Saving The Winchesters

It was a Thursday afternoon, and Dean was dying. Not literally of course, but he may as well have been.

Every Thursday afternoon, he got into his car and drove exactly forty seven miles to the small town of Westbrook, Tennessee. He would get out of his 1967 Chevrolet Impala, dreading. Walk the thirty two steps to the front door of The Cross Pointe Facility, wanting to turn around and leave. Say hello to the front desk operator, (it was always either Karen or Jo working the desk, and he had become fairly acquainted with them both over the years) chastising himself for always coming back to this awful place every week. Find the door with a large metallic "102", taking a deep breath to stabilize himself. And then, Dean Winchester would slowly open the door.

No matter how many times Dean opened that God-forsaken door, in that God-forsaken facility, he felt his hardened heart give an uncomfortable squeeze in his chest. Because every time he opened that door, he saw his little brother Sammy staring blankly into space.

Sam Winchester, for the past six years of his life, has been in an asylum.

It wasn't that Sam was insane, Dean had told himself, it was just that no one understood his little brother like he did. And maybe no one did, but even Dean couldn't deny that Sam was completely alright by the time he had escaped his teenage years.

Sam had always had imaginary friends when they were little, and Dean never bothered to shatter his fantasy. Why should he? With an alcoholic and chronically absent father, and no mother at all, all Dean wanted was anything, anything at all to make his brother a little happier. And his "friends" always did. Hell, sometimes even Dean would play along with him.

But by the time Sam had hit his 21st birthday, he was on the downhill slide, fast. Dean would come home sometimes to find all the furniture in the house moved to all the way to the left, or find Sam sitting in the shower fully clothed, talking to people who weren't really there. It was only after Sam's little episodes turned dangerous for himself and others that Dean was forced to take action and get him some professional help. The psychiatrists had concluded that the younger Winchester had an acute case of schizophrenia, along with some other stress disorder Dean didn't care to think about.

So now, even six years later, Dean couldn't help but feel his stomach flip at the sight of his drugged-to-an-oblivion brother. Sam was the one who was supposed to make it. Get through law school, marry a beautiful girl, raise a few kids. But look where that hope had gotten him. Locked up in a white coat facility where all the doors to the outside required an identification badge to open, and the doors to the quartering wings were automatically locked at 9 o'clock.

Dean would have sold his soul to get Sam out of here, but he knew the consequences of letting Sam get out of hand. He still had the raised scar on his lower back for a reminder of what his brother was capable of when he was off of his medication.

Dean shook his head to clear all the negative thoughts away before plastering a wide, phony smile on his face and stepping into the room.

"Hey there Sammy, I'm back. I snuck in some candy for you, just don't tell Nurse Ruby what I've been up to, okay?" He said, aiming for cheerful as he slipped into the chair next to Sam's bed. While relatively nice, the room was bland and uninteresting. It contained one bed; a white metal bench with old, yellow cushions resting on it; a small plastic chair pulled up beside an ancient looking desk; and one (barred!) window. Not to mention that the ghastly yellow was the only color in the entirety of the white room. It made Dean feel even more sick.

Sam looked up at him slowly before his lips and eyebrows puckered together slightly. "Dean, that's breaking the rules. You can't do that." While normally possessing a fast, rich voice, now Sam's voice was slow and flat. Today must have been a bad day for him, he only sounded this way when his blood was clogged and sluggish with drugs.

Dean felt the side of his lip twitch into a half smile. Even now, Sam was still such a rule follower.

"It'll be alright as long as you don't tell anyone." He said, holding out the bag , offering. "You can't have me eat all these myself, I have to maintain this body. You don't get ladies' attention with just a muscle car, you know."

Sam gave him one more disapproving look before reluctantly taking the Ziplock bag full of Skittles from his brother's grasp and chewing a few of them thoughtfully. "It's really been forever since I ate anything edible around here," he mused, smirking lazily. "Soggy fish fingers and unidentifiable meat creations every other day. I'm living the life." He let out a bark of sarcastic laughter. Dean just felt his heart sink lower.

"Well, I've not eaten all day, so I'm going to go visit the cafeteria and try this unidentifiable meat creation for myself. I'll be back in 15 minutes tops, okay?" But Sam had already lost his concentration on his brother and was staring into space again. Dean sighed and slowly retreated from the room.

Dean had just closed the door to room 102 when someone clipped him on his right shoulder and nearly toppled him over. He whipped around, a sharp remark poised on the tip of his tongue for whoever was responsible. He came face-to-face (well, more face-to-forehead, seeing as how he was a bit taller) with a man in a tan trench coat. The first thought to enter Dean's mind was, "Why the hell is this guy wearing a trench coat, it's 80 degrees outside." And the second was simply, "Damn, that's blue."

Because, for just a second, Dean Winchester was close enough to smell the slightest hint of mint soap wafting off of this man, and all he could see was a pair of ice cold blue eyes, glaring directly at him. He had seen blue eyes before, but these eyes seemed to need an entire different color to define them.

The moment was broken when the blue eyed, trench coat man spoke. "My apologies." He murmured, his voice deep and gravelly, before he turned on his heel and strode away.

Dean just looked after him, and for the first time in his life, speechless.