The Pay-Off For Having Faith

7

Three days later, Sam waited impatiently while his father went through the check-in procedures for a visit with Dean. He huffed impatiently – Bobby smirked and nudged him with an elbow – as John and the nurses chatted for several minutes.

"Finally," he muttered beneath his breath, drawing another amused smirk from Bobby, as they moved through the hallways, in the direction of Dean's room.

The first thing Sam noticed when he reached the room was that it wouldn't open when he tugged at the knob: it was locked. He glared at the door, still covered in its symbols of protection and warding, as if it had offended him. His gaze shifted to the psychiatrist standing near him, and Doctor Murphy pulled a ring of keys from his pocket to unlock it.

He stepped aside long enough for the door to be unlocked and opened, entering as soon as the doctor moved out of his way. Sam paused, eyes locking on Dean, whom was sitting on his bed. He watched, momentarily perplexed, as his brother slowly opened his eyes: Dean blinked upon seeing him and muttered, "Sam?"

"Hi, Dean."

"'ey, S'mmy," Dean pushed away from the wall against which he was propped, only to fall back against it again. He raised a hand in Sam's direction; a moment later, it dropped to rest on his thigh.

"Dean?" Sam crossed the room, brows furrowed, and seated himself on the edge of Dean's bed, "You okay?"

"S'okay," the other murmured, voice barely audible and eyes closed, "S'okay now, you're here. 'm okay."

Sam assessed his brother in silence for a moment, brow darkening in anger. Dean was sedated, that was obvious: so much so, that the young man could barely sit up on his own. He opened his eyes, stared at Sam for a moment, before they slipped closed again. His arms were covered in long, red scratches, starting from the backs of his wrists and disappearing beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt, and his lips were bruised and cut: he had been biting them again.

Angry hazel eyes flicked to the men across the room as he demanded, "What happened to him?"

"Due to his level of aggression early this morning," Doctor Murphy answered, speaking to John, "we had to, unfortunately, sedate him."

"He can barely sit up!"

Sam scooted across the bed to sit next to his brother. Dean's head rolled in his direction, eyes slitting open. A fierce wave of protectiveness rose up in him as Dean managed to scoot closer, leaning in to rest his head against Sam's for a moment and murmuring, "S'mmy, my Sammy." He slipped his arm around his brother, tugged him in so that the other's head was resting against his shoulder.

"I'm here, Dean," he murmured, pressing his lips against his brother's forehead. He heard Dean sigh, and leaned in close to catch his brother's words as Dean whispered,

"Can't, Sammy. Can't -- Heart's crawling out of my chest to find you. I went to hell to save you and they just keep taking you away from me."

"Dean.." Sam brushed his fingers through the other's hair, trying to offer what comfort he could.

Dean murmured against his shoulder again, and Sam caught the words "lost in here" and "can't think, Sammy". He blinked back tears and hugged his brother close. "I'm here, Dean, I am."

Sam's eyes fell on the men standing across the room, and he scowled.

"Do you see him?" anger traced his voice as his gaze locked on Doctor Murphy, "Do you see what you're doing to him?" Dean must have felt the tension lining his body, caught it in his tone, because the other raised his head suddenly, eyes open and assessing him. The older brother's eyes shifted to the men across the room, narrowed at them even as he struggled to keep them open.