to watch you take them," he says. I make a face at him. "And I'm going to look in your mouth afterward, so no hiding them under your tongue."

I let out a groan. I really don't want to take these fucking pills. "Can I talk to Dr. Richards about this?" I ask hopefully.

"You need an appointment. Besides that, you're going to be late for your physical if you don't go ahead and take the pills right now," Robert warns me.

"Can I wait to take them until after I get an appointment with him?" I ask with a wince. I'm getting nowhere fast.

"No," Robert says as he shakes his head. "This is the last chance I'm giving you to take the pills, Dean. Take them now or you're going back on the IV," he threatens.

"What are they going to do to me?" I ask, still not quite willing to take them, but scared he's going to take me back to the Pit.

Robert turns to his left. "Mike, can you help me take Dean down to the IV room?"

"No! No! Don't! I'll take them! I'm taking them!" I yell, then dump the pills into my mouth, swallow them quickly. "I took them! I took them!" I inform Robert rather loudly.

Robert turns back to me. He smiles, looking relieved as I open my mouth and lift my tongue for him. He holds out his hand for the cup, and I shakily give it to him. "Thank you, Dean," he says. "Now you two need to get going. You're going to be a couple minutes late for your appointment," he tells us.

"Come on, Dean," the orderly says as he gives my shirt sleeve a tug.

I turn and follow him down the hallway. I sure miss doing whatever I felt like doing, not being told what to do constantly. I miss being outside. I even miss being in shitty little hotel rooms. I wonder what Sam's doing.

The orderly uses a keycard to open a door and gestures for me to go in first. I walk into a large room that's brightly lit, as the rest of the hospital seems to be, too. There are four hospital beds on each side of the room with curtains for each bed. There are two people in the beds already, but all the curtains are left open.

A nurse standing at the farthest bed puts a clipboard down on the table at the end of the bed and turns to us. He smiles as he walks up to us. "Dean?"

"Yup," I say. I am so fucking nervous I'm about ready to run out of here screaming. I haven't stopped shaking from the whole pill incident, and I think it's even worse now. I hate doctors. I don't need a physical. I'm fine.

"Go ahead and step on the scale for me," he instructs me as he gestures toward the scale on my right. He takes a clipboard from a table at the end of the first bed on the left, then comes over to look at my weight.

I slowly get onto the scale, shaking as I do so and wondering if the nurse can hear my ragged breathing. God, I'm pathetic. I watch the nurse's hand as he moves the weights to the appropriate places, notice that I've lost six pounds since the last time I was on a scale, which was just before all this shit started happening.

"Okay," the nurse says as he writes down my weight. "Follow me, please," he says with a pleasant tone that any other time would probably relax me.

He walks to the first bed on the left, and I stand next to the orderly who brought me, trying not to look like a deer caught in the headlights.

"If you'll get on the bed for me, I can get your vitals," the nurse tells me with a warm smile.

I lift myself back onto the table, wonder if the guy can see my hands shaking. I just know he has to hear my breathing as heavy as it is. I glance at the orderly, and he just smiles at me.

I cringe as I try not to think about the doctor coming in. Can't the nurse just tell me I'm fine, and then let us go?

The blood pressure cuff goes on and starts to strangle my left arm as the nurse puts his stethoscope on and listens underneath the cuff.

He frowns as he releases the air in the cuff. "Your pressure is pretty high," he says as he writes something down on his clipboard. He then takes my pulse, frowning again before writing it down.

I'm trying to calm down. I really am. I just hate all this shit. This is why I never go to the doctor or go to hospitals if I can help it.

"Okay, go ahead and get undressed. You can get back up on the bed when you're through. The doctor will be in soon," he says, and then leaves me alone with the orderly once more.

The orderly closes the curtain around the bed. "Hand me the scrubs," he tells me as I slide down off the bed.

I pull of my clothes, hand them to the orderly as asked, and then pull myself backward up onto the bed. I hunch over, wrap my arms around my stomach. Well don't I feel incredibly ridiculous waiting here naked on the hospital bed.

Is it just me, or are the medications already hurting my stomach? Does it really have to be so cold in here? I swear my hands are turning blue. The orderly folds up my scrubs and sets them on the table at the end of the bed.

"I'm, uh, not so good with doctors," I say with a bit of a chuckle.

"Robert figured as much. That's why he sent me down here with you. If you have any trouble or you feel like you're going to throw up, let me know. I'll do whatever I can to help you," the orderly reassures me.

I wish I wasn't a jerk to him earlier. Now I feel awful about it. This guy is being really nice to me. "What's your name?" I ask.

"Marcus," he replies, seeming happy that I asked.

"Hi, Marcus," I say with a smile.

He chuckles. "You're going to be fine. Dr. Blackstone is really a pretty nice guy," Marcus tells me.

I wish this could just be over. This waiting is nearly killing me. I hear footsteps coming toward us and figure it's the doctor. The curtain opens, and a man about two inches taller than me walks in with confidence in a white coat on a lanky frame. "Hello, Dean," the man says with a friendly smile.

"Hey," I say almost shyly. I want out. Somebody get me out of here.

The doctor closes the curtain behind himself. He turns to look at me with dark brown eyes, crow's feet in the corners. It isn't until now that I notice the doctor is probably in his late fifties. "My name is Dan. How are you doing this beautiful morning?" he asks in a cheerful tone.

"Okay," I say with a grimace as he picks the clipboard up off the table.

"So, this will be your first physical in...," he starts as he begins flipping through the clipboard.

"Oh, I don't know as I've ever had a full physical. I kind of, um, stay away from doctors," I say with a wince, unsure of how that will go over with the man.

"Ah," he says as he looks up from the chart. "You're the type that only comes in when something's wrong, then," he says with a smile.

"Well, not even then," I say with a nervous chuckle.

The doctor laughs at that. He looks down at the chart again. "So have you had any serious medical problems, hospitalizations, things like that?" he asks as he puts the chart down on the bed to my left and puts on some gloves.

I shake my head. I suppose I'm lying, but if I tell him some of the things I've had happen to me, he'd probably put me on more medications. There's no way I can tell them about my heart.

"How have you been feeling lately? Any cough or cold symptoms, fever, chills?" he asks as he takes a step towards me.

"No, sir," I say politely as he reaches out and starts to feel my neck. I feel like kicking him away. I don't want to be here. My stomach hurts. I just want to go back to my room.

"Do you get sick very often?" he asks as he finishes fingering my neck, puts his stethoscope in his ears.

"No, sir," I say again. I don't know why I'm being so ridiculous. What is this man really going to do to me?

"Take deep breaths for me," he says as he starts putting the stethoscope over various spots on my chest. Why does everything have to be so cold?

I do as he tells me. At least I try to do as he tells me. The breaths don't seem to want to be deep even though I try. He starts in on my back, and I continue trying to take big breaths.

"Any problems with shortness of breath or cough when you exercise?" he asks while he moves the stethoscope over my back.

I shake my head. "No, sir," I say, just wanting this to be over.

"Any ear infections as a kid?" he asks as he picks up an otoscope with his right hand, holds onto my chin with his left.

"I don't think so," I say stupidly. I don't remember Dad ever mentioning that I had a lot of ear infections, but I'm just not sure.

He turns my head to my right, looks in my left ear. "No, this looks fine," he comments as he pulls the thing out, turns my head, sticks it in my right ear.

I would actually appreciate it if he would stop touching me anytime soon now. The doctor puts the otoscope back on its little rack, and then writes something down on the clipboard.

"Open your mouth for me," he says, quickly takes a look.

The doctor pulls a penlight out of his right jacket pocket and shines it in my mouth. Then his fingers are in my mouth running along my teeth. When he takes his fingers out, I close my mouth to the awful taste of latex lingering on my teeth.

"Tilt your head back, so I can look in your nose," he says as he cups the back of my head with his left hand. He holds my head gently as he looks up both nostrils, penlight in hand. He then drops the penlight back into his pocket. "Lift up for me," he says as he starts to take my right hand. "Any pain when I push here?" he asks as he keeps fingering my left underarm.

"No, sir," I say with a shake of my head, and then he puts my arm down.

He does the same thing with my right arm. "Okay, go ahead and lie down on the bed for me," the doctor says.

I glance over at Marcus. I feel like asking him to save me. I slowly do as the doctor instructed me to. The doctor takes his time feeling around my stomach and pushing pretty deep in places. I try not to jump when some of the places near my ribs tickle. Sam knows those places all too well.

"Do you have any trouble with nausea, vomiting, or diarrhea?" he asks me as he continues feeling my stomach.

"Not usually," I tell him. "I've had some trouble with my stomach hurting from the medications they give me here," I say with a frown.

"That's perfectly normal," he tells me. "Your stomach should get used to the medications after a while of being on them."

I try not to think about the fact that what he said sounds long-term. The doctor wraps his hands around my hips then, shifting them a bit and feeling around. It's another ticklish spot, and I wince as I try not to chuckle.

"Do you have any trouble with urinary tract or yeast infections?" the doctor asks as his hand wraps around my dick.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to not think about the fact that a doctor is pulling my foreskin back. "No, sir," I say, trying to not let my voice waver.

"No pain with urination or sexual intercourse?" he asks as he then pulls the foreskin out as far as it will go.

"No, sir," I tell him.

He expects me to continue talking with him as he plays around with my dick? I tense a little when I feel his fingers on my balls. I don't know if he can tell that I'm upset about this, but I really am trying to relax.

I don't like this. He's got to stop soon, right? This is ridiculous. Does he really need to be touching me this much? I remind myself that Marcus is right here. This must be normal or Marcus would have something to say about it, right?

"I'm going to take a urethral swab now to check for STDs," the doctor says.

I keep my eyes closed. I don't want to see what it looks like. I hear him unscrew the cap off a bottle, then his left hand takes a hold of my dick again. He squeezes the end, and I cringe as I feel a swab dip inside and swipe around twice. That did not feel good. It was nowhere near as bad as the catheter, but I don't want to do this again anytime soon.

I hear the doctor drop the swab into the container and screw the top back on. I think he drops it into his coat pocket. "Any trouble with your knees or ankles?" the doctor asks as he finally moves down to feeling my thighs and lower legs.

"No, sir," I say.

"Go ahead and stand up," the doctor tells me.

I sit up slowly as I still feel a little bit fuzzy. Once on my feet, the guy goes right back to my groin, pushing in deeper than I thought possible. I grip the bed behind me with both hands so I don't smack the guy.

Then the doctor steps over to a metal tray that I hadn't noticed was there before. "Last part and then we're done," the doctor says as he picks up a tube of lube off the tray and squirts some on his gloved fingers.

Okay that's a surprise. I hadn't been expecting that. I let out a nervous chuckle. "They already did that downstairs. You don't need to do it again," I assure the doctor, a chill going down my spine.

He smiles at me, not unkindly. "What they did was a cavity search, Dean. I need to check not only your anal tone, but also your prostate," he explains calmly.

I don't want to do this again. Why do I have to keep doing things I really don't want to do? I look over at Marcus.

"Do you need me to hold you down?" he asks, making it sound surprisingly non-threatening. It looks like I'm not getting out of this one.

"Turn around and rest your upper body on the bed," Dan instructs.

I don't have a choice. If I refuse, they're just going to hold me down and do what they want anyway. I turn around slowly and bend over. I feel the doctor's left hand on my back, and he pushes me until my chest is flat against the bed. I rest my forehead on the bed, squeeze my eyes shut.

I feel the doctor spread my cheeks with one hand. "Relax and this'll be over real quick," the doctor assures me.

Oh yeah, almost forgot about the relaxing part. I can do this. I force myself to relax as much as I can, but then I feel his fingers at my entrance and tense up all over again. I don't like this.

"Relax, Dean," the doctor says again.

I take in a semi-deep breath and let it out. The doctor takes that opportunity to push in, and I wince at the feeling of cold lube and a finger inside me yet again. I grit my teeth and just try to hold still and relax.

"You're doing good," he assures me.

I can't help the gasp that escapes my lips when he starts fingering my prostate. I try not to arch away from him, but it's difficult.

He pulls his fingers out, but his left hand still holds me down. "Stay down while I get something to wipe the lube away," he says.

I cringe as a wet baby wipe runs over my entire crack. That was actually pretty thoughtful of him to get rid of the lube for me.

"Okay, everything looks normal so far," the doctor tells me as he pulls the gloves off of his hands. I stand up and turn around. "I'll let you know if anything turns up on the blood work and STD screens, but as far as I can see, you're healthy," the doctor says with a smile.

I shake my head. "I didn't get any blood taken," I tell him.

"Robert took some blood while you were knocked out the other day," Marcus tells me. "He saw how upset you got over needles, and he figured it would be it good opportunity to get it over and done with."

"Oh," I say. Well, although intrusive, I'm glad that it's done.

"Okay, I'm done with the torture. You can get dressed and get out of here," the doctor says with a big smile, and then leaves Marcus alone with me.

Did I just survive a full physical? I feel tired. I wonder if they allow you to take naps around here. I never want to go through that again. That was awful.

"Do you need help getting dressed, Dean?" Marcus asks softly.

It isn't until then that I realize I've been standing here staring at the floor since the doctor left. I shake my head. "No," I say just as softly. Marcus hands me my clothes, and I slowly slip into them. I feel so weird. Being here has just been so different from anything else I've ever experienced. I've been through a lot in my life, but this is upsetting.

"Do you want to shower again?" Marcus asks me as we head toward the door.

I let out a chuckle. He must know I feel miserable if he asked me that. Or maybe I'm not the only one who feels disgusting after a physical. "No, but thanks," I say kindly.

"Lunch is going to be served in a little over an hour. Do you want to read in your room until then?" he asks me as we walk down the large hallway.

"Yeah, that sounds nice, actually," I say with a small smile.

We get to my room, and Marcus makes sure I make it to the bed okay. "If you need anything, just come to the nurse's station," he tells me, then leaves me alone.

I flop back onto the bed and cover my face with my hands. I feel like shit. This has to be the medications kicking in, because I just feel awful. I'm really sick to my stomach, there's a buzzing feeling deep inside me, and I feel a little cold. Of course this whole place feels cold to me. They're trying to freeze us out.

I want out. That's all I can think about. I want out of this place, and I want to see my brother again. I want to drive my car. I want to listen to music. I want these drugs out of my system. I wish my dad was here. He'd have me out by now.

"Dean," Robert's voice calls to me from what seems like far away. "You fell asleep, Dean. It's time for lunch."

I crack my eyes open a bit and look up at Robert standing over my bed. I let out a low groan. My stomach hurts even worse now.

"You okay?" he asks, concerned.

"My stomach," I mumble as I turn on my right side and curl in on myself.

"Do you need to throw up?" he asks.

"Almost, but I don't think I will," I tell him honestly. "I don't feel good," I practically whine at the man. All those symptoms I was complaining about before I fell asleep seem to have intensified.

"Do you think you're sick, or is it the pills?" he asks me as he sits on the edge of the bed and feels my forehead with the back of his right hand.

"The pills," I practically spit at him.

"Okay, you're probably not going to feel good for at least a few days. You body is going to get used to them, though, so don't worry about it," Robert tells me as he runs his hand up and down my left upper arm. "You need to get some food into you. It's lunch time. Come with me to the cafeteria," Robert says as he stands up.

I curl in tighter on myself. "I can't eat," I say as I squeeze my eyes shut. Everything looks a little funny. It's not as bad as when I had the shots in me, but things just don't look right. I can't explain it.

"Your stomach would feel better if you ate a little something," Robert prods.

I shake my head. "No, I don't want to eat. I don't feel good," I tell him again like he doesn't know.

"You already missed breakfast. You need to eat, Dean," Robert says.

I look up at him. "Are you going to make me?" I ask.

"No, but we will if you keep refusing," he tells me.

Great. That'll be fun. If the pills keep making me feel like this, I'm never going to want to eat. "Leave me alone, please," I mumble as I cover my face with my hands. I'm being as polite as I possibly can in this situation. I hope Robert appreciates it.

I hear him let out a sigh. "Okay, but let me know if you need anything, okay?"

"Okay," I moan.

They can't do this to me, can they? I feel fucking horrible! I can't believe this is supposed to make me better. I wish they would turn the lights off in the room during the day. They're hurting my eyes. I fall asleep complaining to myself.

"Dean, you need to get up this time," I hear Robert again.

Why won't he leave me alone? This time my mouth feels dry. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth until I swallow a couple of times to get the saliva moving again. "I don't feel good," I tell him again.

"You have group in five minutes. You need to get up for that," Robert says.

"Don't want to," I say from underneath my hands.

"This one isn't optional. I've got to get you up," Robert insists. He then reaches down and sits me up. Robert is even stronger than he looks.

"But I don't feel good! I'm dizzy, my stomach hurts, and I think I might throw up this time," I tell him. I think I'm whining, but I couldn't care less at the moment.

Robert doesn't let go of me. "I know you don't feel good, but you have to get up," he says as he swings me into a sitting position with my feet on the floor.

As Robert puts my slippers on my feet, I let my upper body flop back onto the bed. "I feel like shit!" I practically wail at him. If I didn't feel like shit, I would be laughing at the drama.

Robert doesn't miss a beat. He just grabs me by the arm and hauls me back up to a sitting position again. He then puts his arm around my midsection. "Stand up for me," Robert says as he pulls me up.

He's not going to let me get out of this. Is group therapy really that important? I whimper as I stand up. "I don't want to go," I tell him as I give him my most pathetic, puppy look. I'm sure it's not nearly as cute and irresistible as Sam's, but I haven't got much to work with here. I'm not used to begging.

"Can you stand on your own?" he asks me once we're fully up.

"Yeah," I grudgingly admit even though I would rather tell him that I'm too sick to do anything right now.

He slowly lets go of me, then takes a hold of my left upper arm. "Come with me, Dean," Robert says patiently. He gently pulls me out into the hallway. "Let me know if you think you're going to throw up or if you get too dizzy to walk," he tells me.

"Okay," I say. Actually I don't feel bad enough to warrant not walking. I just don't want to walk. I wrap my arms around my stomach as we go.

Robert walks me into a room off the main hallway that has metal folding chairs set up in a circle in the middle of the room. There are already other patients filling most of the chairs. There is a man in casual dress clothes sitting in one of the seats. I'm assuming he's the doctor. The room is actually quite large and there are big windows on the back wall. I want to go outside.

The doctor stands up when he sees me. "Hello, Dean," he says with a smile.

"Hi, Dr. Morgan," I say, again with the shyness.

"You can call me Jim," he says kindly.

Robert helps me to a chair and makes sure I'm sitting down before he leaves me with one last squeeze to my shoulder. "The meds are hitting him hard, so keep an eye on him for me," I hear Robert say to Jim before he leaves me alone with these strange people.

I look around the circle of people. There are only eleven including me and the doctor. I didn't realize it would be such a small group. They're all dressed like me, of course. Every one of them looks confident and like they know what's going to happen here. I guess that should make me feel better, but it doesn't.

"Everyone, this is Dean. He's the newest member of our group. Say hi to him," Jim says with a kind smile.

Is everyone here looking out for my best interest? This is getting annoying. They're all too nice and helpful. I hear a rousing chorus of "Hi, Dean" before everyone turns to look at Jim again.

"Dean, since you're the new guy here, would you like to start us off by saying something that's on your mind?" Jim asks, seeming interested. He's got a calming voice.

I look around the room again. My stomach clenches even harder than before. I don't want to have to deal with this. I feel awful. "Dr. Richards said I didn't have to participate," I say, hoping that'll go over well with Jim. I think I'm squinting. Why does it have to be so bright in here?

"That's true, you don't have to. I just thought you might want to," he offers again.

I shake my head. "Nope," I say.

"What, no claims of how you were wrongly put in here against your will?" a young guy to my left pipes up. The kid reminds me of Sam when he hit his growth spurt at fourteen. He's thin, gangly, uncomfortable in his pale skin.

"Joey," Jim says warningly.

"Well nobody wants to be here. I just wondered what his reasoning was," Joey says in defense.

I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees, my face in my hands. I don't want to be here. This is not going to end well, I can just tell.

"Why don't you brag to us again about how many times you stabbed your mother, Joey?" a man to my right says, sounding totally bored and like he'd rather be anyplace but here right now. I don't blame him.

"Okay, guys, let's change the subject," Jim says with that warning tone to his voice still there. "Angel, did you get to meet with your family yesterday?" Jim asks.

"Yup," a guy to my left says. I look over to see a guy that can't be more than twenty with shaggy, dark hair.

"How did that go?" Jim prompts.

"They were supportive and shit, but they still don't think I should be let out," he tells us with a sour face.

"How is your little brother dealing with not being able to visit you because of the under-fourteen restriction?" Jim asks him.

"My mom said he's really upset about it, but he's writing me letters, and we talk on the phone once a week," Angel says.

"What kind of things do you talk about?" Jim asks.

I start to zone out a little. I still hear them, but I feel like shit, and what they're saying isn't interesting enough to listen to. I put my face in my hands again and just start thinking about hunts that I've been on with Sammy. Then I start to wonder if Sam would visit me if we were a normal family. Then I realize that I wouldn't be in here if we were a normal family, which just upsets me, so I need to stop thinking about that. But when I stop thinking about that and try to think of hunts again, I start thinking of hunting with Dad and Sammy, which upsets me. I must be sick. I'm just sitting here upsetting myself. I'm so tired.

I feel a hand on my left shoulder. "You almost fell off the chair, dude," I hear the guy that has his hand on my shoulder tell me.

I lift my head from my hands and squint around the room at everyone. Everybody's looking at me.

I wince. "Sorry," I mumble.

"All right, I think that's enough for today," Jim says as he stands up. "I'll go ahead and get Dean back to his room, and I'll see everybody tomorrow at three o'clock sharp," he says as he heads for me.

Jim grabs my left upper arm in a strong grip and hauls me out of the chair. "Sorry," I say again.

"No problem," he says with a smile. "It's hard to get used to these new meds," he tells me like I don't know.

"I don't feel good," I tell him as if he couldn't tell from my body language.

He starts us walking out the door. "I'll take you back to your room, and then I'll tell Robert to leave you alone until it's time for supper. That's a little over an hour away," he tells me as we walk down the hallway toward my room.

We walk silently to my room, and he guides me over to the bed. "Thanks," I say as he helps me sit down.

"Get some rest," he says as he gives my arm a squeeze. He then leaves me alone.

I flop into the bed, barely getting my slippers off and my feet up onto the bed. I can't believe how tired I am. I hate this. I fall asleep complaining to myself again.

"Okay, Dean, it's time for supper," Robert says in a cheerful voice.

"No," I groan into my pillow, of which there is much drool upon. I don't normally drool this much, do I?

"Yeah, come on," he says as he walks up to the edge of my bed. "You need to get up now," he says as he briskly rubs my back.

"I can't," I whine, face still smashed into the pillow.

"Yes, you can. Come on. Sit up for me, Dean," Robert says, still not losing his patience for me. He wraps his hand around my left upper arm and pulls me to the edge of the bed.

"No, I really can't. I don't feel good," I tell him.

"I know you don't feel good, but you can't stay in bed all day," Robert insists.

"I haven't stayed in bed all day. Just let me stay tonight. I'll get up tomorrow," I say, hoping he'll go for it.

"You need to eat," Robert says.

"I can't. My stomach still hurts, and I still feel like shit. Please don't make me get up," I ask of him again as I curl onto my right side facing him.

Robert lets out a big sigh. "I want to see you at the nurse's station by nine a.m. tomorrow morning, no later," he tells me.

"Okay," I agree.

"I mean it, Dean. I can't let you sleep all day like this," he says, sounding worried.

"Nine o'clock," I say with a bit of a grin. I got my way. For the first time since I got here, I got my way.

"Goodnight, Dean," Robert says as he leaves.

I fall asleep hard enough that I miss lights off and the orderly shutting the door again. I wake in the middle of the night from a wicked nightmare. I instantly forget what it's about, but now my heart is pounding, I'm sweating, and I feel like I'm going to throw up.

I bound out of bed and start pacing the room. I can't remember anything about the dream. I'm not one for nightmares. I wonder why I had one. It's got to be because I'm in this horrible place. Maybe it's the medication. I've heard that antipsychotics can give you weird side effects. And there's no doubt in my mind that they have put me on at least one antipsychotic.

My door's keycard beeps and the door swings open. "I need you to get in bed, Dean," an orderly tells me as he comes into the room.

I haven't seen this guy before. "I just woke up. I needed to move around," I tell him.

"Well, I need you to get back in bed now," the orderly says as he crosses his arms over his chest.

I shake my head. "I can't. I kind of had a nightmare, and I need to stay up. I'm all shaky and my heart's pounding," I tell him, feeling stupid for telling this guy I had a nightmare.

"If I have to put in a call to the head nurse, they will sedate you to get you into bed," the orderly warns me.

"Robert?" I ask.

"Robert is daytime. We're on the graveyard shift now. The head nurse's name for the graveyard shift is Greg," he informs me.

"Oh, well I don't need to be sedated, but I really would rather not get back in bed. It's too dark to even read in here," I complain.

He really doesn't seem to care. "Are you refusing to get back into bed?" he asks, sounding like this will be my last chance.

I let out a huff. "No," I growl.

Then the man just stands there with his eyebrow raised like he's waiting to see if I'll get in or not, which he is, but it still annoys me.

I don't want to be sedated. I already feel funny enough from those fucking pills. I don't need something on top of that. I look up at the clock on the wall. It's half past one in the morning.

"I'll go get Greg," the orderly says as he turns and leaves before I have the chance to say anything.

I rush to the door to stop him, but only get there in time to have it close in my face. I try the handle only to find it locked. "Fuck!" I yell as I hit the door with the palm of my right hand.

They're going to give me another shot. I hate shots. I don't want to do this. Why didn't I just get back into bed? Maybe I do deserve to be in here if I'm going to be this stupid.

I hear the door beep again, and the orderly comes back in followed by, I assume, Greg. "I'll get into bed," I say as I put my hands out in front of me and start to back up. The orderly just keeps coming for me until my back hits the far wall of the room. "I'll get into bed! I'm sorry I was up! I won't do it again!" I assure the man rather loudly.

I look over the orderly's shoulder to see Greg uncapping the syringe. Just as the orderly reaches out for me, I squat down to the floor. The orderly follows me easily as if expecting it, then gets me sprawled out on the floor on my stomach so fast I don't even know how he does it.

"No! Don't! I don't need the shot! I'll get into bed now!" I tell the men.

The orderly wrenches my arms up behind me tightly enough and roughly enough that it hurts and I let out a yelp.

"Ouch! Stop! That fucking hurts! Stop! I'll get in bed! Just let me up! I'll get in bed!" I keep yelling at them. I feel my pants being yanked down, then the sting of that fucking needle. "No! Stop! You don't need to do this! I'm sorry!" I yell as I worry they have something else in mind for me now.

Greg tugs my pants back into place. Then the two of them are lifting me up onto the bed. I already feel funny. That loud buzzing is back, and I feel really tired. I don't feel like this is going to knock me out completely, but I sure want to go to sleep now.

I see Greg raise the bars on my bed on the side facing the far wall. I would guess that's so I don't fall out of bed tonight. Then the men leave me. Why do I have to do everything the hard way? I berate myself for maybe ten seconds before I drift off into a dreamless sleep.

MONDAY – WEEK 1

I wake to the sound of the bars on my bed being lowered. "Hey, Dean," Robert says, sounding sad.

I squint up at him. I turn over onto my right side so I can see him better. "They sedated me," I grumble.

"You've got to follow orders around here, Dean," he says as he rubs my left arm. "The graveyard shift isn't nearly as patient as I am," he explains.

"I gathered that," I say as I rub my eyes.

"Okay, it's nine o'clock now. I need you up and out to the nurse's station so you can take your meds," he tells me as he grabs my slippers and puts them on the floor in front of the bed for me.

"You're still going to make me take those pills even after they sedated me?" I ask with a frown.

"Come on, Dean. Up. Out of bed," he orders as he grabs my upper left arm, and pulls me into a seated position.

"But the pills make me feel horrible! I thought they were supposed to make me better, not worse," I complain as I step into the slippers.

"The pills take at least a couple of weeks to kick in," Robert says as he pulls me out the door. "There are no quick fixes in psychiatry."

"So I have to feel like shit for at least another couple of weeks?" I ask him as he nearly drags me along.

"Your body will get used to the side effects sooner than that," he informs me. "Stay here," he says as he leaves me in front of the nurse's station. Robert uses his keycard to get into the station, goes to the med cart, and pulls a cup out, puts it up on the counter.

"I don't want to feel sick again," I mumble as I look at the cup.

"Come on, Dean. Don't fight me every day on this, man," Robert pleads with me. "I know you don't like them, I know they make you sick, but your only other choice is the IV room, and I don't think you want that," he tells me.

No, I certainly don't want to go to the Pit. I guess I'm just going to have to walk around feeling tired, buzzed, sick to my stomach, and dizzy. Where are you, Sammy?

"Take the pills, Dean," Robert says as he pushes the cup to the edge of the counter. I grab the cup and down the pills. "Let me see inside your mouth," he says, so I open my mouth, lift my tongue. "Thank you. Now you've got free time until lunch at noon. Almost everybody's watching a movie right now, but there are cards you can play with if you want to," he offers.

"Can I go back to my room and read?" I ask him.

Robert shakes his head. "No, I don't trust you not to go back to sleep. You can get your book and bring it out here to read it, but no reading in your room," he says.

I grimace. "Okay," I say, disappointed. Can he read my mind?

I slowly make my way back to my room, grab my book, and saunter out to one of the couches. The couch is actually really comfortable, and the TV isn't on that loudly. It isn't long before I nod off.

"Dean," I hear Robert say, and I jerk awake.

"Sorry," I mumble as I rub my eyes.

"It's time for lunch," he informs me with a smile.

"I'm not hungry," I tell him, which is a lie, because I'm actually starving, but my stomach hurts like Hell, and the thought of food is nauseating.

"I know you're lying, Dean. You haven't eaten a meal since you got here. Come have lunch," Robert insists.

"Okay. I lied. I am hungry, but my stomach hurts, and even the thought of food is making it hurt worse," I tell Robert.

"You need to get something in there. I shouldn't have let you go this long without eating," he says.

"Don't make me eat. I know I'll just throw it up," I whine up at him. Is it just me, or am I whining quite a lot these days?

"Try for me," Robert says, then grabs my arm and pulls me to the edge of the couch cushion.

"No! I really don't want to eat," I tell him again. "I'll eat when it's supper time," I tell him knowing that I probably won't want to eat then, either.

He crouches down in front of me. "I want to give you a chance, here. I know you're fighting everything, and I think I probably would, too, but you need to eat. There will be consequences if you don't," he tells me, concern in his tone of voice.

"Don't make me," I plead with him.

Robert lets out a sigh. He stands up and heads toward the nurse's station. "Mike, grab Marcus and come out here, please," Robert says over the counter.

I feel a fucking big shock of panic go through my system. Are they going to take me to the Pit again? I push myself off the couch and start to sneak behind Robert to go to my room. I don't know what I think I'm going to do once I get there, though. They do have keycards.

I see Robert turn out of the corner of my eye, and I take off down the hall, Robert coming after me. I make it to the doorway of my room, but that's as far as I make it. Robert's big hand wraps around my right arm and pulls me back into the hallway.

"No! Don't take me back to the Pit!" I scream, not caring that other patients are turning to look at what's causing the commotion.

I pull hard enough on Robert that the two of us go down to our knees on the tiled floor. "You're not going to the Pit," Robert says.

"What?" I ask stupidly, still trying to get away from him.

"We're taking you to the infirmary, not the Pit," Robert reassures me as the two orderlies come up behind us.

Each orderly takes one of my arms, and they haul me up off the floor. "Why did you ask for these guys if you're not taking me to the Pit?" I ask, confused.

Robert heads toward the infirmary. "Because you're going to fight what the doctor's going to do to you," he informs me.

"What's he going to do to me?" I ask as I try to stand still. The two orderlies end up dragging me.

Robert continues on down the hallway, pulls out his keycard, and lets himself and us into the infirmary. The doctor is hunched over one of the tables at the end of a bed to my right. He's flipping through a file, but he looks up when we come in.

"Robert, what's he going to do to me?" I nearly scream.

Robert walks up to the doctor. "We need an NG tube for Dean," he tells him quietly enough that I almost miss what he says.

"What's an NG tube?" I ask, but everyone ignores me.

The doctor walks over to a countertop with drawers underneath on the right side of the room. He gestures to a bed just to the left of himself. "Go ahead and get him strapped in on that bed," Dr. Blackstone tells Robert.

"No! No! Don't strap me down! What's an NG tube?" I yell, trying to get Robert's attention. "Please don't strap me down!"

The orderlies get me up onto the bed despite my flailing attempts to get them to let me go and hold me down while Robert secures all the restraints.

"What's an NG tube? Robert! Robert, what's an NG tube?" I keep asking him, beginning to pant. Once I'm all strapped down, the orderlies back off and stand at the end of the bed. Robert is on my right, and Dan is on my left side.

Robert puts his hand on my right shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. "It's a nasogastric tube, Dean. It's a small tube that goes in your nose and down into your stomach so that we can feed you by a direct line," he explains to me.

"No! Don't do that! I'll eat! I just don't feel good! I'll eat!" I yell at Robert as I fight the restraints.

"You had the chance to eat, Dean," Robert reminds me.

Dan turns to me with a little tube in his hands. "When I start to put this up your nose, I want you to start swallowing. Keep swallowing until it's all the way in, and try not to cough or choke," the doctor tells me.

"Try to calm down," Robert says as he runs the fingers of his left hand through my hair.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I'll eat, Robert! Please don't do this! I swear I'll eat!" I promise him.

Then Robert's big hands wrap around my chin and the top of my head. Dan brings the tube up to my nose.

"No!" I yell as loud as I can, fight as hard as I can to turn my head away from the tube.

Then it's going up my nose. It instantly makes me want to cough and choke and gives me a painful burning sensation in my left nostril.

"No!" I say, then start to gag as I feel it go down my throat.

"Swallow," Dan reminds me.

I do as he says, hoping to just get it down and over with, but I end up choking on it anyway. I let out a moan that quickly turns into more choking. This feels so horrible I can't even describe it.

"Calm down, Dean," Dan says as he tapes the tube down to my cheek.

Robert wipes tears from my cheeks from the choking. "Concentrate on your breathing," he tells me.

I can't help but keep gagging. This doesn't feel right. I squeeze my eyes shut and just try to breathe without choking. I can actually feel it. It's there in my throat. I want it out.

When I open my eyes, I see Dan hooking a large syringe to the end of my NG tube. It's filled with something sort of light pink. I'm guessing that's my lunch for today. He slowly depresses the plunger, and I watch as the pink stuff goes through the tube to my nose.

Robert's fingers are back in my hair. It's comforting. I gag a couple more times, but he just continues running his fingers through my hair. It doesn't take long for the doctor to get all the stuff through the tube.

"I'm going to take the tube out now," Dan warns me. "It's going to go real quick."

He then pulls the tube out so fast it tickles my throat, burns my nose, starts me coughing again. When I finally get the coughing under control, I just lie there panting. If I thought I was worn out before, that was nothing compared to how tired I feel now.

"Just relax here for a minute," Robert says softly as he wipes a few more tears from my face.

I'm so exhausted. I just want to be left alone. I feel my bottom lip tremble a little as Dad's face flashes into my mind. Fuck, but I wish he was here. He would've taken care of me. This would have never happened if he was still around. I bite my lip and try to keep from letting any more tears fall that can't be blamed on the choking.

I don't know if Robert caught the lip trembling, but he sure looks sad. "It's all over, Dean," he reassures me.

"Okay, kiddo, we're going to take off the restraints now. I want you to stay down and relax. Don't try to get up right away," Dr. Blackstone instructs me.

"Okay," I whisper, and even that makes me cough once. My throat feels raw now.

I feel the two men take the restraints off me. I feel like scrambling off the table, but I figure that wouldn't go over too well with the other four men in the room.

"Sit up slowly for me," Robert says as Dan starts throwing the NG tube away and cleaning up the countertop. I do as I'm told, amazed when I only feel a little dizzy. "Swing your feet off the bed, and then just sit there for a second before you go any further," Robert tells me.

I actually don't feel as bad as I thought I would when I look down at the floor. I wiggle my toes as I wonder where my slippers went this time. Just then Marcus comes over and puts my slippers on my feet for me.

"Thanks," I croak at him.

"No problem," he says with a kind smile.

"Can you stand for me?" Robert asks with a small smile.

"Yeah," I say, voice hoarse. I slowly slide off the bed and onto the floor.

"How does your stomach feel?" Robert asks me.

"Better," I admit with a wince.

"Good," Robert says with a smile. "Can you walk with me?"

I nod. "Yeah, I feel okay to walk," I tell him. I feel awful, and I feel stupid, and I feel tired. Robert lightly grips my right elbow, and together we leave the infirmary. "I don't suppose you'd let me go back to my room, would you?" I ask him as we get out into the hallway.

"Sorry, but no," Robert says. "I can't have you sleeping all day."

I hear the two orderlies walking behind us. The common room is empty when we get there. The TV is still on. Everybody must be eating lunch in the cafeteria. My book is still on the table next to the couch when we get there.

"Try to stay awake, okay?" Robert asks of me as I sit down on the couch.

"Okay," I agree, although I really feel out of it.

"Let me know if you need anything. I'll be in the nurse's station," he reminds me, then walks away. The two orderlies follow him through the door to the station.

I grab my book again. I had only gotten about fifteen pages into it before I fell asleep last time. This time I make it to forty-five minutes of casual reading before I fall asleep.

"It's time for your group therapy, Dean. Let's go," Robert says.

I groggily squint up at him. It's too fucking bright in this place. "Isn't it a bit ridiculous to go every day?" I ask grumpily as I pick my book up off the floor.

Robert chuckles. "It's part of the psychiatric process. It's good for you not only to interact with other people, but to talk about your own problems," he tells me.

"What are you going to do to me if I refuse to go?" I ask, eyebrow raised.

"Dr. Richards will up the dosage on your meds until you're more compliant," he says.

Fuck," I grumble. There's no way in Hell I want that to happen.

"Come on. I'll walk with you," he offers.

I slowly get up and we start to head toward the meeting room. "Don't you have anything better to do than deal with a shithead like me?" I ask with a chuckle.

Robert laughs. "You're not half as bad as a few of the patients I've in my time here," he tells me.

"Really? I'll have to work harder, then," I say with a grin.

Robert laughs again. "You're doing just fine, Dean. It's hard to transition to life here," he tells me.

I let out a huff. "That's an understatement," I mumble.

We get to the door and Robert turns to face me, back to the doorway. "Do me a favor, and at least try to participate," he says with a wince.

I let out a moan. "It's so fucking stupid," I complain.

"I know it feels that way, but the more you actively participate in your well being, the faster you get better," he informs me.

"I don't like talking about my life," I tell Robert.

"Just try it. Pick something small that doesn't feel like a very big deal to you, and just tell them. You can stop any time you want. Jim's not going to push anything. He might try to draw you out, ask questions, but try to stay calm, and just tell them how you're feeling," Robert says.

"Okay," I say, even though I really don't feel like it.

"See you later," Robert says with a smile as he leaves me standing in front of the doorway.

I don't want to talk about anything. In fact, I don't want to listen to the shit these people talk about, either. I want to go to bed. I want out. I want to see Sam. I want to hunt something, feel useful.

I walk into the room feeling really nervous. I choose a seat facing the doorway, watch as two more patients file in and sit down.

Jim is standing to the right of me, shuffling through some files on a countertop against the wall. He looks at his watch, sets the folders down, and turns to the group. He looks at me, smiles, then goes and sits in the empty chair two chairs to my right.

"Good afternoon everybody," Jim says with a smile. "Today I thought we would start off with a little bit about our families. I know we've talked about this before," he says when a few of the patients grumble, "but I thought we'd get a little specific. Sonny, can you tell me a little bit about your dad?" Jim asks as he turns to the guy directly to my right.

"My dad's an asshole," Sonny says. A few of the patients chuckle. "I mean it. He drinks every day, yelled at us kids whenever he had the chance, and is, in general, an asshole," he tells everyone with a shrug of his shoulders.

"So I'm guessing you don't have a good relationship with him, do you," Jim says rather than asks.

"You bet I don't," Sonny says.

Jim looks at me and my stomach clenches. "Dean, would you like to tell us a little bit about your dad?" he asks me.

I start to shake my head, but then I remember that I told Robert I would try and talk to the group. "My dad's dead," I say, the words making my chest tighten in a way I thought I was done and over with.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Jim says, looking genuinely upset for me. "When did he die?"

"This past year," I say. Okay, this really shouldn't be hurting as much as it is.

"How did he die?" Jim asks.

"A semi ran into us on the freeway," I say, trying to control my breathing. I don't want to talk about this. I wish he would shut the fuck up.

"You were in the car, too?"

I nod. "My brother and I were in the car," I tell him.

Jim shifts in his chair, puts his right leg over his left. "Is your brother okay?"

"Yeah, he actually wasn't hurt too badly. My dad and I got the worst of it. I had to be resuscitated at the hospital, and I lost a lot of blood," I say, conveniently leaving out how I lost so much blood in the first place. I'll just let him think it was all from the accident.

"How are you dealing with the fact that you lived and your father died?" Jim asks softly.

Ouch. "I'm okay," I insist flatly. I don't want to be here anymore. This hurts too much. Why can't they just shut the fuck up and leave me alone?

Jim nods, and for a moment I wonder if he's going to call me on it. "How was your relationship with your father?" he asks instead.

"Good," I say as I focus on one of the buttons on Jim's shirt. It's one of those pearly buttons that reflects the light and looks kind of cool.

"What kind of person was your father?" Jim asks me, still using soft tones.

I look down at the floor in front of Jim. "He was a good guy," I finally say.

"How did your brother handle it?"

I smile a bit, but it quickly leaves my face. "My brother handled it about as well as anyone can. He was mostly worried about me, though," I admit.

"Why was he worried about you?"

"I don't know. I guess he thought I should have cried, gotten all emotional over the whole thing," I tell him.

"Do you talk to your brother about your dad?" Jim asks.

"Sam will jump on me about him every once in a while, but no, we don't usually sit around and talk about him," I say, eyes still on the floor.

"When Sam jumps on you, how do you react?"

I wince at that. "I usually yell at him. I hit him once," I say, feeling like a jerk.

"Do you tend to hit him when you're angry?"

I look up at Jim and shake my head. "I only hit him once," I say again, as if that makes it okay.

"What was his reaction? Did he hit you back?" Jim asks me, eyebrow raised.

"No, he just took it," I say, looking back down to the floor.

"Do you and your brother fight often?"

"We're actually really close, but we do get into fights every once in a while," I admit.

"Have you always been close?"

I nod. "My mom died when I was four and Sammy was a baby. The three of us guys were on our own after that, and we got pretty close," I explain to him.

"So what was home life like for the Winchesters?"

Isn't he going to ask anyone else questions? Why is he picking on me? "It was okay. We moved around a lot. I never got through a school year in one place," I tell him with a bit of a smile.

"I bet it was hard to have friends with all the moving around you did," Jim observes.

I nod. "We had each other," I say confidently.

"So what did the three of you do for fun when you were younger? Did any of you have hobbies or anything that you did together?" Jim asks me.

I look down at my hands again. I don't feel like making up stuff, but I don't want to get my meds upped, either, for telling them what we really did. I'm so tired. My stomach is hurting again. I just want to go to bed. I hate feeling like this. I hate being questioned and worrying that my answers could possibly be used against me in the future. I run a hand over my face.

Jim looks at his watch. "Well, I think that's enough for today," he says much to my relief. Was he able to tell I was done?

All of the patients get up and start leaving the room. I slowly get up, stretching and feeling dizzy as I do so.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning at ten, Dean," Jim says with a pleasant smile.

"You will?" I ask, eyebrow raised.

"Yup, you've got an appointment with me. It should be on your schedule just outside your door," Jim says.

"Oh, I haven't looked at that yet," I say with a wince.

"Keep an eye on it," Jim tells me with a smile. "See you tomorrow," he says as he walks back over to the countertop.

"Bye," I say as I head out the door. Now what do I do? I can't go back to my room because Robert doesn't want me sleeping the day away even though that's all I want to do right about now.

I walk back to the common area and see my book still sitting on the table next to the couch. I shrug and walk over, flop down on the couch, start to read. It's five o'clock quicker than I think it should be, and all the patients start to migrate toward the cafeteria.

I look back down at the book so I can read up to the end of a chapter. Suddenly Robert is looming over me. I give him a sheepish grin.

"It's time for supper. You need some help up?" he asks as he holds out a hand.

I chuckle at him. "I'll eat. You don't need to drag me there," I say with a smile as I put the book down on the couch to my left.

"Come on. I'll walk you there," Robert says as he reaches down and takes my right hand, helps me up.

"I'm not anorexic," I tell him. "Really," I try to convince him as we walk down the hallway.

"I believe you," Robert tells me.

"Yeah, I can really feel the trust when you're practically dragging me to the cafeteria," I say sarcastically, and Robert chuckles.

The cafeteria is smaller than I had thought it would be. It's just one room with a bunch of tables and chairs like any other cafeteria, just smaller than expected. There are orderlies handing out trays from a wheeled cart. There aren't that many people in here.

"See you," Robert says as I sit down at a table.

I smile at him. An orderly sets a tray in front of me, and my stomach instantly clenches. It's not the food. I'm sure the food is good. But the thought of putting something in my stomach right now just makes it hurt worse.

"You don't have to eat the whole tray," Marcus says.

I hadn't even noticed he was the one that gave me the tray. "Thanks, Marcus," I say with a grimace.

The tray is filled with meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans, and a little cup of mixed fruit. I pick up the fork, then glare at the food. They're just going to take me to the infirmary again if I don't eat. I have to eat.

I try the mashed potatoes, figuring they'll be the easiest on my stomach. They actually go down okay, so I eat a little more. It seems as I eat, my stomach begins to feel a little bit better. I eat half the tray, then decide to stop. I don't want to overdo it.

I watch another patient take his tray back over to the cart and slide it on one of the shelves, so I do the same with mine. By the time I get back out to the common area, there are a few guys watching TV. I take my regular seat on the couch and pick up my book again.

It only takes about fifteen minutes for my stomach to slowly hurt to the point where I feel like I'm going to throw up. I put the book down on the table and start to walk toward the shower room.

I make it just in time to lose my supper in the first toilet on the right. When I'm done heaving, I rest my head on my arms which are draped over the toilet seat and just breathe.

I feel someone rubbing my back. "Did you get it all out?" Robert asks.

I instantly panic. "I didn't mean to! I'm sorry!" I say as I start to turn around, but then fall flat on my ass against the left wall of the stall, bump my head on the way. "Don't give me the NG tube!"

"Hey, calm down," Robert says, then crouches down in front of me, starts wiping my face down with a wet washcloth.

"I didn't mean to throw up!" I tell him again, desperate tone to my voice. I'm shaking really badly.

"Dean, calm down. I believe you," Robert assures me. "Did you get it all out? Can you get up yet?" he asks me.

I try to calm myself down. "I think so," I tell him.

Robert helps me stand up. "Let's go back to your room," he says as he gets a good hold on my arm and guides me out of the shower room.

I'm so shaky I can barely walk a straight line, but Robert's holding me up. We get to my room and he helps me up onto the bed, takes my slippers off, puts them at the end of the bed on the floor.

"Do you feel like you might throw up again?" he asks me.

"I don't think I have anything left to throw up," I say with a nervous chuckle.

"I'll be right back," he says, then leaves me alone.

I curl up on my right side, wrap my arms around my stomach. I feel horrible. When Robert comes back in, he's got gloves on and he's holding a vomit basin in one hand, a bottle of water in the other.

"Hold this," he says, handing me the basin. "I want you to drink a couple of sips of this water, then stop," he tells me as he hands me the bottle.

My stomach hurts so badly that I don't think it can even handle the water. Of course my being upset doesn't help matters any. I take two small sips of the water, hand the bottle back to Robert. "I can't keep taking these pills," I moan.

"I already talked to Dr. Richards. He's changing your medications. He's adding a pill that'll help your stomach," Robert informs me.

"That's all he's doing is adding a pill? I still have to take all the others?" I whine.

"Yeah, you still do," Robert says, sounding disappointed for me.

I feel it coming up again. I sit up, hold the basin by my face, and start to dry heave. It hurts so much that my eyes start to water.

When the dry heaving subsides, Robert takes the basin from me and sets it on the bedside table. He then pulls a little package out of his pocket and starts to break it open.

"What's that?" I ask, wary of anything they try to do to me these days.

"It's a suppository," he tells me as he pulls it out of the package.

I instantly straighten out and roll onto my back. "I don't need that!" I tell him quite emphatically.

"Roll over for me, Dean," Robert says as he gestures with his hand.

I shake my head. "No, I don't need it! I'm fine now!"

Robert chuckles. "You're not fine. You need the suppository so you'll stop throwing up," he tells me.

"But I stopped!" I insist.

Then Robert grabs my left leg behind my knee and gets me onto my right side again. He kneels on the bed with his left knee, wraps his left arm around my back, and leans his entire upper body against mine.

"No! Stop! Robert, stop!" I plead with him as I try to squirm out of his grip. Then I feel him lower my pants with his right hand. "No!" I yell as I feel Robert push the suppository between my cheeks. I yelp as he finally pushes it past my sphincter.

"Do not push this out, Dean," Robert says in an authoritative voice, finger still inside of me. "If you push this out, I'll just put another one in. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," I mumble into my pillow.

He pulls his finger out, pulls my pants back up, and gets off of me. He takes the gloves off and holds them in his left hand. "This is going to help your stomach," Robert says as he rubs my left upper arm.

"Okay," I whisper, face still in the pillow. I'm so sick of all this. I have no choices left for myself on anything. And now my bottom lip is trembling again. I'm so fucking tired.

Robert crouches down, cups the back of my head in his hand, rubs his thumb gently through my hair. "Everything's going to be okay, Dean," Robert says softly.

Suddenly my pillow is wet with warm tears. "I want out," I say softly, then sniffle.

Robert just keeps rubbing my head. "Things are going to get better. Just hold on for me, okay?"

"'k," I say, sniffle again.

"I want you to rest here for about fifteen, twenty minutes, but then I want you to come out to the common area," Robert tells me.

"But I don't feel good," I moan.

"The suppository will kick in, and you'll start feeling better," he assures me. His hand travels down to my shoulder, rubs it a few times, squeezes. "I'm going to go back out to the nurse's station. You come and get me if you need anything, okay?"

"'k," I say even though I don't want to leave this room for any reason.

Robert gives my shoulder one last squeeze, then he's gone. I angrily wipe my eyes, berating myself for being such a big baby. Robert really shouldn't have left me alone because I fall asleep within minutes of him leaving.

I wake to the feel of someone shaking my leg. "Come out and watch a movie," Robert says as if I'll be excited to do so.

I moan and turn over, facing away from him. "I'm too tired," I mumble into my pillow.

"How's your stomach?" he asks me as he begins rubbing my right side.

Well, I hadn't thought of it until he said it, but it feels okay. "Better," I admit.

"Does it still feel a little funny?"

"Yeah, but I don't feel like I'm going to throw up anymore," I tell him.

"Good. Now come out here and watch the movie," he says as he shakes my side.

"Go bug one of your other patients," I grumble as I pull the pillow over my head.

"Come on. Up. Watch the movie, and then I'll let you go to bed," he says as he starts to pull me into a seated position.

"Don't you ever go home?" I ask grumpily as he pulls me out of bed.

Robert chuckles. "Nurses have long hours, not including the overtime. There are times I pull sixteen-hour shifts," he tells me.

"There's no way I could do that," I say with a sour face.

"I love my job, so it's not a problem for me," he says with a smile.

I get my slippers on, follow Robert out into the hallway. "I've got to take a leak," I say as I start to head to the shower room.

"Don't sneak back into your room when you're done. I'll come find you," Robert threatens, eyebrow raised.

I chuckle at him, turn around, roll my eyes. I use the shower room, go out to the common area, take my place on the couch, and watch the stupid movie. It's another old black and white. I guess newer flicks are too exciting for the mentally disturbed. I nod off a couple of times, but manage to see most of the movie. It's still two hours to lights off, but Robert promised I could go to bed.

"Goodnight, Dean," Robert says with a smile as I walk by the nurse's station.

I give him a smile. I never thought I would be excited to be allowed to go to bed. I wake up at one o'clock in the morning this time. I'm sweating, heart pounding, panting. I jump out of bed, go stand by my window. I can see the moon from here. It's a little cloudy, the moon peeking from behind them. We're in the city, so I can't see too many stars.

I walk over to the door, look through the glass window. I don't see the orderlies making their rounds yet, so I should be safe for a while. I try the door handle just in case maybe they forgot to lock me in. They didn't.

I walk around the perimeter of my room for a while, sit on the floor with my back to the wall a bit, do some pushups and stretching exercises, sit on the dresser and swing my feet.

I don't want to go back to sleep because of the nightmares. I've never really been the type to have nightmares, but I'm sure getting them now. I wish I could remember what they're about. I don't know what I would do if I remembered, but maybe it would make me feel better to know that they were about something really stupid. Maybe I'll start getting visions like Sam.

Now I've made myself upset because I thought of Sam again. I wonder what he's doing. I wonder if he's thinking about me. I actually hope he's staying with Bobby for the time being. I hope he's not alone. Sam can take care of himself. That's not a question in my mind, but he does better when he's around other people, even if it's just me. It's probably just because then he has somebody to talk to.

Just as I'm really starting to make my chest tighten up, my door beeps and the orderly that caught me last night comes in.

"I need you in bed, Dean," the orderly says, already looking pissed.

If I was in the mood to get a shot, I would have quite a comeback for what he just said, but I let it go. Instead I slink over to the bed and crawl in, sit width-wise and lean my back against the wall.

"If I catch you out of bed again, you'll get a shot. No questions asked," he warns me before closing the door.

I rest my head against the wall. I've been passively watching everyone for the last two days, seeing if there's something I can use to get out of here. I'm thinking my best bet would be to swipe a keycard, but I have no idea how far I'll get in these clothes. This place is run so tightly that I just don't know if I can get out without outside help.

It would be easy to get a keycard. The orderlies and nurses all keep them in their scrub pockets. They get close enough to touch me all the time, so I'm fairly confident I can get one. There are orderlies everywhere, though. It seems like there are more employees than there are patients here. If I could get a white coat from someone, I might have a chance.

I have no idea what they do to people who try to escape. I'm scared to find out. They'd probably put me in the Pit again. I think it might be safer to wait for help. Sam's going to come. I know he is. He's working on a plan. He has to be. He'll get me out.

I'm tired, but I don't want to sleep. I don't want to have another nightmare. I hate waking up to that. I hate feeling scared. Is this how Sammy feels when he has a vision?

I finally fall asleep sitting up.

TUESDAY – WEEK 1

When I wake up, my neck hurts. It's half past eight, and my door is open. I must be sleeping hard because of those fucking pills. I don't usually sleep this hard, especially sitting up.

I grab a new set of scrubs out of my dresser and head for the shower room. Everybody must shower as soon as the lockdown ends because there's nobody in here right now. I take my time under the spray of the shower, enjoying the feel of the water running down my body. I even take my time shaving and lathering up my body a bunch before letting the soap run down the drain.

After getting dressed, I make sure to throw the razor out. I don't want to be put on suicide watch. I don't know what it means, but I'm assuming it's not fun. Robert's not at the nurse's station when I get out to the common room.

"Hey, Dean," I hear Robert call from behind me.

I turn to see him coming down the hallway toward me. "Hey," I say cheerfully. I feel kind of good. I think the shower did me good.

"You look good this morning," he says with a smile, then turns and buzzes himself into the nurse's station.

"I actually feel pretty good," I admit. Robert goes to the medication cart, pulls out my cup, sets it up on the counter for me. "Well, I was feeling good," I grumble as I see the cup of pills.

Robert smiles at me. "It shouldn't be as bad today. The stomach pill is in there this time," he tells me.

I pick up the cup and down the pills with a grimace, put the cup back up on the counter. Robert takes it and throws it out.

"Don't forget your appointment with Jim at ten," he tells me.

"Do you memorize everyone's schedules?" I ask with a grin.

Robert chuckles. "No, I just thought that, with everything going on since you got here, you might forget," he tells me.

"I knew it! You do love me best!" I say with a big smile.

Robert laughs at that. "Go read your book, smartass," he says as he pulls some files from the countertop.

"Yes, sir," I say, then turn and head to the couch.

As time goes on, I can feel the pills hit. I start getting groggy, the buzzing comes back, and my stomach starts to hurt, although not as bad as it has been.

At five minutes to ten, I put the book down and walk up to the nurse's station. "Where's Jim's room?"

"It's the next door down from Dr. Richards' office," Robert tells me as he points toward said office. "Just knock on the door. He should be in there."

"Thanks," I say, then head off down the hallway. I feel like I'm not walking straight, and my legs feel shaky.

Jim opens the door for me after I knock, and I walk in. The office is set up almost the exact same way as Dr. Richard's except for personal touches. To my right is an archway into a second room. There are couches in there with a coffee table on a rug, more bookshelves with tons of books filling them.

"It's nice to see you here," Jim offers as I stand there feeling nervous and wondering where to go next. "Would you like to have a seat on one of the couches in here?" Jim asks as he points toward the second room.

"Okay," I say as I head in there, take a seat on the couch to my right.

I'm starting to feel pretty lousy. I am happy that my stomach seems to be tolerable. My hands are shaking. I don't think it's all from the medication, though.

Jim sits down on the couch facing the one I'm on. I didn't notice before, but he's got my file in his right hand, and he sets it down on the coffee table. I wish I could look through it, see what these guys are saying about me.

"I tend to keep these sessions pretty relaxed and informal," he tells me with a smile as he leans back, gets comfortable on the couch. "Do you have anything you'd like to talk about to start with?"

I shake my head no and look down at my hands. He's being really nice. Everybody here is being nice to me. I feel horrible being a jerk to them and not cooperating, but I don't want to be here or do what they tell me to do. "Am I required to participate here?" I ask him with a wince as I look up at him.

He shakes his head. "No, but you do have to stay here for the whole thirty minutes," he says kindly.

"Oh," I say, disappointed. What the fuck are we going to do for a half hour twice a week if I don't want to talk? Am I supposed to just stare at this guy?

"Do you feel like talking?" he asks me. I shake my head again. He leans forward and rummages under the coffee table. "How about a game of checkers?" he asks as he pulls out a box.

Even though I hate games, I relax a little when I find out that we'll have something to do besides stare at each other. "Okay," I say as I scoot forward on the couch.

We play for a few minutes before he says anything. "You know, nobody here is going to force you to talk," he says after a little while of silence.

"Okay," I say again, not taking my eyes off the board. I'm winning, but I think he may be letting me win.

"And if you do want to tell any of us anything, you can stop any time you want to, just like you did yesterday in group. You tell us only what you feel like telling us. It's all up to you," Jim reassures me.

I snort. "It's not all up to me," I say maybe a little bitingly.

"I'm afraid the same can't be said for your physical well being. The staff does have to take responsibility for that," he says, sounding sad.

"I think they enjoy torturing me," I mumble as Jim kings me.

"The staff has mentioned that you're having trouble with falling asleep during the day, and then staying asleep at night," Jim mentions.

"It's those fucking pills that make me fall asleep during the day, and at night the...," I stop myself. I didn't want to tell this guy I'm having nightmares.

"What's happening at night?" he asks softly as I king him.

I don't say anything. I don't want him to know about the nightmares. He's not only going to think I'm a big baby for having them, but he's going to want to know what they're about, how to help me.

"Are you having trouble sleeping through the night?" he asks gently.

I keep quiet while we finish the game. He definitely let me win. He sets up the board again, and we just begin another game.

"Did you have trouble sleeping before you came here?" he asks me, still trying to get me to talk.

I shake my head. "No," I say, wishing he's just give it up.

He's quiet for a few minutes while we play. "I'm not going to think any less of you if you tell me why you're having trouble sleeping," the doctor says as he makes a move on the board.

He's not going to give up. "I'm having nightmares," I mumble as I make a move.

"Do you remember what they're about?" he asks me.

"No. I just wake up sweating with my heart pounding and feeling like I need to get up and walk around," I finally admit.

"People on psychiatric drugs tend to complain of vivid dreams," Jim informs me.

"Oh," I groan, seething inside at this new revelation. Yet another side effect of these fucking pills. "I don't suppose I could talk you into taking me off any of the meds," I pretty much growl.

"Dr. Richards does consult with me, but it's up to him in the end," Jim says.

"He has me on five different medications not including a stomach pill he just added," I complain.

"Is the stomach pill working?" he asks me.

"I think it has so far, but I only started it this morning," I reply.

"Have you been anorexic or bulimic in the past?" Jim asks, making it sound conversational in a way I think only a professional could.

"No. It's those fucking pills," I growl.

"So you think you'll be able to eat lunch today?" he asks as he makes a move on the board.

"I'm certainly going to try so Robert doesn't try to shove a tube up my nose or anything up my ass," I grumble.

Jim lets out a sigh. "It can be difficult to acclimate yourself here. But the quicker you learn to follow the rules, the easier it is on you," he tells me.

"But that's just the thing. It's the fucking pills! I mean, yeah, I don't want to be here, but I wouldn't normally refuse to eat or make myself throw up after eating. I'm more the type to be sarcastic and pick fights. I haven't purposely fought with anyone since getting in here. That's got to be some kind of record," I tell him as I lean back on the couch and cover my face with my hands.

"So yesterday when you said that you had hit your brother-"

"It was only once," I interrupt him. "I don't hit Sammy," I insist emphatically as I put my hands down in my lap, look him in the eye.

"He must have really upset you," Jim comments.

I know he's fishing for the reason I hit Sam. It's still a sore subject for me. It's one that Sam hasn't brought up since. I look down at my hands, remember the look on Sam's face when I hit him.

It seems he finally realizes I'm not going to talk about it after I'm quiet for a couple of minutes. "What about your relationship with your father? Did you two get in a lot of fights growing up?"

I think I know what he's going for, and I don't like it. "My father wasn't abusive," I say as I shake my head. "He was strict with us, but never abusive," I tell him.

"By strict you mean-"

"My dad was a military man," I interrupt. "He didn't put up with shit, especially from his sons," I say with a bit of a smile.

"How did he-"

"Has it been thirty minutes yet?" I interrupt him again. Again, I know where this is going, and I don't like it.

He smiles, giving me a look like he knows exactly what I'm doing. "It's actually been forty-five minutes," he says.

I instantly get ticked. That sneaky bastard kept me talking, knowing full well I didn't want to. I take a cleansing breath. "Can I go now?" I ask, instead of punching the guy, which I have a feeling wouldn't go over too well.

"Sure," he says cheerfully, as if he didn't just get away with something. We both stand up and head for the door, me in front. "I'll see you at three for group," he says as I open the door and walk out.

"Whatever, asshole," I mumble as I stalk away. I really doubt he heard me, but it made me feel better nonetheless.

I throw myself down into an overstuffed chair in the common room, watch TV absentmindedly. If I wasn't so tired, I'd probably be pacing the room. Have I mentioned I hate these pills? Have I mentioned I don't like doctors?

I doze on and off, but manage to get myself up for lunch. I head to the cafeteria along with the others, grab my tray, and sit down at an empty table. Just as I start in on my overcooked carrots, Joey sits down across from me, drops his tray onto the table.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asks me, looking like he's ready for a challenge.

"Nope," I say, then stab at another carrot.

Joey fills his mouth with about twenty pieces of carrot, then looks up at me with piercing blue eyes. "So what are you in for?" he asks.

Great. Just what I wanted to talk about. I shrug my shoulders. "The psychiatrist that evaluated me found me unfit for trial," I tell him.

"What were on trial for?" he asks me.

"I was a bad boy, and I got caught," I reply shortly, hoping that will shut him up.

"Ah, so you're going to be Mr. Secretive, then," he says with a grin.

"Something like that," I mumble as I munch on some fruit.

"I killed my mom," Joey says, looking like he's hoping it'll shock me, scare me.

"I bet your dad was proud," I say, sounding disinterested.

"Nah, my dad's been dead for a long time. He died when I was three. I don't remember him at all," Joey tells me.

"So what landed you in here instead of prison?" I ask. Okay, maybe I'm a little interested.

"Same as you. Failed the psych test. That and I went after my lawyer with a letter opener before the trial," he says nonchalantly, obviously trying to surprise me yet again.

"Why would you go after your own lawyer?" I ask, puzzled expression on my face.

Joey chuckles. "The prick wouldn't stop tapping his pen on the table."

I snort. "How annoying," I say with a smile.

"Tell me about it!" he says with a grin. "So has anybody come to visit you since you've been here?"

I shake my head. "Only family I have is my brother," I tell him.

"He hasn't come to see you?"

"Nope," I say, knowing Joey wants more info.

"It was just me and my mom, so there's no family around to visit me," Joey says, seeming perfectly fine with what he just said.

"How long have you been here?" I ask him as I poke at my food. The stomach pill is making it so I don't throw up, but it's certainly not taking the pain and queasiness completely away.

"A little over a year," he replies.

"How long does it take to get used to these medications they put you on?" I ask with a growl.

Joey laughs. "It's Hell every time they decide to change those things around on you," Joey informs me.

"They do it a lot?" I ask with a wince.

He nods. "Especially when you first come here. They try you on all sorts of stuff to try and get you regulated as quickly as possible."

"Do they mess with your stomach, too?" I ask him.

"Some of them do. It all depends on what they give you, how much they give you. It's all up to them," he says with a shrug.

"I kind of noticed that you don't get that many choices around here," I mumble.

Joey chuckles. "They tell me that people do better the more scheduled they are, and that's why they're so strict around here. I think it's just because they like messing with our heads," he whispers the last part to me, grinning.

"So what do you do all day?" I ask, feeling anxious about it myself.

"I read a lot. I listen to music. I watch TV. I draw. Nothing exciting," he tells me. "What did you do before you came in here?" he asks me, changing the subject quickly. I guess it's boring talking about what you don't do all day.

"I traveled a lot," I reply.

"Yeah? Like around the US, or were you an international man of mystery?" he asks with a grin.

I chuckle. "Just the US," I tell him, then drain the last of my water. "Sorry to eat and run, here, but I've got to take a leak," I say as I get up and grab my tray.

Just as I turn to my right, my tray collides with another tray, my remaining food and the tray full of food that I ran into ends up going straight onto the patient I walked into. The guy falls backward flat on his ass, trays in his lap.

"Shit!" I say as I bend over and take the trays from his lap. I put them up on the table, reach a hand out to the guy on the floor.

"You dipshit! What is wrong with you?" the guy nearly screams at me.

"I'm sorry, man. I didn't see you," I say, still holding my hand out to him.

The guy stands up on his own, glares at me with dark brown eyes. He's about my height and build with shaggy brown hair. "I suppose you think that was funny," he growls as he shoves me hard enough that I barely am able to keep upright.

Well, now he's just being ridiculous. I didn't mean to do it. "Look, I'm sorry. There's no need to-"

"You're sorry?" he interrupts as he stalks toward me.

I realize then that he's not going to give this up easily. So, instead of backing up, I stand my ground when he comes up to me.

He starts poking me in the chest. "Sorry doesn't mean shit, you little motherfucker," he yells in my face.

I bat his hand away, which just seems to infuriate him. "You don't have to-," I start, but am interrupted this time by him backhanding me. Now I'm pissed. I pull back and then punch him hard with a right hook to his jaw.

The guy steps back a couple of paces, but then regains his composure enough to come at me again. This time dives at my midsection, sending the two of us sprawling down onto the linoleum floor. He's instantly straddling my hips and trying to punch my face. I manage to get my arms up around my face. When he grabs at my arms to get them away from my face, I take the opportunity to punch him in the stomach. It stuns him enough that I'm able to get the two of us turned over, me straddling his hips this time.

I'm still in control enough to realize that I don't want to hurt this guy. I just want to get him to leave me alone. So I give him two good punches in the face, then wait to see his reaction.

Just then I'm pulled off the guy. Someone has me by my upper arms. Then I'm suddenly on my stomach. "Just relax, Dean," I hear Marcus say as he pulls my arms behind my back, puts his right knee in the small of my back.

I instantly relax my body so that Marcus knows I won't fight him. "I'm calm," I tell him.

"Just lie there until I get you up, okay?" Marcus asks.

There's no way I'm getting out of the hold he's got me in without one or both of us getting hurt. "Yes, sir," I reply, hoping they don't give me a shot.

Then I hear the guy I was fighting with. He's screaming at the top of his lungs, and it sounds like there's a fight going on in trying to get him down. He's calling them every name I've ever heard of and even some in another language. It takes a few minutes, but eventually I hear him screaming down the hallway. Then the sound fades until I can't hear him anymore.

Marcus gets off my back, lets go of my arms, and then helps me up. "Are you going to fight me?" he asks me when I finally face him.

"No, sir," I say even though I don't know what he's going to do to me.

"Bring him straight to my office," I hear Dr. Richards say. I look over Marcus' shoulder to see the doctor turn around and take off in the direction of his office.

"Come with me, Dean," Marcus says as he gets a hold of my upper arm, leads me out of the cafeteria.

I don't know what they're going to do to me. They've never said what happens when you get into a fight. Marcus escorts me into the doctor's office, sits me down in the chair in front of the doctor's desk.

"Don't move until I tell you to," Marcus says from behind me.

"Yes, sir," I say with a nod, then look up at the doctor.

Dr. Richards pulls my file out from under a few other files on his desktop, looks through a few of the pages. "I'm afraid we don't take fighting too lightly around here, Dean," he says as he put the file down onto his desk.

"I didn't start the fight, sir," I tell him as respectfully as possible.

"Unfortunately it doesn't matter. When patients are caught fighting, we are required to do two things. One is to separate them, get them in isolation until they've cooled off. The second is to reevaluate their medications," he tells me.

I let out a groan. "I'm already on five medications," I complain.

"Yes, well, now you're on six," he tells me. My scowl and huff don't seem to faze him. "Marcus will escort you out to the nurse's station where Robert will give you your new medication. You will take it, then go with Marcus to your room, where you will remain until group therapy at three."

"What is the new medication?" I ask him.

"It's something to calm you down," he says.

I let out an aggravated chuckle. "I'm already so calm I can barely stay awake!" I tell him.

"Marcus," Dr. Richards says.

I'm assuming Dr. Richards is telling Marcus to get me out of his office, because Marcus takes my upper arm again and practically drags me out of the office and into the hallway.

We get to the nurse's station in time for Robert to set my cup on the counter. "I'll come to your room in just a minute to fix up your lip," Robert says, then starts rummaging through the drawers of a cart behind the counter.

I down the pill. "Okay," I say as I set the cup back up on the counter. I look down at my shirt to see a few dribbles of blood on it that must be from my lip.

Marcus then takes me back to my room. "Sit on the bed, please," Marcus says as we walk into my room. I do as I'm told. Marcus takes my slippers from me, sets them on the floor at the end of the bed.

"I really didn't start that fight," I tell Marcus.

"I believe you, Dean. We've had a lot of trouble with Danny getting into fights," he informs me.

"Then why the medication change?" I ask with a frown.

Marcus shrugs. "It's how we're supposed to handle fights amongst the patients. It's nothing personal," Marcus assures me.

Robert comes in with gloves on and a plastic box holding first aid supplies in his left hand. He tilts my head back with a hand under my chin. "I don't think we need to take you to the infirmary. It's already closed up," he tells me as he sets the box on the bed.

"Where did they take Danny?" I ask as Robert takes a wipe out of a package.

"It's his second fight this week, so he was sent to the IV room," he says as he gently wipes my lip and chin.

Remind me not to get into another fight, then. "What's this pill going to do to me?"

"It'll calm you down," Robert says as he pulls a bottle of water out of his pocket, sets it on my bedside table.

"Will it hurt my stomach?" I ask him with a wince.

"No, this one shouldn't do anything other than calm you down," he tells me. "Now you're on lockdown until three o'clock. Here's some water if you need it, and then I'll come in to get you for group when it's time."

"Wait! I have to take a leak," I say as Robert starts to leave.

"Marcus, can you take him to the shower room?" Robert asks.

"You got it," Marcus says as he steps over to my slippers.

It's an uneventful, but nonetheless invasive, trip to piss. Marcus stands right with me as if I am going to bolt at any second. Then it's a rather boring wait for Robert to come get me. I suppose I would have just been sitting around anyway, but to be ordered to stay in your room on the bed kind of seems restrictive when normally you have a bit more freedom than that.

I watch as the patients stroll in and find a seat in the meeting room. I'm sitting in the same seat I was yesterday, facing the doorway. Jim is over at the countertop, finishing up a drink from a Styrofoam cup. He tosses the cup into the garbage can next to the water cooler, then takes the empty seat. This time he's sitting directly to my right.

"Good afternoon, everybody," he says with a smile on his face.

A few of the patients say something back to him. Joey is sitting across from me again. I smile at him and he gives me a grin.

"Today I'm going to open it up to you guys. One of you can start by saying whatever you'd like to get the ball rolling, and then we'll just play it by ear," Jim tells everyone.

"I called my wife today, and she and I talked on the phone for about twenty minutes," a man in his late forties to my left says.

I'm feeling dizzier. I hope it's not because of that new medication. I'm already dizzy enough, thank you very much.

"What did the two of you talk about, Jerry?" Jim asks the man.

"We mostly talked about the kids. She told me she misses me," Jerry says with a sad smile.

"How are they all doing?" Jim asks.

"They're doing fine. She said everybody keeps asking about me, about how I'm doing in here," Jerry replies.

At least my stomach isn't any more upset than it was before I took the pill. I don't want to throw up or get the NG tube again.

"Is she honest with the kids about where you are?" Jim asks.

I look toward the doorway to see an orderly standing just to the right of it. Then my father walks up to the doorway and leans against it.

I scramble to stand up so fast that I fall backwards onto the chair, hit it with my right hip, then fall hard to the floor to my left. Dad just smiles at me. I scramble back until I'm against the wall.

"Okay, everybody follow Marcus out into the common room," I hear Jim say calmly. Then he's down on the floor on his knees with me.

I'm already panting. Dad's just standing there smiling at me. He's dead. I know he's dead. Sam and I burned the body ourselves.

"Talk to me, Dean. Tell me what's wrong," Jim says.

"Dad," I groan. "Dad's standing over there," I tell Jim as I point to the doorway. "But he's dead. I know he's dead. Why do I see him, if he's dead?"

Then Jim's left hand is on my right upper arm. He squeezes gently. "Close your eyes, and try to focus on your breathing," Jim says to me.

I can't take my eyes off of Dad. "But he's standing right there!" I yell as if Jim didn't hear me the first time I said it.

"Dean, it's just a hallucination. Close your eyes, and work on breathing deeply and slowly," Jim says as he rubs my arm.

I think he's touching me because he's trying to keep me grounded, keep me aware of him. It's helping a little bit.

"Close your eyes," Jim says yet again.

I make a keening noise as Dad steps to the side to allow Robert entry into the room. Robert drops to his knees at my left side.

"Sam's not coming to get you out, son," Dad says, sounding sad as he starts to walk toward us.

"No!" I yell as I try to get away. Robert and Jim each take an arm in hand and hold me in place. I'm panting so hard that I'm thinking I might hyperventilate.

Dad crouches down in front of me. He looks concerned. He looks real. "You're going to have to do this one all on your own, Dean. Sammy can't come," Dad tells me.

"He's having a reaction to the new drug," Robert tells Jim.

Suddenly there's a hypodermic in front of my face. I drag my eyes from Dad to see Robert pull the cap off with his teeth. I whimper as I see him aim for my upper arm just where the shirt ends. I yelp as Robert sticks me with the needle, depresses the plunger.

"This is going to help with the hallucinations, Dean," Robert says as he takes the needle out. He holds the hypodermic up in front of us, pushes the plunger in further, and the needle falls into the syringe. He then puts the hypodermic back into his pocket.

"He's still there. Dad's still there," I tell Robert desperately.

"Give it time to work. Close your eyes," Robert tells me.

"Do you know why Sammy isn't coming, baby?" Dad asks.

"The sedative should work, but you've just got to give it some time," Robert says as he runs the backs of his fingers down my left cheek. It isn't until then that I notice my cheeks are wet. He then uses his thumb to wipe the tears from my right cheek. "Close your eyes, Dean," Robert says again.

"Sammy's dead, Dean," Dad says with a grin.

"No! You're lying!" I scream even though I know it's just a hallucination. I try to push away from the two men, but they just hold me tighter, keep me down on the floor against the wall.

"I killed him, Dean-O," my father says, looking satisfied.

I finally squeeze my eyes shut. I lean my head against the wall behind me. "No, you didn't! You're just lying!" I feel so tired. Why won't he leave me alone?

"I've learned a lot down here in Hell," Dad continues, and I look up at him again. Then he holds his hand out to me. A small flame springs up from his palm. "It took hours for Sammy to die, Dean," he tells me as he lowers his hand to just above my right foot. He then blows on the flame. It's as if he just blew alcohol at the fire as it explodes from his hand, engulfing my foot for just a fraction of a second.

"Ow!" I scream as I start to kick my feet. "No, please don't!" I plead with him.

Then I feel Robert's breath on my left ear, his forehead against the left side of my head. "It's not real, Dean. Close your eyes. Listen to my voice and the sound of your own breathing," Robert says softly. "Try to control your breathing."

"Don't listen to him. I'm as real as everything else you've seen for yourself since you were four years old," Dad tells me. "And I'm real enough to hurt you," he says with a grin as he touches his finger to the floor in front of my feet. He draws an invisible circle with his finger. Then he snaps his fingers, and a small flame appears within the circle he just drew.

"Dad, please don't hurt me," I beg as I watch the little flame.

"Your dad's not here, Dean," Jim says from my right side. "He can't hurt you."

The little flame goes out. Then Dad draws a line starting from my right foot to his left side. He makes a little motion with his left hand over the invisible line. "Sam screamed for you, little boy," Dad tells me. Another flame appears on the line, starts inching its way to me.

"No! Make it stop! Make it stop!" I scream as I try to get away from the flame. Jim and Robert just hold me down.

I hear Robert talking again, but I'm so scared that I can't hear what he's saying. The flame stops in between my spread legs, hovers there.

I turn to Robert. "You've got to let me go! He's going to burn me! Please let me go! I have to get away from him! Please let me go!" I beg him.

Robert covers my eyes with his left hand, rests his forehead against the left side of my head again. "Are you listening to me?" he asks.

"Y-yeah," I reply shakily.

"This time you're going to keep your eyes closed. You're going to keep listening to me, and you're going to relax for me," Robert says with that authoritative voice he's used on me before.

"Okay," I say, hoping Robert can help me.

He keeps his hand over my eyes, probably not trusting me to keep them closed. "Your dad isn't really here," he tells me firmly.

"Yes, I am, buddy boy. I'm here, I'm real, and I'm going to kill you even slower than I killed your baby brother," Dad says with a chuckle.

"He says he killed Sam!" I yell at Robert.

Robert doesn't move. "You're dad's not really here. He can't hurt you. You're having a hallucination. It'll seem completely real to you, but it's not. He's not really burning you. This is a hallucination caused by a reaction to the new drug they gave you. The shot I gave you not only counteracts the hallucinations, but it also has a sedative effect, so you're going to start feeling a little tired when it kicks in. Do you feel tired yet?"

"Yeah. A little," I tell him, feeling myself shake.

"Just relax. Give the drug a little time to work in your system. He can't hurt you. He's not going to burn you. I've got you, and you're safe," Robert tells me.

"But he said he killed Sam," I whisper.

"He didn't kill Sam," Robert says with confidence.

"But I haven't seen Sam since I've been in here. What if he killed him?" I whimper. I feel like I could sleep for a week. I'm so worn out. I want this to be over so they can put me in my room and let me pass out.

"He didn't kill Sam," Robert says again. "Is he still talking to you?"

I listen for a moment. "No," I say, unsure of what'll happen.

"I'm going to take my hand away. If you open your eyes and see him, just close them again for me, okay?" Robert asks.

"Okay," I agree. When Robert takes his hand away, I open my eyes and look around the room. "I don't see him," I say.

"He's gone?" Jim asks.

"I think so," I say, still wary.

Robert starts wiping my face clean again. "You did good, Dean," he says with a smile.

"Do you feel okay to walk yet?" Jim asks me.

"I gave him a pretty big dose," Robert says to Jim. "We should probably help him all the way to his room."

"Okay, then let's get him up," Jim says.

The two men then help me to my feet. They practically drag me back to my room. I'm so tired that my eyes are already falling closed as I'm walking. They carefully get me into bed. Jim takes my slippers and Robert pulls the covers over me. Did he know I was cold?

"I don't want to be alone," I mumble, my eyes already closed.

"You're not alone. Just go to sleep. I'll keep checking in on you. The door will be open so that you can come and get me if you need anything," Robert reassures me.

"'k," I slur, then promptly fall asleep.

WEDNESDAY – WEEK 1

I'm awakened by someone rubbing my arm briskly. "Hey, Dean," Robert says.

I pull the covers over my head. "Too early," I say into the pillow.

"You've slept sixteen hours already. I think it's about time you got up, don't you think?" he asks me, smile evident in his tone of voice.

"Sixteen hours?" I ask as I pull the covers back down, blink up at the light.

"It's just past eight o'clock. Come have some breakfast," he says as he points his thumb over his shoulder toward the door.

"I actually don't feel all that bad," I comment as I sit up, swing my legs over the side of the bed.

"Good," Robert says with a smile, then leaves the room.

I use the toilet quickly before I head to the cafeteria. Everybody must rush in to eat breakfast at eight o'clock, because the place is full. There are a few empty seats, but other patients are sitting at the tables. I see that Joey is sitting at a table by himself, so I make my way over to him.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" I ask him.

"Be my guest," Joey says with a big smile. He looks happy to see me. I sit down and start in on my eggs. "Do you feel better this morning?" Joey asks me with a wince.

I nod. "Much better. Although I haven't taken my pills yet," I say as I roll my eyes.

Joey chuckles. "That's what you get for defending yourself," he says with a shrug. He breaks a piece of toast off and pops it into his mouth. "You do know they're going to replace the pill with something else, right?" he asks.

"I thought they might pull that on me," I grumble as I pick up my sausage and take a bite. "Is there any way to talk Richards out of more drugs?" I ask him.

Joey shakes his head. "Not that I've found, but you may have more luck," he tells me. "Hell, I even offered to suck the guy off," Joey says.

I nearly choke on the sausage as I laugh. "Maybe you're not his type," I say, still chuckling.

Joey laughs at that. "I'm probably too old to be his type," he says with an evil grin.

I laugh again. "He does seem like a bit of a creep, doesn't he?" I ask quietly.

He nods. "Definitely," he says. "My mom brought home plenty of creeps, so I would know firsthand."

My eyes widen. "Oh, sorry," I say with a wince.

"Why are you sorry? It's not your fault that some of Mom's boyfriends thought I was cute," Joey says.

"I know, but I'm sorry-"

"It's not a big deal," Joey interrupts me. "Besides, she got hers," he says with a grin.

That explains a lot. And here I thought this kid just felt like killing his mom one day for no reason.

"I wish I would've killed the bastard she was dating at the time, too," Joey says, looking disappointed. He pokes at his eggs. "She knew," he says with a bit of a chuckle. "The bitch knew what those fuckers were doing to me, and she just ignored it," Joey tells me.

What the fuck do I say to that one? I don't know what to do! Do I ask him about it? Do I change the subject? Do I offer him my sympathy? Do I tell him how it sounds like his life has sucked up to this point, and boy am I glad I'm not him?

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have started talking about that," Joey tells me. "All it does is get me upset, and there's nothing I can do about it now, so let's change the subject to something innocuous," Joey says with a smile. "How's your breakfast?"

I chuckle at that, relieved that he changed the subject. Not that I wouldn't listen to him if he wanted to talk, but I just wouldn't know what to say. "You know I'm actually surprised at how good the food is here. I expected it to be horrible because it's hospital food, but it's not bad," I tell him.

"Yeah, I guess it is. I never think much about it, but you're right. I've heard people complain about hospital food before, but this isn't so bad," he says.

"Do you usually eat every meal?" I ask him.

He shakes his head. "No, I usually skip breakfast, but I didn't eat much yesterday because of a stomach ache, so I was hungry this morning," Joey explains.

"Why did you have a stomach ache?" I ask as I spear some fruit with my fork.

"I had an appointment with Jim just before dinner, and he got me talking about stuff I really didn't feel like talking about," Joey says as he looks down at his tray sullenly.

"I've noticed he's able to make you talk when you don't feel like it," I grumble.

Joey looks up at me, surprise on his features. "He does the same thing to you?"

"Yeah. He got me talking a little bit when all I wanted to do was sit there and sulk," I say with a frown.

"Good, then it's not just me," Joey says, looking relieved.

I shake my head. "It takes a special kind of person to be able to handle people like that, and Jim is just one of those guys that can pull stuff out of you," I tell him.

"I guess that's why he became a doctor, huh?"

I nod. Then I see that we're both done with our breakfasts. "Well, I didn't get a shower yet, so I think I'll go take one," I say as I stand up, grab my tray.

"Okay, I'll see you later today," Joey says as I walk away. He stays at the table as I put my tray on the cart and leave the cafeteria.

I go to my room, get some fresh scrubs, and make my way to the shower room. The spray feels wonderful, so I turn it as hot as I can stand it, close my eyes, and just let the water run over me.

When I feel a hand on my ass, I spin around. There's a man standing in front of me with a smile on his face. I recognize him from group. What was his name? Jerry! He looks bigger close up. Taller than me, and definitely better built.

He reaches up with his left hand and caresses my cheek with the backs of his fingers. My breathing catches as he lets his hand travel down my jaw, my neck, and to my chest. I jump when he pinches my nipple.

I back up, but run into the wall. He just takes a step forward, starts running the tip of his finger over my chest. "I'm going to fuck you," he says softly.

I start to slide to the left along the wall, but my left foot gets caught on his right, and I fall down flat on my ass on the tile floor. That hurt. Jerry starts coming for me again, so I crawl backwards to get away. It isn't until I'm in the corner that I realize I've cornered myself.

Jerry crouches down in front of me, his cock red and full. "I want you to listen carefully," he says with a grin on his face. "If you fight me, you're going to the Pit," he tells me.

Just hit him. Just fucking hit him. "Not if I tell them-"

"You've already been in a fight once this week," he says, interrupting me. "They won't even ask questions. They'll just drag you down there," he threatens.

I shiver. He's right. "But-"

"You've already been there once, so you know what it's like," he interrupts me again. "And who do you think they're going to believe? You're going up against a guy who got sent to jail for mail fraud. What are you in for?" he sneers as he reaches out and runs his thumb along my bottom lip.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but only for a moment. This can't be happening. This is so ridiculous. Can't everybody leave me alone?

"If you hurt me bad enough, they may even send you to the maximum security floor," he tells me.

He lets his fingers run down my chest, my stomach, then he gently grabs my dick, starts pulling it casually. I try to push myself further into the corner. Where the Hell has my confidence gone? I swear I'm going to shove these pills down Dr. Richards' throat next time I see him. I'm scared. I'm actually scared of this guy.

"It's up to you, though. Either I fuck you over there in the stalls or you go to the Pit for a couple of days," he says with a shrug.

"I don't-"

"No fucking in the showers, guys," I hear an orderly say from the doorway. "Jerry, you know better. Come on. Up and out. Both of you."

"Yes, sir," Jerry says to the orderly, still looking at me. He winks at me, then stands and heads for the cubbyholes.

I shakily stand up, head for my scrubs, pull them on without bothering to dry off, which makes it a little difficult, especially considering I'm shaking so badly. When I finally get the scrubs on, I manage to get the slippers on and head for the doorway. I get out of the shower room before the orderly leaves.

I head straight for my room. I kick my slippers off, climb up on the bed, sit width-wise, and pull my legs up against my chest, warp my arms around my legs.

This isn't funny. I can't remember ever being so scared. My choice is to get fucked or get drugged? I think if he were to ask me again, I'd go for getting drugged even though it terrifies me.

Every time I think the worst has happened, something else happens that totally blows me away. I definitely want out. Sam is coming, right? He has to. I don't know how much longer I can take this. He's got to be working with Bobby on a plan right now.

I'm so tired. I'm so scared. I'm so sick of all this shit. This place is supposed to make people feel better, not worse.

"Hey," a voice calls from the doorway.

I jump so badly I almost lose my grip on my wrist as I turn with wide eyes to see who's at the door.

"You didn't take your pills yet today," Robert says.

I glance at the clock. It's quarter after nine. I shake my head. "I'm n-not taking them," I say voice trembling. There's no way I want to take drugs that make me feel as helpless as I feel right now.

Robert steps into the room, comes to stand in front of me. "Are you okay?" he asks, concern evident in his tone of voice.

I'm shaking harder, and now I can feel tears welling up in my eyes. I can't stand feeling like this anymore. They can't give me these drugs. "Yeah," I reply, sounding anything but okay.

"Don't lie to me, Dean," Robert says in a tone that Dad used to use with me when he said those exact words to me. Not that I actually lied to Dad often, but the few times I did, that's what it sounded like.

"I'm fine," I whisper, then feel my bottom lip tremble.

"Tell me what happened," Robert says, same tone.

I feel a warm tear make its way down my right cheek. I shake my head no. "I'm fine," I say again, my voice cracking on the second word.

Robert climbs onto the bed, sits next to me, puts his right arm around my shoulders, pulls me into him a little bit. "Talk to me," he says, not giving up.

I turn my head into him, rest against his upper chest. It feels so good to be held that a few more tears make their way down my cheeks. I can't stop them, and I can't stop the small sob that escapes my lips, either.

Robert brings his left hand up, starts running his fingers through my hair. "Your hair's still wet. Were you taking a shower?" he asks me.

I don't trust my voice, and I don't trust myself not to start sobbing all over Robert's shirt, so I just nod my head.

"Catch your breath for a minute," Robert says, sounding so calm and soothing that I want to fall asleep in his arms. "Did somebody hurt you?" he asks me.

Well, Jerry didn't actually hurt me. Scared the shit out of me, but didn't hurt me. "No," I say finally.

"You've got to tell me what happened. Help me out here, Dean," Robert asks of me.

I take a shaky cleansing breath. "He cornered me," I manage to get out. "He told me he was going to fuck me in the stalls. He said, if I fought, I would get put in the Pit. Then he started touching me, grabbing my dick. He said that they wouldn't believe me if I told on him," I say, trying to get everything out at once.

"Who did that to you?" he asks.

I shake my head no. I don't want to tell him. What if Robert doesn't believe me? What if he tells Jerry what I said? What if Jerry gets in trouble? He's got a wife and kids! I can't get him trouble!

"You've got to tell me who, Dean," Robert says as he gives my shoulder a little shake.

"Can't," I say with a wince even though he can't see it from where he's sitting.

"Why not?"

"He's got a family, kids. I can't get him in trouble," I whimper.

"Think about this for a minute, Dean. Shouldn't you be more willing to tell me if this guy forced himself on you when you know he's got kids?" Robert asks me.

Oh, fuck! I hadn't thought of that. What if he's doing things to his two kids? I let out a groan.

"Come on, Dean. Tell me his name so we can help him and his kids," Robert says as he rests his chin on the top of my head.

"Jerry," I finally say with a shiver.

"Okay, and he didn't hurt you? He didn't fuck you? Do I need to take you to the infirmary?" Robert asks me.

I shake my head no again. "An orderly stopped him from doing anything else," I tell Robert.

"An orderly saw this happen?" Robert asks, sounding a little ticked and a bit surprised.

"The orderly thought it was consensual. He told us that there was no fucking allowed in the showers. He didn't really see anything," I reassure Robert.

"Was anybody else in the shower room with the two of you?" he asks me.

I shake my head no. "Do you believe me?" I ask him.

"Yeah, I believe you," Robert says as he gives my shoulder a squeeze.

We sit there for a few minutes, and I enjoy feeling secure for a short bit of time. I don't know why these people are being so nice to me. With not only what got me put in here in the first place, but also the attitude and constant bitching I've been doing, you would think they'd hate me. I don't know whose good side I got on to get put here, but I'd like to thank them one day when I'm out of here.

"I need you to do me a favor," Robert says as he runs the fingers of his left hand through my damp hair.

"Yeah?" I mumble, wishing he would shut up and just sit here with me some more.

"I need you to stay here while I go take care of something," he says as he starts to rub my back with his right hand.

I snort. "You mean you're going to-"

"I mean I'm going to take care of something," Robert interrupts me as he slides to the edge of my bed. He stands up, looks down at me. I must look pathetic because he tilts his head to the side. "Are you going to be okay here by yourself for a few minutes?" he asks me.

I wince. "I'm fine. I'm sorry about-"

"Don't apologize," he tells me.

I feel so stupid. I just cried in front of this man. "I don't usually-"

"Dean," he says more forcefully, eyebrow raised until I nod. Okay, I guess he means it. "Sit and stay," Robert says, pointing at me.

"Yes, sir," I say with a lopsided grin.

I watch Robert leave, and I try to force down the panic in the pit of my stomach that swells as he leaves. I stretch out on my bed, bury my face in my pillow. The sheets have just been changed, and although they don't smell as good as when Sam does the laundry, they still smell fresh.

I don't know how long Robert is gone, but of course I fall asleep while he's away. I wake to his fingers running up and down my left arm.

"I can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?" he asks with a big smile that makes me feel good inside.

"I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said I'm actually not big on sleep when I'm not drugged to shit," I say with a smile of my own.

Robert chuckles. "I do believe you. You seem like the type that's constantly on the go, athletic, always into things, needing to move," he tells me.

"You can tell all that about me?" I ask as I sit up in bed.

"Most people, on the medications and dosages that you're on, are pretty much drooling. You've got to be a pretty active person for them not to affect you to that degree," he explains.

"You know they do that, and you still make me get up all the time?" I ask with a pout as I stand up.

He puts his left hand on the back of my neck and gives me a gentle, playful shake. "How can you keep me on my toes if you're sitting around drooling like a vegetable?" he asks with a laugh.

I can't help but chuckle myself. "Jerk," I grumble with a smile as I get my slippers on. "So what are you forcing me to do now?" I ask as we walk out into the hallway.

"It's time for your appointment with Dr. Richards," he says like it's the most exciting thing ever.

I groan loudly. "Didn't I just see him?"

"Keep an eye on the list next to your door. Today is Wednesday. Richards' day," Robert informs me.

"He hates me. He's going to take one look at me and put me on another medication, isn't he?" I moan as we get closer to Dr. Richards' door.

"Well, at least you're not late. He hates it when people are late," Robert says with a smile.

"Oh, joy," I say, words dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, don't forget these," Robert says as he pulls my pill cup out of his pocket.

"I thought I had gotten away with it today," I say with a grimace, knowing that a new drug is in the mix again. I down the pills as I don't like the consequences of fighting that one.

Robert grins at me, takes the empty container from me. "We can't have that!"

I give Robert a snort, then turn and knock on the door.

"See you," Robert says as he walks away.

"Yeah," I mumble as Dr. Richards opens the door.

"Come in, Dean," the doctor says, looking almost pleased to see me. I think there might be a little bit of a smile, or at least a smirk, on his face. "Have a seat," he says as he gestures toward the chair in front of his desk.

I sit down feeling nervous. I don't want to do anything that will make this guy want to give me more medication. I rub my sweaty palms on my pants, look across the desk at the man that holds my fate.

The doctor looks down at my open folder on the desk. He picks up his pen, taps it once on the pages. "So how do you think the medications are working, Dean?" he asks me almost pleasantly.

Okay, how the fuck do I answer that question right? My jaw drops open for a moment as I try to come up with a response that won't earn me more pills. "I like the one that makes my stomach feel better," I say with what I hope passes for a smile, but is probably more like a grimace.

"Good," and that's definitely a smile. He writes something down on the page. "Are you having any feelings of aggression toward anyone or anything on them?" he asks, peering at me from over the top of his glasses perched low on his nose.

He wants to know if I have any aggression when I'm too doped up to see straight. "No, sir," I say, hoping that's what he was looking for.

"Have you had any more hallucinations?" he asks me after he writes something down.

"No, sir," I say with a shiver as I remember the last one in vivid detail.

"What about your sleeping habits? Are you sleeping well?" he asks me.

I wince at that. He's not going to like my answer. "Well, I kind of sleep all the time. I'm constantly tired, and I don't have any energy," I complain carefully.

"You'll get used to that," he says with a nod, then writes in my file. "What about your libido? How is that on the medication?"

"What?" I ask, a little surprised at the question.

"It's perfectly normal for medication to affect libido, so I want to know how yours is affected," he says again.

Well, now that I think about it, I don't think I've thought about sex once since I've been here. Now I'm freaked out. This isn't right. They've taken everything from me, and now I can't even have sex? "I, uh, it... I hadn't... I haven't thought about it. At all," I say, bewildered, a frown on my face. My skin prickles, and I feel myself break out in a light sweat.

"Ah," Dr. Richards nods, then writes in my file again like it's nothing. "How are the group therapy sessions going? Are you finding yourself able to discuss your feelings at them?"

I'm still not over the sex question. I. Can't. Have. Sex. I think I'm breathing a little heavier. I try to focus on what he just said, but I'm just freaked. "They're okay," I hedge.

"And your time with Jim?" he asks me.

"It's okay," I say, trying not to look as shocked as I feel.

"I know today is Wednesday, not your scheduled day, but you have an appointment with Jim after group therapy today," the doctor tells me.

That gets me over my shock enough to focus me on the conversation again. "Huh?" I ask stupidly.

"Try to open up with him. Talk to him about things that have happened. Give it a chance," the doctor says almost kindly.

"Why the appointment today?" I ask, totally confused.

The doctor gives me a sad smile, then looks down at my file, writes a few lines. "It's policy to send patients to Jim when there is an incident," he says without looking up from the folder.

I actually flinch at that. "Oh," I breathe with a wince. Great. Does everyone know about Jerry?

Dr. Richards closes my file, looks up at me with a smile on his face. "That's all for today, then. You have about five minutes until group," he says as he stands up, opens the door for me.

I stand on shaky legs, make my way out into the hallway, listen to Dr. Richards shut the door behind me.

"Fuck!" I growl as I lean up against the wall. I close my eyes and let my head fall back to the wall. I hate this whole fucking thing.

I have the sudden urge to shoot something. Preferably something evil and menacing. Something that won't go down without a fight.

Where are you, Sammy? I don't know how long I can do this. This whole thing is just insane, and I'm starting to become afraid I won't make it out in one piece.

I hear footsteps. "Walk me to group?" Jim says softly beside me.

"Okay," I mumble as I turn to walk down the hall.

Jim doesn't say anything as we walk. I have no clue why, but it's fine with me if he doesn't feel like talking today. I guess I have to give the guy a little credit for seeing that I'm upset and not pushing.

This time there are only two seats open, and of course they're right next to one another. It's as if the other patients were hoping Jim and I would sit together.

As I sit down, I count the heads. There's one less head, but one less chair as well. I cringe a little bit in my chair. Jerry's missing, and it's my fault.

I take a look around, but nobody seems to be looking at me except Joey. He gives me a small smile, and I smile back.

Does everybody know what happened? Do they blame me? Is the staff asking the other patients about it to see if Jerry did anything to them? I try to tell myself not to worry about it, but I haven't really felt like I was fitting in here so far, and this makes it even worse. Not that I want us all to be buddies, but having a few people who think you're an okay guy isn't a bad thing, either.

I don't know why I'm feeling this way. He was the pervert. I just feel none of my usual self-confidence, and it's scary. I don't like it at all. I know it has to be the medication, but that doesn't stop me from being freaked out about it. I wonder if that new one is going to give me hallucinations like that other one did. I wonder who I'll see this time.

By the time I realize Jim is talking, I've already missed part of what he has said. I look down at my hands, attempting inconspicuousness.

"Sonny, would you like to start?" Jim asks.

I let myself relax a bit. I'm not first in line. Hopefully I'll figure out what they're talking about before I'm called on.

"I had a bulldog when I was younger. I named it Max. I had it a pretty long time," Sonny says, nonchalantly giving his answer.

Okay, so the subject is childhood pets. This I can do. I had none. Ever. That's easy enough to answer if the question gets around to me. Until then I can zone out.

My stomach is hurting worse than it was earlier. I don't know if it's because of the new drug or if I'm just nervous about this whole Jerry thing.

My mind turns to Sam. Big surprise. I see him at Bobby's house, the two of them coming up with all different kinds of plans to get me out of here. I can see Sam using the net to come up with IDs for the two of them, although I don't know how Bobby could fit in anywhere very easily. Sam could fit in if he wanted to.

Suddenly I realize there is a hand rubbing my back, and Jim is leaning in toward me. "Can you stay awake just a couple more minutes, and then we'll go back to my office?" he whispers in my ear.

I wince at him. "Sorry," I whisper back.

"It's okay," he says, giving me a smile.

I run my hands over my face while I hear, but don't listen to one of the other patients telling something about a dog or maybe a cat. It might have been a bird.

"I think that's all for today, guys. You all did very well, and I'll see you tomorrow afternoon," Jim says pleasantly.

Everybody shuffles out of the room, and I'm left with Jim sitting next to me. "Sorry about that," I mumble, then yawn.

"No problem," he says kindly. "Do you think you can walk?" he asks as if it's no big deal.

My head feels fuzzy. That stupid vibrating sensation inside my body is stronger. This is definitely the new pill taking effect. "I'm okay," I groan as I stretch. I stand up and follow Jim into the hallway.

"You started on the new mediation today, didn't you?" he asks me about halfway there.

"Yeah, it's another one to add to the list of medications to make me fall asleep. I think they really just want me in bed and drooling on the pillow, but Robert won't let me stay in bed," I say as we turn the corner.

Jim chuckles at that. "I'm sure it feels like that sometimes, but really all they're trying to do is help you to get better," he says with confidence.

"No, all they're trying to do is keep me from killing anybody while I'm here," I say with a roll of my eyes.

Jim holds his door open for me. I walk in and step right into the second room, sit down on the couch. My file is already on the coffee table between the couches. Jim sits down, picks up my folder. "Would you like to talk about why you're here?" he asks me.

"No," I say with a wince.

"You know, you're actually pretty lucky to be here," he says to me.

"What do you mean?" I ask with a chuckle.

"Well, you were on your way to another hospital, one that isn't near as nice as this one, but the orders were changed at the last minute, and you were sent here instead," he tells me.

Go Sammy! "Why's that?" I ask, trying not to smile.

"I have a feeling that you know why," Jim says with a lopsided grin.

I shake my head. "Not me, Doc," I tell him, innocent slash charming smile firmly in place.

"Let me tell you just how much you lucked out," he says as he opens my folder. "The hospital you were headed for has been cited for over four hundred complaints just in the last twelve months, the suicide rate there is the worst in the country, and the cafeteria has failed inspection three times in as many months."

Okay, that is totally ridiculous. Somebody must have had it out for me. "Dude," I say, my eyes widened.

"At the last minute, the orders were changed, and you were sent here. We have had less than twenty complaints filed against us in the last twelve months, our suicide rate is second best in the country, and our cafeteria has never failed inspection," he tells me with obvious pride in his voice.

"Huh," is all I can say.

"Not only that, but we are known for having a wonderful turnaround rate. That's what it's called when our patients are medicated and worked with to the point where they pass their psych test and are considered rehabilitated," Jim explains to me. "Somebody who knows what they're doing wanted you here," Jim says, same lopsided smile on his face.

"You know, I think that judge really liked me," I say with a grin.

Jim shakes his head. "She's a bitch," he says.

I let out a bark of laughter. It's so odd to hear that coming out of his mouth that I just can't help laughing.

"She's a bitch, and I wouldn't doubt it if she took a bribe to get you into where you were headed for," he says.

I smile down at my hands. I don't know how Sam did it, but he must have been the one to do this. I guess I can never tease him ever again when I get out of here. He probably saved my life.

"Having said that, I want you to know that, what happened with Jerry, doesn't happen very often around here," Jim says.

My stomach clenches, and the smile leaves my face as I look up at Jim. I guess we had to talk about this at some point. I was hoping for never.

"Other hospitals may turn their heads for that kind of behavior, but we don't take it lightly here. If one patient abuses another, he is sent directly to the maximum security floor. We purposely have a higher staff-to-patient ratio than normal hospitals just so that things like this don't get ignored. It's also why we only have males in this wing," Jim explains.

I really don't want to talk about this. It's upsetting, embarrassing as Hell, and it just makes me completely uncomfortable.

"I know you don't want to talk about this, but I was hoping you would at least try," Jim says softly.

I shake my head. "It's not a big deal. Nothing really happened," I say as I run my sweaty palms over my pants. Nothing happened.

He gives me a friendly, easy-going smile. "Well, if nothing really happened, then you won't mind telling me about it," he says with a shrug of his shoulders.

Sneaky bastard. If I tell him about it, then I admit that something happened. If I don't tell him about it, it shows him that it was enough to affect me, therefore something happened. I frown down at my hands, trying to decide what to say.

"Has anything like this ever happened to you before?" he asks softly.

I shake my head. "I'm not the kind of guy that a lot of people mess around with," I say with a lopsided grin.

"So nobody's ever even tried anything with you before?" he asks again.

I shake my head again. "Nope," I tell him. "If they did, they would sure be sorry they ever even thought about it, though," I say as I rub my hand over my face.

"Why's that?" he asks me, even though I think he knows.

"I'd kick the shit out of them," I say with confidence.

"Is that how you handled things with Jerry?" he asks, again in a way that only a psych doc could get away with.

I suddenly find my hands interesting yet again. "No," I mumble.

"What happened?" he asks softly.

There are no words to describe my level of discomfiture right now. This isn't fair. I'm not the pervert. I've been a good boy.

Jim puts one leg over the other, thinks for a moment. "A lot of people find that, when they are suddenly thrust into a situation like this one, they freeze. Is that what happened with you?" he asks gently.

I let out a nervous chuckle. "Kind of," I admit.

"It's not a sign of weakness that you froze," Jim tells me.

Yes it is. He's lying. He has no idea how badly I want to jump off of this couch, run out of this office. I don't want to talk about this. I've already said too much, and now he knows that I got scared.

"I know you think I'm lying, but it's true. Jerry did something when you weren't expecting it, and he knew how to handle you," Jim tells me.

I let out a sigh. I can't believe I'm about to say this. "I didn't do anything," I mumble. "I let him corner me, and the only thing I did while he played with my dick was try to squeeze into the corner like I could disappear," I say, eyes on my hands, feeling disgusted with myself.

"Jerry's good at what he does, and he's not stupid. You're not the only one he's done things to," Jim informs me.

I look Jim in the eyes to see if he's telling the truth, which he is. I don't know if what he says makes me happy or not. I'm almost selfishly happy that I wasn't the only one. Doesn't that sound horrible? "Did he hurt his kids?" I ask with a wince.

"We don't know yet," Jim says with a shrug of his shoulders.

"So it was other people here that he did things to?" I ask, eyes wide.

Jim nods. "Here, in jail, where he worked," Jim tells me.

"How did you find out so fast?" I ask.

"It's in his file. We were watching him closely, but obviously not closely enough. We didn't know he was doing anything here until after you told Robert, but another patient came forward just since this morning," Jim says.

"And I suppose you can't tell me who it was," I say.

"Nope," he says with a shake of his head.

I feel like shit. This thing is so strange and fucking normal and human that I just don't know how to handle it.

"Jerry knew what he was doing, Dean. He had the element of surprise, and he had the expertise to know just what to say and do to incapacitate you. Not only that, but the medications you're on slow your reaction time and fuck with your emotions," Jim says.

As much as I hate to admit it, getting validated feels great. Not only did a professional just tell me that what I'm feeling is normal, but he also just said that the drugs fuck with you. How often will they own up to that?

"Dean," Jim says softly, as if knowing that I'm trying to work this all out in my head. He waits until I look up at him before he continues. "This wasn't your fault," he tells me.

Ouch. That hit someplace in my chest that I didn't even realize was there before. The rational side of me says it's ridiculous that I could be to blame for this, but there's another part of me that says maybe I was asking for it.

Jim has pearl buttons on today's shirt as well. They're much easier to look at than his face for the moment.

Why the Hell am I feeling like this? I'm so confused. I'm going between extremes faster than my medicated brain can keep up with, and I'm left feeling dizzy. I lay my head on the back of the couch, close my eyes. I wrap my arms around my stomach because that's fucking hurting more, too. And that's exactly when I get a mental image of Dad hugging me, the thought hitting me hard enough that my breath actually catches in my throat.

I reach up and put my hands over my face, nonchalantly trying to push the burning in my eyes away. I can't believe I'm freaking out like this. I want out. I want out now. I can't believe I almost just started fucking crying on this psych doc's couch. I'm so pathetic. I have to get out of here.

I sit up, rub my damp hands on my pants, hope the doctor doesn't notice. "Can I get out of here?" I ask, attempting cool and collected, but probably failing miserably.

Jim winces, and actually looks sincerely sorry for me. "I'm sorry, but you're stuck with me for another fifteen minutes," he tells me.

"Fuck," I growl as I flop back onto the couch again, head back, eyes closed. Jim is probably going to have fun with this. He's gotten a reaction out of me now. I feel myself starting to shake. Well, shake a little more than I already was shaking from the medication. I cringe as I hear Jim change position on the other couch, wonder what's running through his head.

"Give me the first memory you have of your brother," Jim says.

"Huh?" I ask stupidly as I look up at him, confusion most likely written all over my face.

"First memory. Sam," Jim says, not at all making it sound like he's talking to an idiot.

"Uh, okay, I remember getting to hold him in the hospital the day he was born," I tell Jim, giving him an odd look. I have no clue where he's going with this.

"You looked like you needed a change of subject, and talking about Sam seems to make you smile," Jim says with a sly grin.

Can I give this guy a hug without losing any guy points? I let out a chuckle, wrap my arms around my stomach again.

"This isn't about making you squirm or throwing you into panic attacks. This is supposed to be a constructive outlet for you, not torture," Jim says with a kind smile.

"Um, thanks," I say shyly, feeling sort of silly now that he has said it out loud. That was kind of a panic attack. So first I almost cried, then I had a panic attack. I'm officially the world's biggest girl.

"If something I say or talk about makes you upset, please feel free to tell me. I'm not here to hurt you," Jim says.

I shake my head no. "It's nothing you said. It's just that I'm not usually into the whole sharing thing," I tell him with a wince.

"It can be a scary thing," Jim says with a nod. "I'm just hoping you'll see one of these days that you're safe with me."

I let out another chuckle, look down at my knees. Maybe this guy isn't so bad. He certainly hasn't tried to catch me up on anything or twist my words like I thought he would.

"So your parents must have been pretty cool to let such a young kid hold a newborn," Jim says.

I look up at him with a smile. "They had me sitting in a chair, each of them on one side of me, but yeah, it was cool of them."

"Have you heard from your brother since you've been in here?" Jim asks me.

"No," I say with a shake of my head. "He'd get busted so quickly his head would spin if he tried to contact me in any way," I say with a frown.

Jim takes a deep breath and sits forward. "Well, I can officially let you go now, if you want," he tells me with a smile.

I chuckle at that, and we both stand up. He leads me to the door, opens it for me. I stand there awkwardly for a moment. "Thanks," I say, knowing that I'm blushing all the way to my ears.

"Anytime," Jim says with a pat to my shoulder.

I find my book and read for about ten minutes before I fall asleep on the couch, TV doing nothing to make me stay awake.

"Hey," says a voice from somewhere above me.

I squint up at a grinning Joey. "Hey," I say with a smile.

"Come eat with me," he says, holds out his hand in invitation.

I take it, let him pull me up. "I fell asleep," I dumbly comment.

Joey chuckles. "You sure did," he says as we turn the corner to the cafeteria.

We get our trays, find an empty table off to the back of the room. It's Salisbury steak night, it appears, with corn and mashed potatoes.

"Danny's out," Joey whispers at me.

"Fuck," I grumble with a wince.

"I doubt he's too happy about the fact that he got sent to the Pit over that little incident," Joey says with a worried look on his face. "It wasn't your fault, but I don't think he sees it that way."

"I don't think so, either," I mumble.

"He's already eaten. He's out watching TV, so I thought it would be safe to ask you to come eat," Joey says as he mixes his corn and mashed potatoes together.

"Thanks," I say with a smile.

We eat in silence for a little while. The food, again, isn't bad, and I'm actually enjoying the company. I think I like this kid.

"Dean?" Joey says, face pinched.

"Yeah?" I ask, after I swallow.

"I... I'm sorry. About Jerry," he says quickly.

My eyes widen. "Oh, fuck!" I say a little louder than I probably should as my stomach clenches.

Joey shushes me. "No, calm down," he says, looking around to make sure nobody is looking.

"Does everybody fucking know?" I growl, holding my spork tightly enough that it probably should have broken by now.

Joey shakes his head no. "Nobody else knows," he assures me.

"Then how do you?" I ask, still growling.

"I saw you come out of the shower room before he did," Joey says.

"I'm failing to make the connection here, Joey," I say through clenched teeth.

Joey sighs, looks defeated. He seems to work up the courage to speak. "I'm the other guy, okay?" Joey blurts out, thankfully not too loudly.

I instantly deflate. "He hurt you?" I ask, feeling bad that I overreacted.

Those blue eyes focus down on the tray in front of them. "I kind of let him," Joey mumbles.

I let out a choked noise. "You let him?" I ask, having the feeling it's not true.

"Well, the first time I really didn't want to, but-"

"The first time?" I ask, maybe a little too loudly. "How long has he been hurting you?" I ask, getting pretty ticked off.

Joey lets out a whimper. "It's only been a couple months," he says miserably. "I know you're mad at me, but I didn't-"

"I'm not mad at you, Joey," I say, cutting the boy off. "I'm incredibly furious at Jerry," I hiss, "but I am not mad at you."

Joey looks up at me with a relieved look on his face. "You're not?" he asks with a lopsided smile.

"No, I'm definitely not," I say, shaking my head.

Joey's face falls again. "He wouldn't have done anything to you if I would have told on him, though," he says.

"What Jerry did to me was not your fault," I tell the kid.

Joey smiles at that. He has a nice smile. He looks down at his mashed potato heap and pokes at it a few times. "I just wish they had lube in this place," Joey growls.

He's been fucking this kid dry? I squeeze my eyes closed, try not to find some way to get to Jerry, rearrange his face or other areas of his anatomy. By the time I look up at Joey again, he looks concerned. "Did you get checked out in the infirmary?" I ask.

"Yeah," Joey says with a roll of his eyes. "Got the whole physical. Again," he grumbles. He continues to play with his food.

I let out a sigh, and Joey looks up at me. "He didn't do anything to me," I admit.

A little bit of the worry melts away from Joey's face. "No?" he asks hopefully.

"He threatened me, and started in with a little groping that wasn't too pleasant, but that's all he got a chance to do," I tell him.

A brilliant smile lights the kid's face. "Cool," he says simply.

I smile back at him, and we finish our meal in comfortable silence, Joey actually eating this time instead of just pushing his food around on the tray.

I wake later that night to a nightmare. This time I remember some of it. I remember Sam running from something, but I don't remember what. I was running after Sam and the whatever, but I wasn't getting anywhere. That's all I can remember.

I pace around the room, start pulling my sweat-soaked shirt away from my chest. I wish I could take a shower. That would definitely help. It wouldn't make everything all better again, but it would feel good.

I'm heading toward the back wall when I hear my door beep. "Fuck!" I growl as my shoulders slump.

I slowly turn around with my hands in the air, my eyes widening as I see not only the orderly, but Greg in the doorway, syringe already in his hand.

I start to inch my way toward my bed. "I'm sorry, guys. I had another nightmare, and I'm sorry. I'll get back into bed now," I tell them as I start to climb into bed.

Suddenly the orderly is on me, pins me to the side of the bed. He's got his left forearm across my upper back, my right arm wrenched around behind me faster than I thought possible.

"No, don't give me the shot!" I nearly scream. I'm getting really sick of all these fucking shots I'm getting. I yelp as my arm gets pushed a little further up my back. "Don't! I'm going to bed! No shot! No, please!"

"I'm making a note in your chart to Dr. Richards," Greg says as he pulls my pants down, pokes me with the fucking needle as I grunt. "He'll put you on something to help you sleep at night," Greg tells me, pulls my pants back into place.

The buzzing sensation instantly worsens and I feel fuzzy. The two men lift my lower body up into the bed. Greg pulls the side up on my bed, leaves me without another word as I drift into a dreamless sleep.

THURSDAY – WEEK 1

"Come on, Dean," I hear Robert say as he rubs my arm. "I just got done waking Joey up, now I need you, too."

I groan into the pillow. "They've got to stop drugging me!" I complain as loudly as I can for having just awakened.

"That's going to be fixed today," Robert says as he pulls on my left arm, gets me into a seated position.

"Oh, fuck! Greg said Richards was going to put me on something to make me sleep!" I say maybe a little too loudly as I push Robert away.

"This will be a good change for you, Dean," Robert tries to reassure me. "You have trouble sleeping through the night. This will help."

"I don't want any more fucking drugs!" I yell at Robert, not really caring at the moment that it's not his decision. I flop back onto the bed, curl up on my right side, and pull the pillow over my head.

Robert sighs. "You know what'll happen if you refuse to take the drugs," he says, not sounding all that thrilled about having to threaten me. Robert just catches the pillow I throw at him, tosses it on the end of the bed.

Now I don't have a pillow to hide under anymore. "I don't even want to be on the drugs that I'm on! You can't make me take more! This is totally fucked!" I yell at him.

"It's not my choice," Robert says with a shake of his head.

"Like Hell it isn't," I say stupidly. I'm blaming my sudden lack of insight on the fact that I'm not really totally awake yet. "Just stop giving me the fucking pills!" I yell quite loudly.

"Not only is it my job to give you the pills, I really think this will be good for you. It's going to help you sleep," Robert cajoles, patient as ever. "If you start sleeping through the night, you won't get sedated anymore."

"I think the night crew fucking likes it," I growl.

"They're just doing their job," he tells me calmly. "Come on. Take your morning pills, and worry about this tonight at ten when you start your first dose of the new medication," Robert says as he starts pulling my legs toward the edge of the bed.

I kick Robert's hands off my legs more gently than I really want to, pull my legs up against my chest. "Fuck off!" I yell again as I reach out to push at him. Next thing I know, I'm in a sitting position with Robert's big paws holding my upper arms tightly, Robert's face close enough to mine that I can feel him breathing.

"I'm trying to be patient with you, Dean, because I like you, but you are seriously heading somewhere I know you don't want to go. Now either you get up, take the pills that I give you, or you can go to the Pit," Robert threatens in a low voice, our eyes looking right into one another's.

I can't help but shiver. What's with these people manhandling me like I'm nothing? I'm not a small guy. And there's no fucking way they're taking me to the Pit again. That's just not going to happen.

"One," Robert barks.

I blink stupidly at him for a moment before I fully understand what he means. By the time I get it, he's already moving on.

"Two," he growls.

"Stop counting! Stop counting!" I nearly squeal as I try unsuccessfully to get out of his grip. "Fine, I'll take the fucking drugs!" I say with less venom in my voice than I meant, probably a deer-in-the-headlights look on my face as well.

"I want to see you out at the nurse's station in ten minutes, no less. Is that understood?" Robert asks as he backs off a bit.

I can't help it. The tone of voice and the direct question just get to me. "Yes, sir," I say, wishing it didn't come out of me so easily.

Robert lets go of me, takes a step back. He crosses his arms over his chest, making himself look bigger. "After getting your pills, I expect you to go and get breakfast. I don't want you taking your pills on an empty stomach anymore. It's not helping the stomachaches you've been having."

"Yes, sir," I say again.

"Ten minutes," Robert says again as he heads toward the door.

"Yes, sir," I mumble as he disappears around the corner. Nine minutes later I'm standing in front of the nurse's station with a scowl on my face.

"Morning," Robert says with a lopsided grin.

"Yeah, now you're all nice and friendly," I grumble as I take the pills from the counter.

Robert laughs at that. "Oh, but that was me being nice and friendly," he says, evil grin and raised eyebrow in place.

I chuckle. I wonder for just a moment if he really means what he just said. I hope not, because he was kind of scary, and if that was only semi-ticked, I don't want to see flat out pissed.

"You've got thirteen minutes to get some breakfast before the cafeteria closes," Robert says as he points his thumb in the direction of the clock behind him.

"Yes, sir," I say with a smile, take off for the cafeteria. I stop about two steps away, then back up. "Hey, Robert?"

Robert turns to me, eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"

"I, uh, know it's not your fault that I have to take the drugs, and I'm sorry," I say awkwardly with a lopsided smile.

Robert smiles at me. "Thank you, Dean," he says, looking like he truly appreciates it.

I give him another smile before heading for the cafeteria. I eat alone as the place is pretty much cleared out. Joey doesn't even eat breakfast, so I don't get to sit with him this morning, either.

"Hold it," Robert says as I walk by the nurse's station. "You wouldn't be sneaking back to your room, would you?"

"Shower," I say with a toothy grin.

"Okay, then," Robert says with a nod and a smile.

I'm almost all the way to the shower room when I see Danny come out of it and head my way. I walk a little to the right of the hallway, try to keep my eyes on the floor. Maybe he won't notice me. Does he look bigger than he did last time, or am I getting smaller in here? I catch a glimpse of Marcus walking our way from the other end of the hall. Maybe Marcus will get there before we do too much damage to each other.

Just as we're about to pass, Danny takes a step to his left. I swear there is a grin on his face. We run into each other almost hard enough to fall on our asses. As I try to regain my footing, I hear a clattering sound.

"Freeze!" I hear Marcus bark. "Neither of you move! Robert!"

"Coming!" I hear Robert call from far behind me. I hear him jog up to us. "Which one of them had it?" he asks Marcus.

Marcus lets out a sigh. "I didn't see," he tells Robert, sounding upset with himself.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Robert pick something up off the floor, pocket it. "I need both of you with your hands on the wall, legs spread," he tells the two of us.

We both do as he says right away. "What's wrong?" I ask.

"You got Danny?" Robert asks Marcus.

"Yeah," Marcus replies as he steps up to Danny's left side.

Robert comes up to my right side. "Do either of you have anything on you that's going to stick us?" he asks.

"No, sir," I reply while Danny shakes his head no. "Robert what-"

"I picked up a razor from the shower room, and it came from one of you," Robert informs me.

"Oh, fuck!" I say as my whole body tenses even more than it already was.

"Calm down and spread your legs for me," Robert says softly as he runs the fingers of his left hand through my hair, gently and efficiently checking for anything.

I obey him even though I feel like running. His right hand goes to my crotch while his left hand goes to my ass. The fingers of both of his hands push deep into the creases on each side of my body slowly and carefully. Next his hands move up to my underarms where he repeats the slow inspection. "I wasn't carrying it, Robert," I say as the man finishes his search.

"Put your arms down," he says to me, then pulls me by my upper arm away from Danny and Marcus. "Dean, I'm really sorry about this, but Marcus didn't see which one of you it came from," Robert says with a wince.

My eyes widen. "It wasn't me!" I say a little louder than Robert's hushed voice.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Marcus calls over. "I didn't get a clear shot at it. I'm sorry, man," he says, sounding almost miserable.

My breathing quickens. I remember the threat not to be caught outside of the shower room with a razor, but I don't know what they'll do to me. I don't know what suicide watch means.

"But it wasn't me!" I repeat, probably bordering on a bit of a whine to my voice.

"I believe you. I believe you," Robert says as he rests his right hand on the left side of my neck. It's comforting in a way that I think I'd only let Robert be. "But Marcus didn't see, and we can't just assume it was Danny. That wouldn't be fair."

I try to get my breathing to slow down, but I'm scared. They've done so much to me already. What could they possibly want to do to me for this? "What are you going to do to me?" I whisper, the backs of my eyes prickling.

Robert's hand is still on my neck, but his thumb rubs the skin just in front of my left ear. "Calm down, Dean," he says again. "You're going to be okay. They're going to put you on suicide watch."

I'm desperately trying to not cry. I can't believe I'm being so emotional about this, but it appears that crying is now the appropriate reaction to fear. "What's that?"

"Do what they tell you to do, and everything will be fine. No one is going to hurt you, okay?" Robert says in hushed tones, looking me right in the eye.

I nod my head. "What are they going to do?" I sound pathetic even to my own ears.

Robert waves somebody over. "This is Jason. He's going to take care of you," Robert says. "Jason, this is Dean."

I'm sure my eyes widen so much it's comical, but Jason is just plain huge. His arms are bigger than should be humanly possible.

"Come with me, Dean," Jason says kindly as he wraps his left hand around my right upper arm.

I look back at Robert over my shoulder. "Just do what they say," Robert tells me again, gives me a reassuring smile.

Jason pulls me along until we get into an elevator. He punches a floor, but I'm so nervous and shaking so hard, I don't really pay attention.

"It's really not as bad as they make it sound, Dean," Jason reassures me. "It's really just twenty-four hours of observation to make sure you don't hurt yourself."

"Oh," I say, totally unconvinced.

We step off the elevator onto a floor that is pretty much just like the one we left behind. We walk for a while, but I'm still not paying attention. Jason uses his key card to get us into a room that is quite large.

On the right there is an area set aside for shower heads on the wall, a few urinals, and a couple of stalls with toilets. On the left there are three glass cubes, just the right size for what would otherwise be called cells. There is nothing in any of the cubes. There are no beds and no toilets. Jason pulls me over to the last cube on the left, opens the door. It's then that I see a folded blanket on the floor of the cube.

"Take off your clothes, please," Jason says.

"Seriously?" I ask, eyebrows raised.

Jason gives me a smile. "Yes, take off your clothes," he says. He doesn't sound mean about it, but I think he's trying not to laugh at my reaction.

"Everything?" I ask with a wince even though I'm not really wearing much to begin with.

Jason chuckles. "Yes, everything," he tells me.

I kick off the slippers, then pull the shirt over my head. He takes the shirt from me, then the pants when I get them off.

"You'll be watched at all times by that camera," Jason says as he points to the camera in the ceiling just outside the cube. "Orderlies will come in periodically to check on you throughout the next twenty-four hours. Do what the orderlies say, and let them know if you need anything, okay?"

"Okay," I say, still completely unsure about all this.

"You already had your morning medication?" Jason asks as he gestures for me to go into the cube.

"Yes, sir," I say as I walk in.

Jason closes the glass door behind me. "Someone will be in tonight at ten p.m. to give you your nighttime medication," Jason tells me.

"Wouldn't want to miss that," I say with a grimace.

Jason smiles at me. "Any more questions?" he asks as he balls my clothes up and puts them under his left arm.

"Nope," I say.

"Okay, then, if all goes well, I'll be in to pick you up tomorrow at this time," Jason says, then leaves me alone.

I let out a deep sigh. This is going to be fun. There is absolutely nothing in the cube but the blanket, and it's a small one at that. I look up at the frosted glass ceiling with lights behind it and squint. It's not really that bright, but I swear these medications make any kind of brighter light hurt.

"Take off your clothes, please," I hear a man say from outside the cube.

I look over at the cube closest to the door to see an orderly standing just outside of it with Danny. Danny takes of his clothes, steps into the cube, and the orderly closes the door.

"Let us know if you need anything," the orderly says before he leaves.

Since the cubes are all class, and there's nothing in any of the cubes, Danny and I have a full view of each other's cubes. Danny gives me a sly grin before he sits down on the floor with his back up against the far wall facing me. He crosses his legs at the ankles, leans back on his hands, and just looks at me.

Okay, so I'm pretty certain that Danny did this on purpose. Not that I can do or say anything about it without either getting into trouble or getting the shit beat out of me by Danny.

It's actually kind of warm in here. I would have expected it to be colder, especially considering the nudity, but it's nice.

I pick up the little blanket and unfold it. It's square, about long enough to reach from my shoulders to mid thighs. I fold it back up put it on the floor in front of the glass wall farthest from Danny. I sit down facing him, pull my knees up, and wrap my arms around my legs.

Maybe I'm not the picture of confidence that Danny is, but I just don't feel like posturing. I'm tired of what Danny's doing. It's all so childish. I don't know why he's fixated on me, but I would appreciate it if he would stop. I don't want him to focus on someone else, but this is ridiculous.

This is going to be a long twenty-four hours. There are no clocks anywhere, and I obviously don't have a wristwatch.

After a while of sitting there, I cross my arms over my knees, rest my forehead on my arms. Why couldn't they have given me a bed? I could have slept for twenty-four hours straight the way I'm feeling with these drugs. I promise I wouldn't try to kill myself with the mattress.

Now that I think about it, I wouldn't even be able to do much with a big blanket, if they decided to give me one. There's nothing to hang myself on even if I could rip a blanket into strips.

I know they're being careful, and that this is specifically for those who have shown a tendency toward harming themselves, but it just seems a little like overkill to me. I know I shouldn't feel that way, but I think I deserve to be a little bitter after everything that's happened to me.

I wake a few times, shift, fall back to sleep. In between times of unconsciousness, I complain silently about my situation.

"Dean," I hear a voice call. Then my door opens.

I look up to see Greg walking in. "Oh, shit," I grumble as I rub my hands over my face.

Greg crouches down in front of me, pulls a syringe out of his left pocket, a pill out of his right. "I'm going to give you a choice. You can either take the new pill, or Jason and I can give you a shot," Greg offers as he holds up each item in front of himself. He's already got his gloves on like's ready to give me the shot.

I warily take the pill from his right hand, down it. I keep looking back and forth from the syringe to Greg's face.

"I was hoping you might choose that option," he says as he puts the syringe back into his pocket. "So how are you doing in here? Do you need anything?" Greg asks, looking genuinely interested.

His demeanor is throwing me off. Why is he being so nice to me? "Well, you could do something about the air conditioning. It's fucking hot in here," I say with a snarl. I can't help myself. I should really learn to not do this. Lashing out when you're scared is not only juvenile, it also backfires most of the time.

"You're hot?" Greg asks, brows drawing together. I nod. "Well that's odd. Most of the time the guys complain about it being cold even though we keep the temperature a little warmer in here than the rest of the hospital," Greg says.

Greg lifts his left hand and reaches toward my head. I squeeze my eyes closed, pull my head back so fast that it actually makes quite a noise when it hits the glass.

"You know, just because I'm he who wields the syringe, it doesn't mean I'm the bad guy," he says softly as his hand gently comes to rest on my forehead.

I open my eyes and look him in the face. I realize that I'm breathing a little bit heavily, and I try to calm myself down. Did he mean what he just said?

"You do feel a little warm," he says, then turns to Jason. "Get me the thermometer, would you?" he asks, then turns back to me. "Have you had any sore throat or cough, earaches, that sort of thing?" he asks me.

"No," I say, starting to feel stupid for being mean to him. He really seems concerned.

His right hand joins his left on my throat as he feels around for a moment. "Is your neck stiff?"

"No," I say.

"Look up," he says, then pulls each lower eyelid down, takes a look. "Go ahead and lie down for me," Greg says as he gestures toward the floor.

I do as he tells me, feeling extremely vulnerable and nervous. I feel like hiding beneath the blanket, what little that would do to protect me.

"Have you had any stomachaches?" Greg asks as he starts to move his hands over my stomach and chest, pushing in, touching everywhere.

"No more than usual," I tell him without even grumbling.

"The meds give you stomach troubles?" he asks as he moves to my lower stomach.

"Yeah," I say.

His hands move even lower, and I can't help but hiss. "Does that hurt?" he asks, concern evident in his tone of voice.

"I have to piss," I tell him with a wince.

"Okay, good, then we can get a urine sample from you," Greg says as he gently pushes on my lower stomach.

I grimace, but try not to make any noise. Jason comes to the doorway, hands Greg the thermometer.

"Thanks, Jason," he says, then turns to me. "Can you sit up again for me?"

I obey him, get onto my folded blanket again, lean against the wall with my legs up against my chest again.

Greg holds the thermometer in my ear until it beeps, then reads it. "You've got a little bit of a temperature. It's nothing to get worried about yet, but I want to keep an eye on you," he says as he stands up, puts the thermometer in one of his pockets. He reaches out to me for a hand up. "I hate to do this to you, but could you get a specimen cup, too?" Greg asks Jason as he pulls me up.

"No problem," Jason says as he takes off again.

"Do you feel sick, or are you just warm?" Greg asks.

"If I said sick, would I get a bed tonight?" I ask with a hopeful grin.

Greg chuckles at that. "You would if I thought you were telling the truth," he says.

"I take it that's a no, then," I say with a raised eyebrow.

"A big one," he says with a smile.

I can't take silence. I don't know what is wrong with me, but I just can't take it. "So then this bad guy routine-"

"If I was easy on any of you guys, would you ever listen to me?" Greg asks with a lopsided smile.

"Ah, point taken," I say. "But do you have to do it so well?" I ask, keeping it light.

Greg chuckles again. "I'm good at my job," he says. "And you guys love me for it, don't you?" he asks with a laugh.

"I'll have to ask some of the other guys, but I'm thinking love isn't the word they would use," I say with a smile.

Jason comes back and hands the cup to Greg. "Come on. Let's go spend some quality time together before I have to lock you back up again," Greg says as he walks out of the cube.

I follow him, Jason shadowing me. Greg walks up to the urinals, takes the top off the cup, hands it to me. This is awkward. I don't know if Jason thinks I'm going to bolt, but he's standing on my right side while Greg is on my left. They're closer than I would consider comfortable.

"Fill the cup about halfway," Greg instructs me.

Now here's the funny part. I have never been able to piss in front of other people, not even Dad or Sam. Dad thought it was hilarious, while Sam was actually quite pleased about it. It has meant running around to the backs of bars when the restrooms are full, getting teased mercilessly by a father who could go anywhere and anytime he pleased, and holding it if no other options were available. And it doesn't seem to matter how drunk I am, either.

I take my dick in hand and position it over the cup, close my eyes, pretend there aren't two men waiting for me to do my thing. I can hear each of them breathing. It's not helping. I try to give it a little time, but it seems like it's taking forever. I let out a growl as nothing happens.

"Problem?" Greg asks, eyebrow raised.

I let out a nervous chuckle. "I can't go," I mumble.

He gets that concerned look on his face again. "Does it happen often, or is this-?"

"I can't go unless I'm alone," I interrupt him, dejected tone to my voice.

"Well that's not going to happen," Greg tells me.

"I know," I say, even more defeated.

"If you can't go, I'm going to have to catheterize you," Greg says.

I whip my head around to look at him. "Oh, shit! No! Don't!" I say with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry, Dean, but you've only got two choices," Greg says as he shrugs his shoulders.

"Fuck!" I grumble.

"Calm down. You're only going to make it worse if you get upset," Greg says.

"Okay, I'm calm. I'm calm," I tell the men, shake my shoulders out, lean my head back, and close my eyes.

What seems like an eternity later, I feel Greg's right hand on my upper back. "I'm going to do something that might hurt a little, but it'll help," he says, and before I can say yes or no, he reaches over with his left hand, pushes two fingers right over my bladder.

I gasp as the pain and pressure build, then finally I start to piss. I fill the cup halfway as asked, then finish in the urinal, Greg having taken his hands away as soon as I started to go.

I turn to Greg. "Thanks, I think," I say with a confused look on my face.

Greg just chuckles at me. "Let's get you locked back up," he says as we walk back over to the cubes. "I'll take this to the infirmary, and let you know if anything comes back on it."

"Okay," I say as I walk into the cube.

"I want you to tell one of the orderlies if you start feeling worse, okay?" Greg asks as he closes my door.

"Yes, sir," I say as I walk back over to my spot on the floor.

"That new pill is going to make you feel a little funny, though, so keep that in mind," Greg informs me.

"Funny how?" I ask as I look up at him from my seat on the floor.

"Mostly it's going to help you sleep, but some people complain about upset stomach, dizziness, dry mouth, and other things like that," he says.

"Okay," I say as I rub my hands over my face, already feeling tired.

"I'll check on you again before Robert comes on in the morning," Greg says with a wave as he turns to leave.

I'm alone again. At least Danny isn't staring at me. He conked out a little while back, and didn't seem to mind all of the conversation going on in the room just now. I am so fucking tired. I really would appreciate a bed right about now.

I pull the blanket out from under me, lie down on the floor, and use the blanket as a pillow as I start to feel dizzy. I feel like my body is moving slowly. My eyes are blinking too slowly.

I know I should have expected it, but I still groan when my stomach starts to hurt more. New medication equals more stomach troubles. It's actually gurgling this time. I hope they don't try to make me eat breakfast with my stomach feeling this way.

"Dean," I hear Greg say, but it sounds tinny and far away. He's back already?

I groan loudly, try to bat him away. My arms aren't moving like they should, though, and although it should probably scare me, I couldn't care less at the moment.

"I know it's a pretty strong medication, Dean, but I need to see if you're okay," Greg says as he grabs me by my upper arms, starts to sit me up.

I let out a noise that I think was meant to be a word as I feel myself moved around. I finally start to get my eyes open, but the light is so bright they begin to water. I squeeze them closed again.

"I'm sorry I have to do this, but I really need to check you out. Can you say anything? Can you tell me how you're feeling?" Greg asks as he sits me up and pushes me against the glass wall.

"Tired," I mumble as my head lolls back and hits the wall with a soft thump. I don't think what came out was actually a word, though. I let out a whimper as Greg lifts my left eyelid. My left eye waters even more when he finally lets the lid go. I try to jerk my head away as the right eyelid it lifted, but I'm already up against the wall.

"His breathing and his pulse are pretty slow, but his pupils are still equal and reacting," Greg says to someone.

"Do you want to take him up to the infirmary?" I hear Jason ask.

"Robert said the drugs were all hitting him pretty hard. I'm wondering if maybe he's just going to be totally knocked out by this new tranquilizer," Greg says as he starts to lay me down again.

I feel myself laid down on my right side with my back up against the glass wall, the blanket under my head.

"I'm going to check on him in an hour. In the meantime I want a check every fifteen minutes on him. If he starts vomiting, you call me immediately," Greg says, sounding very concerned.

"Yes, sir," Jason says, sounding equally concerned.

"I laid him on his side in case he vomits, but he might roll over in his sleep, so keep an eye on him," Greg says.

"Tired," I mumble again, happy that Greg let me lay back down.

I hear the Greg's feet move away, my door close, then the two men leave. It's still too bright even with my eyes closed. Why can't they turn the lights off at night?

"How are you feeling, Dean?" Greg asks.

I squeeze my eyes closed. I thought he was going to leave me alone for a while to sleep. I don't want to get up yet.

"Come on, Dean," Greg says as he grabs my upper arms and gets me into a seated position once again. "Can you hear me?"

I let out a moan. Why is he bothering me? I just want to sleep. Nobody around here ever just lets me do what I want to do. I don't even bother trying to get away this time as Greg checks my pupils. Then I feel a pinch on my stomach. I yelp, try to push away from Greg, but I'm not strong or coordinated enough to do much.

"He's responding to pain, his pupils are still equal and reacting, and his breathing and pulse are a little better. I think it's safe to let him sleep this off, but I still want you guys to check on him every hour. I still definitely want to know if he starts vomiting," Greg says as he slides me back down to the floor.

I hear both men talking more, but it sounds funny, so I ignore it. They leave soon enough, and I'm able to go back to sleep.