Summary:  Sam pays a high price after facing off with the Demon, and Dean refuses to lose the last of his family. He is determined to help Sam find his way back.
A/N:  Well, here we go again, another chapter story. I’m not sure how long this one will be, so I’ll play it by ear. This story may require some patience as it develops. There will be angst, but at the start the boys are in their own separate yet together (sort of) angst. I think you’ll understand once you begin to read. And, just a small head’s up you can expect to see Ellen and some of the other Roadhouse crew, but they won’t own the story, so fans that don’t like the girls, I think you can still stomach the story. And, there will be NO Dean/Jo relationship happening: friends, yeah, lovers, no way. Let me know what you think. Enjoy, I hope.
Disclaimer:  The characters of Supernatural were created by Eric Kripke and are owned by the CW Network. No profit is being made.

“…The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven…”
John Milton, Paradise Lost

Dean pulled into the visitor parking lot of the Stillwater Center and turned off the car. He let out a long sigh and stared at the building. Its outward appearance was far from imposing; in fact, for the most part it looked rather quaint with its manicured lawns and scrubs. The grounds were dotted with colorful flowers and even a fountain. But, the truth of the situation always landed like a lead rock in Dean’s stomach and this place just might as well be the hotel from the Shining because it filled him with just as much dread as that movie did. Dean leaned forward and dropped his forehead down onto his arm that he splayed across the steering wheel as his mind recollected a few short months ago and why he was here on the outside in a parking lot and Sammy was inside.

Eight Months Earlier

“There’s got to be another way Sammy,” Dean agonized as the crescendo of howling and chaos began to rattle his sternum in his chest. They had discovered another way to get rid of the demon; it wouldn’t kill him, but banish him for a very long time. It had taken two years to locate a means to face the demon, but now the moment was here. An ancient ritual where every millennia a champion is chosen to confront a great evil. The demon’s army of psychic’s he had turned would wage his war, but only if he were here and controlling them. The ritual was a mental conflict between the light and the dark and it was a battle only Sam could do.

“I have to do this Dean there isn’t another way. If I don’t, all the children still to be born like me will suffer. I can stop it. I can prevent the war. I can send the demon back to a place so deep in hell it’ll take him a millennium to crawl his way back to the light.”

“And, then what?” Dean spat.

“And, then it will be someone else’s turn,” Sam replied with a look of peace.

“No, there has to be another way,” Dean barked.

“There isn’t. I have to do this,” Sam looked hard and long at his brother.

“Sammy, no,” Dean begged. “What difference does it make? Evil will still exist.”

“Yeah, but it’ll be down one less sonofabitch at least for a while,” Sam quipped with a slight smile. “Dean you gotta let me go. You have to let me do this.”

Dean’s memories clouded a bit when he thought of the actual confrontation between Sam and the Demon. They had simply looked at one another, but there had been a clear communication happening between them … unspoken. The demon tried to infiltrate and spoil Sam’s mind. Sam resisted and accepted all at once, and in that delicate dance Dean remembers witnessing the pain on the demon’s face. He was seeing a chink in the armor occurring and it was Sammy causing it, and the price Dean knew far too well, but refused to accept. Sam began an almost meditative trance as he began speaking a series of mantra’s he had learned from an ancient text: “I have become one with everything,” the demon hissed, but tried to push into Sam’s mind again. To own him. To break him.“I have become one with you.” Sam reasserted.“I become everything.” Dean remembers seeing the sheen of sweat on his little brother’s tired and pained face, but his brother remained steadfast as the demon tried to whittle into Sam’s soul once again.

Sam repeated the beginning of the mantra once again before continuing: “I have become one with everything. I have become one with you,” he took a step toward the demon, as if, declaring this would end now, tonight, “I become everything.” The demon hissed and tried to push into Sam’s mind breaking his resolve. Sam’s eyes narrowed and he spoke: “Therefore, I become nothing. Therefore, you are nothing,” the demon focused on Sam and his face twisted in pain. His brain felt as though a hot poker was digging around in his grey matter peeling and twisting the layers. He grunted and continued: “Without my anger you have no substance. Without my pride you have no form.”

There was a howling hot wind that reeked of sulfur and the demon spoke, “You won’t win! You have no power. You’ll lose yourself. I will win.” he hissed. Sam leveled his gaze on the demon and smiled as he finished the mantra.

“Without my hate you have no being,” Sam panted out as he felt his mind slip into an abyss within himself. The demon let out a loud scream as he dissolved into a black swirling mist disappearing into a hot vortex of fire. Hell had reclaimed one of its own. Dean had looked up after the cacophony of noise and light had died down and when it was all over his eyes fell on his little brother. Sam’s body lay curled on its side in a fetal position rocking. His eyes were vacant and his mind broken and trapped within himself. Dean gathered his brother into his arms, “It’s okay Sammy,” Dean cooed. “I got ya little brother,” he assured. “I got ya.” He held Sam close trying to soothe him as if he were five years old, and as much as he hoped his words of comfort were reaching his brother in the abyss of his own mind he knew they weren’t, and that shattered him. Both brothers were broken in their own ways.

Eight Months Later, Present Time

Dean pulled himself from his memories. He stepped out of the car and headed into the building. Ellen had suggested Dr. Marcus Winters, a psychiatrist and former hunter she knew through her deceased husband William. She thought if anyone could help Sam it would be him and he knew about the supernatural and he would be someone Dean could confide in and not worry about being locked up himself for talking about demons and the like.

“Hi Dean,” Kendra, a unit nurse on Sam’s floor replied from the nurses station.

“Hi Kendra,” Dean offered a mild smile. “How’s Sam today?”

“He had a good night,” she assured. Dean felt a slight sense of relief over that simple statement. Sam’s last outburst of combativeness had landed him in restraints. “He’s in the sunroom right now with Dr. Winters.”

“Thanks,” Dean replied as he was buzzed through the unit’s security door. He walked into the sunroom that was used as an activities room. Dean often found other patients doing puzzles, finger painting and other activities. He saw Dr. Winters sitting with Sam in a corner speaking to him. Sam just stared off out the window. He didn’t speak. He never spoke not since that night eight months ago. Dean hated that the windows were covered with metal grids; in fact, all the windows in this unit were covered with metal grids in order to protect them from patients breaking them and to protect the patients from leaping out of them. He hated that his little brother was in a unit for profound psychiatric problems. The staff simply called it the ‘Acute Unit.’

“Hi Dean,” Dr. Winters said with a smile. “I was just talking to Sam.” Dean offered the doctor a quick hand shake, but his eyes only briefly acknowledged the man while his eyes gave his brother an appraising look.

“Any change?” Dean’s voice was hopeful.

“No afraid not.” The doctor paused. “Dean I need to discuss something with you.”

“What?” Dean asked as he walked over and touched Sam’s face and pushed his hair back gently. “Hey Sammy,” his voice was soft.

“As you know Sam normally is fed by the staff and until the last couple days we haven’t had problems, but he’s recently decided to refuse the hand feeding.”

“Okay,” Dean now turned his eyes to the doctor. “Does he want to do it himself?” He felt a little excited at the prospect. His little brother had been so withdrawn that he didn’t even feed himself, but would chew and swallow if fed. He could be coaxed from one room to another led like a child, but he never acknowledged anyone, not really. Sammy wasn’t here anymore and that made Dean ache.

“No,” the Dr. Winters began. “Sam still remains in his profound disassociated type of atypical catatonia. I want to discuss the possible use of a nasal feeding tube should he continue to resist feeding.”

“He pulls out his IV’s,” Dean started. “What makes you think he’s not going to yank this too?”

“That was in the beginning, Dean. He hasn’t had any real problems with the IV port since. And, the nasal tube shouldn’t pose a problem. But, I’ll need your consent for the feeding tube should it become necessary. And, should we have to use an NG tube it can be easily removed should he start accepting the hand feeding again. It’s not permanent.”

“Can I try to get him to eat before I sign the consent paper?”

“Sure, I’ll have Maggie bring in some apple sauce and we’ll try that.”

“Okay, but none of that chunky brand,” Dean replied. “Sam doesn’t like the apple chunks.” The doctor smiled.

“Smooth it is. I’ll be back in a moment.” Dean glanced at the doctor and nodded.

“I’ll be with my brother.” Dr. Winters nodded. Dean turned his eyes back to his sibling. Sam’s chestnut bangs hung low and Dean found his hand trying to tame the disheveled mop of hair on his kid brother. “So, what’s this I hear about you not wanting to eat kiddo?” Dean’s tone remained light as he touched Sam’s cheek. “You don’t want a feeding tube Sammy,” Dean spoke gently. “So you gotta eat, okay?”

Sam wandered around an empty house. He had woken up there and couldn’t remember how or why he was there. The windows and doors to the outside wouldn’t open and he had stopped trying. There was no furniture at first, but it seemed the longer he stayed and wandered around that each day something would appear. He never questioned why or how. The first object had been a single chair and now he had a bed, chair, table and a book, but the pages were all blank. He liked flipping the pages and feeling them under his fingers. There was a distant feeling that kindled in him, as if this was a familiar habit of his, but he couldn’t remember. He found himself looking out the windows and there was only a dark wasteland that he could see. But, in the distance he could almost make out a dim light from a distant horizon. He felt like the light wasn’t far away if he could only reach it, and sometimes he heard a voice and it called him Sammy. He wasn’t sure who he was or where he was, but there was something safe and warm in that one word. The voice was and wasn’t familiar, but he found himself drawn to it when he heard it and it shed light into the darkness outside his windows.

“Come on Sammy try,” Dean coaxed as he lifted the spoon with applesauce to his brother’s mouth trying to gain access. Sam would open sometimes, but push the applesauce back out refusing to swallow. Dean dabbed a moist washcloth under his little brother’s chin to clean the food away as it spilled over his lips and down his chin. “Please, Sammy,” Dean’s voice pleaded. “Just a spoonful, okay? We’ll start small.”

Please Sammy … just a spoonful …

There was that voice again and that word Sammy and the voice wanted him to do something. His hand absently went to his lips brushing away a ghosting presence at his mouth, but there was nothing there.

“Please, Sammy,” Dean encouraged. “Try. You need to eat.”

Please Sammy …you need to eat …

And there was that voice again and some part of him registered that the presence at his mouth meant something and he complied. There was a cool sweetness in his mouth and he swallowed. “That’s my boy,” Dean cooed. “Let’s try another Sammy. You can do it. Let’s try to finish this cup, okay.” And, Sam complied.

“Well, you definitely have a way with him,” Dr. Winters replied. “It looks like we may be able to hold off on the feeding tube. You think you can get some more food into him?” Dean smiled.

“Yeah, what do you have?”

“Well, maybe solids aren’t safe yet. He could choke if he resists swallowing at the last second. We’ll stick with soft foods. How about some chicken broth soup and we’ll try a few small crackers soaked in the soup?”

“Sounds good.” Dean replied.

Three Hours Later

Dean had walked Sam back to his room and sat with him. He had washed Sam’s hair, combed and dried it. “I really think you need a haircut Sammy,” Dean suggested. “But, I know you’d kick my ass,” he offered with a bit of humor. “You did real good Sammy with your lunch, so you better not give Kendra a hard time with your dinner okay?” Dean studied his brother’s expressionless face. He missed his brother’s soulful eyes. They always spoke volumes to him. And, now they were blank and he didn’t see his brother there anymore. “I’m not gonna give up on you Sammy,” Dean spoke firmly, but with affection. “You’re going to find your way back. Sammy? It’s Dean, your big brother, you hear me? I’m not going to give up on you … never.”

Sammy …find your way back … It’s Dean …your big brother…you hear me?

Words filtered into Sam’s world, but still they had no real context and the light was still so very far away. His mind would drift and he’d forget again, but that voice and the word Sammy always helped him to focus at least for a little while. Big Brother, part of him knew those two words meant something important and the word Dean, it made him feel warm and safe just like Sammy did, but the light was fading in the distance as it always did and soon he’d be in the dark again.

“I gotta go now Sammy,” Dean replied softly. He pushed his brother’s bangs back and kissed his little brother on the top of his head. “I’ll visit again tomorrow afternoon, okay? I hate to leave you, but I have too. I’ll see you tomorrow, I promise. “Night Sammy, bye.”

Gotta go now Sammy …’Night Sammy, bye…

And, then the light was gone once again.

“Dean, hey hun can you help me with this?” Ellen called over her shoulder from her vantage point on the ladder. Dean turned from wiping down the far end of the counter at the bar. He hadn’t even noticed she was up on a ladder. His mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of Sam.

“Huh? Oh yeah, here,” Dean sounded irritated. “You should have let me do that anyway. You don’t need to be climbing around on ladders.”

“Hey, mind your tongue,” she scolded. “I’m not some old lady that’s gonna break a hip. Here,” she grunted as she handed down a cardboard filing box from the crawlspace in the ceiling near the main bar area.

“Sorry,” he offered quietly. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” Ellen smiled softly.

“I know sweetie. No worries. You thinkin’ about Sam?”

“Always,” Dean answered bluntly. “I just want him back Ellen. Maybe I could try having him here again. It might help.” Ellen offered an understanding smile.

“Dean, honey, you remember the last time in the beginning before he went to Stillwater when you brought him here after,” she paused. “I know you want him with you, but I think he’s in the right place Dean and Marcus can help him or at least do his best to try.” Dean offered Ellen a begrudged nod. She was right. He remembered with a shiver the third night here at the roadhouse after the confrontation with the demon. He remembered the blood and Sammy. He swallowed down the bile that crept up his throat at the memory, but the memory came anyway.

Eight Months Earlier, the Roadhouse

Sam hadn’t spoken and Dean still tried to coax his brother into the world around him. He had bundled Sam into the Impala and drove to the roadhouse only stopping for gas. He would get Sam to drink water, but he mostly slept. They had been at the roadhouse for three days as Dean tried to nurse Sam back to world with no luck. He could tell by looking into his little brothers eyes that there was a clear disconnect and that the light was gone from his dark eyes. Dean woke early and turned to check on Sam. It was an automatic response to immediately check on his brother. Sam had been sleeping most of the time or preferred being curled up and rocking himself. His absent eyes never met anyone’s. Dean shot up from his bed as he quickly saw that Sam wasn’t in the bed next to him. “Sammy?” Dean’s voice was thick with a controlled panic. He didn’t have to look far. He found Sam huddled in a corner on his knees rocking as he wrote on the wall. Dean noticed the red looking paint on the wall his mind not processing the truth. And, then he saw the hunting knife, his own hunting knife discarded beside his little brother … the blade bore the trances of coagulating blood. Dean watched Sam for a moment still frozen. He watched Sam rub the fingers of his right hand into the palm of his left and come up thick with blood and continue to write on the wall.

“Oh Christ Sammy,” Dean blurted as he ran to his brother. He took Sam’s left hand in both of his. “Shit,” he hissed. “What have you done to yourself Sammy.” Dean grabbed a t-shirt he had slung over a chair and wrapped his brother’s hand in it. “You’re going to need stitches,” he admonished.

It wasn’t until later after he had cleaned and sewn his brother’s hand that he had looked at the wall to see what Sam had been doing, and it was then that he knew his little brother needed help he couldn’t provide. The wall bore pictures of sigils and random gibberish. He cast a scared glance toward his sleeping brother. “I’m sorry,” was all he could whisper as he allowed himself to cry. A hand on Dean’s shoulder pulled him into the present and away from his haunting memories.

The Roadhouse, present time

“Dean? You okay?” Ellen asked with a concerned face.

“Huh? Yeah, I was just…” his voice trailed off. “You’re right about … well, you know.”

“I wish I weren’t if that helps at all,” her voice was sincere. “And, hey, at least the Center is only a twenty minute drive from here.” Dean simply nodded. He hoped it was a busy night in the bar to keep his mind off his little brother, at least for a little while.

The Stillwater Center, Sam’s Room

Sam’s body lay curled on his side gently rocking with his eyes staring at the wall. Kendra unlocked Sam’s door and walked in. “Hi Sam, it’s Kendra. I just wanted to make sure you’re situated for the night.” She smiled at the young man. “I have to give you your medication for the night, okay? It won’t hurt.” She gently took Sam’s left hand and inserted a syringe into his IV port. “There you go,” she cooed. “You know if you’d just take your meds by mouth all the time we could get rid of this thing,” she replied softly as she tapped his hand gently as she referred to the port. Sam’s med taking had been hit and miss. When they could they would crush some of his meds in his food, but the evening meds came long after dinner was over, and there wasn’t much choice. She pulled his blanket up over his shoulders and made sure the bed rails were up and locked into position. “Okay, you’re all set. Sleep tight Sam. Sweet dreams.” She ran a hand gently across his forehead and through his hair a couple times and watched as his eyes slid closed. She smiled. This simple action always seemed to work and had become their nightly bedtime routine. She hoped it would be a good night for him.

Sam hated this empty house. The white-grey walls seemed to stretch forever. The only light seemed to come from what he thought was the moon, but looking out the windows there wasn’t much to see. He missed the distant light that came with the voice and the word Sammy. He felt warm when he heard the voice. He hated the stretching vastness outside the window. It was almost as if he were dropped in the middle of vast desert and nothing lived outside this house. He would stare at a dead tree not far away and there was something disconcerting about the knobby barren appearance of it and he felt fear when he looked at it too long. But there was something familiar about it, too. But, in his head he always saw it with leaves and was full and green. He could visualize a brief mental picture of a snapshot a little boy, a blonde haired woman, a man with a gentle smile and baby, but the mental picture always dissolved away like sand through fingers before he could fully grasp it or what it meant.

You know what? I’m going to be the one to bury you … you’re a selfish bastard…

He covered his ears trying to block the words. He hated the voices and their words that came when the light was gone. Some nights were worse than others. He huddled in a corner trying and failing to block the disjointed voices as they echoed in the emptiness of the house.

…That’s right Sam … you left … your brother and I we needed you … and you left…

…You’re the one that told me if I left…not to come back… you closed that door, not me… you were just pissed off because you couldn’t control me anymore…

…As long as I’m around nothing bad is gonna happen to you…

…Dean, we are a family…I’d do anything for you, but it’s never going to be like it was…

…could be…

…I don’t want it to be…

…That demon killed your mother, killed your girlfriend…

…Your son is dying and you’re worried about the Colt…

… Can we not fight …most of the time I don’t even know what we’re fighting about … just butting heads…

…Dad are you okay?...

… Shoot me in the heart son … Do this Sammy…

…Sam, no…

… Time of death 10:41 Am…

Sam covered his ears tightly, but he did what he always had to do when the voices were too loud, too many, and the chaos threatened to crush him … he screamed.

Kendra and a resident unlocked the door as two orderlies filed into Sam’s room. He was screaming and thrashing in his bed. A single hand gripped the metal bed side rail and yanked on it violently. Dr. Levin, the night shift resident looked through Sam’s chart while the orderlies began to put restraints on Sam. “Okay, keep his arm still,” he instructed.

“You want the Haldol, right?” Kendra asked. “He’s allergic to the Thorazine.”

“Yeah, 5 cc injection ought to do it.” Dr. Levin answered briskly. “Damn this kid is strong,” he muttered as the orderlies pinned Sam’s arm so the doctor could inject the syringes contents into his shoulder. Kendra and the doctor both watched as Sam began to calm down and the ear piercing screaming stopped. “Put him on some telemetry over night,” the doctor began. “You know … the standard … heart rate and oxygen monitors until the Haldol wears off and he wakes up.”

“No problem.” Kendra made sure Sam’s four point restraints weren’t too tight and covered him back up. “Oh Sam,” she whispered to a now empty room except for her and her young charge. She hated his screams. They were primal and fear filled and there was nothing that would soothe him except drugs that lull him into a mindless, dreamless, stupor. “Rest well,” she whispered and left the room.

The voices were quiet now, and Sam felt the warm void consuming him and in that void was a blissful peace … peace from this empty house, his confusion, and the voices that seemed familiar, yet remained lost in meaning … and he welcomed the complete oblivion that swallowed him into a nothingness, and he slept.

The Stillwater Center: The Next Day

It was late afternoon when Dean arrived at the center to visit Sam. He approached the nurse’s station and saw the familiar faces of the incoming evening crew with the outgoing day crew. “Dean,” Jennifer spoke over the top of a computer screen. “Um, Dr. Winters wanted to see you in his office before you saw Sam today.”

“Is he okay?” Dean couldn’t suppress his big brother alert mode.

“Yes, but he had a rough night,” she said with a compassioned smile. Dean knew what that meant. Sam was likely drugged and restrained.

“Is the doc in his office now?”

“Yes,” Jennifer answered. “Go ahead to his office. I’ll call him and let him know you’re on your way.”

“Thanks.”

Dean walked down a hallway of various office doors. This particular part of the hospital was called the ‘Clinical Wing’ and housed most of the staff doctor’s offices and the outpatient counseling center. He came to the dark chocolate colored door and knocked just below the brass name plate: Suite 210, Dr. Marcus Winters, M.D., Chief of Psychiatry. A muffled voice called out from the closed door. “Come in.” Dean opened the door and the doctor met eyes with him and smiled. He motioned that he’d be just a minute as he finished his phone call. Dean nodded and took a seat across from the doctor. The phone call ended and Dean raised his eyes once again to meet Dr. Winters.

“So, Jennifer tells me you know about Sam’s night?”

“Yeah, is he still out?”

“He’s groggy, but he’s been combative most of the morning, so he’s been given a mild sedative and as I’m sure you already know he’s been restrained to prevent himself from self injury.”

“What set him off?” Dean hated that some nights his brother was fine, but more times than not he would have these horrible bouts of screaming and violence. He had witnessed an episode once when he visited and Sam was sleeping in the afternoon. It had scared him to the core.

“His mind,” Dr. Winters answered bluntly. “I’d like to do a sleep study on Sam to study his brain activity while he’s sleeping, and maybe we’ll catch an episode.”

“So, he’s in there somewhere?”

“His brain isn’t damaged in the sense you’re thinking Dean. He’s just pulled so far into himself that he’s become lost. The outside world doesn’t exist to him, but I feel that inside his mind he is somewhere, but where I haven’t a clue. However, something is triggering him to react the way he does. He doesn’t speak or verbalize at all when awake, but asleep when he is triggered he has as you’re well aware frequently makes noises, screams and acts out.”

“It’s been eight months doc and he hasn’t gotten better … not even a little. I mean we bounce between he’ll eat and he won’t, but he doesn’t acknowledge me or you, or anyone for that matter. He won’t feed or bathe himself, and he lets you lead him from room to room like a pet … it’s like he has no will of his own. My brother isn’t in there when I look at him. I just want him back.”

“Dean, I know you’re frustrated, but we’ve also discussed that whatever occurred when he faced,” the doctor lowered his voice even despite the door being closed. “When he faced the demon his mind has incurred a horrible trauma. You told me about this ritual and that it spoke about a waking death of the mind as the price for completing it. You said that Sam was fully conscious while facing the demon and it wasn’t until after he completed the ritual and banished the demon that he slipped away. He knew the consequences Dean and that his price would be his mind, but I’m going to do everything to help him. Look this type of trauma isn’t in the textbooks, but I’m addressing the symptoms and disorders as I would for any other patient although the cause of his current state is vastly different than other patients.” Dean nodded. “And, it’s possible that Sam may never find his way back, but I’m not quitting.”

“I just want to see him,” Dean sighed as he ran a hand across his eyes. “This sleep study,” Dean began. “It’s not painful is it?”

“No, it’s just electrodes and monitors. Nothing painful. He’ll be restrained and we’ll let him fall asleep on his own as usual. There will be a digital recording of his brain activity and the monitors will keep track of his heart rate and breathing.”

“Fine, do what you have to,” Dean commented. “I just want my brother back.”

“I know you do,” Dr. Winters commiserated. “I’ll go over any findings with you tomorrow when you come to visit.”

“What if he doesn’t have an episode tonight?”

“Then we’ll keep doing the studies each night until he does.”

“If he does have one tonight,” Dean began. “How long are you going to let him carry on? I don’t want him put through extra trauma.”

“I understand. It won’t be aloud to go beyond three to five minutes. He’ll be restrained and every effort made to insure he doesn’t hurt himself when he becomes combative.” Dean nodded.

Meanwhile, Sam’s Room

Sam drifted in this foggy serene feeling. He was in the house again, but he still felt the quiet pull of oblivion on his body and he floated. He heard a voice caressing him, one he hadn’t heard before, but it sounded tender, and again familiar. He wondered if one voice was his own, and part of him knew it was.

…Sam get a move on…

…Do we have to go…

…It’ll be fun …

…What would I do with out you…

…Crash and burn…

He felt a warm sensation stroke his mouth; a palpable memory reminded him of a kiss that he felt he should remember who and where, but again the details eluded him, but nevertheless he felt the warm safeness of the action and he allowed himself to be pulled further into the oblivion and away from the confines of this empty house and he slept once again.

One Hour Later

Dean entered Sam’s room and his eyes fell on the restraints. He hated seeing his little brother basically tied down to the bed. The restraints were padded and didn’t hurt him, he knew this logically in his head, but the big brother part of him felt protective and wanted to get them off of his sibling. “Hey Sammy,” he spoke softly. He ran a thumb across his brother’s forehead. Sam stirred and opened his eyes. Dean always hoped that one day Sam would see him and not look right through him, but today wouldn’t be one of those days. “Sam?” His voice was casual. “Sammy, I’m here,” he replied. “You’re not alone kiddo.” Sam moved slightly, but couldn’t move too much due to the restraints. “The doc wants to study that freaky head of yours while you’re sleeping. It won’t hurt Sammy, I promise, okay.” Dean’s voice shook. He felt the sting of hot tears and blinked rapidly to rid his eyes of the watery intrusion. “Dammit,” he muttered to himself. “You gotta come back Sammy. You’re all I got. This family has lost too damn much because of that yellow-eyed bastard. We lost Mom and Dad. You lost Jessica, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna lose you too. I’m getting you back,” he asserted firmly.

Dean sat with Sam who drifted in an out of his sedated state. There was a brief knock at Sam’s bedroom door and Kendra entered. “Fancy meeting you here,” she smiled. She had become very accustomed to the Dean’s presence and knew he looked after his little brother with tender ferocity that she admired.

“Hey Kendra,” Dean met her eyes. “Dr. Winters said you were here when Sam had his,” Dean paused. “His episode.”

“Yes, well I’m his night nurse, so I was here.”

“They gave him Haldol again didn’t they?”

“There wasn’t really a choice Dean. I know you don’t like it, but…” Dean interrupted her.

“I know it helps to calm him and make him more manageable, so he doesn’t hurt himself or anyone else, and I get that I do, but I’m never going to be in the sort of head space needed to accept that my little brother is being given an anti-psychotic drug.” Kendra offered a reassuring smile.

“I know,” she attempted to comfort. “I was given sleep study orders for his chart a little while ago. So, Dr. Winters is having Sam monitored tonight and possibly the next few to see if he has another outburst, huh?”

“Yeah, it sounded like a good idea. Maybe it’ll offer some answers.”

“Maybe,” Kendra replied not willing to offer false hope or take it away for that matter.

“So, who’s on tonight to monitor Sam’s sleep study?” Dean asked.

“I looked on the schedule and its Dr. Kraus’s rotation for tonight.” Dean remembered that doctor and liked him. He was compassionate, but honestly blunt. A real straight shooter.

“Good,” he commented. “At least I know its not that quack Tolfer,” Dean complained. He didn’t like that doctor and had requested that unless it was a matter of life or death he never wanted Sam on his rotation. The man had said Sam was a chronic case and would never function outside of an institution. And, Dr. Winters had made sure that Dr. Tolfer was assigned to another wing, so that there were never any conflicts with Sam’s care.

Kendra gave Dean a knowing nod about Dr. Tolfer. “Well, Dr. Winters gave instructions to let this sedative wear off and to not give Sam anymore. He doesn’t want his sleep drug induced, so once he’s a little more alert would you like to take him to the sunroom and see if he’ll eat some lunch. He handled dinner just fine the other night, so I’m hopeful about today.”

“Sure, as soon as I can get him more awake I’ll take him down the hall,” Dean answered. “What’s on the menu today?”

“Frank and beans with macaroni and cheese, and a banana and skim milk.”

“You hear that Sammy,” Dean pushed back Sam’s hair and could see his brother’s eyes were once again open. “Hey, do you think he could have a juice box, too? He likes those and I can usually get him to drink them.”

“Sure,” she replied. “Here let me undo the restraints. He’s been pretty quiet the last four hours or so.” Dean stepped back and let her undo the leather straps. “Okay, all done, Sam,” she said with a smile. “And, as soon as you’re a little perkier your brother is going to take you to the sunroom for some lunch, okay?” She patted Sam on the arm.

“Thanks Kendra.”

“No problem.” Kendra left and Dean turned his attention back to his brother.

Thirty Minutes Later, the Sunroom

“Good job Sammy,” Dean’s voice sounded upbeat. He filled a spoon with baked beans and fed his brother. He had also managed to get half the banana into him before he started pushing it back out of his mouth when he’d had enough. “How about some more macaroni and cheese kiddo?” Dean spooned some noodles up into a plastic spoon. Sam resisted the spoon and noodles. “Come on Sammy, just a couple more bites, okay? It’s good, come on.”

Sammy just a couple more bites …it’s good

There was that voice again and he felt a sense of comfort. The house didn’t seem quite so empty when he heard that voice and he turned his eyes toward a window and the wasteland that lie outside and he saw the light in the distance. He felt drawn to the book on the table and opened it. He wanted to feel the pages and be reminded of something that seemed familiar, but he couldn’t reach. But, today there was a word on the first page. He traced the black lettering of the one word and frowned. It said: Brother. The word meant something he knew, but the definition and its meaning were lost on him just like everything else in this lonely place of white-grey walls and echoes.

“Please, Sammy. You need some weight on those bones. Just finish a couple more bites okay? Look you ate all of your frank and beans. Just a little more,” he almost begged. He felt like he was cajoling a child and he guessed in many ways he was. “Sammy, come on. Eat.”

Sammy … eat…

He listened to the voice and he felt a presence at his mouth and opened. “That’s my boy,” Dean said with a smile. He wiped Sam’s face with a napkin and proceeded to open a juice box pouring its contents into a Styrofoam cup, and held it to Sam’s mouth. He wouldn’t drink from a straw, so Dean had to coax the fluid into his brother’s mouth. The first initial sip or two would almost always dribble down his chin and Dean would try to catch the fruity liquid before it got on Sam’s shirt. “There you go, it’s your favorite Sammy,” Dean spoke gently. Sam began to drink from the cup Dean held it to his lips with an occasional dribble escaping out of the corner of his mouth. “That’s okay kiddo I got it,” Dean assured as he licked a napkin and wiped the sticky trail off his brother’s chin with the moistened napkin.

Later that Evening, the Roadhouse, 10:00 PM

Dean covered the bar alongside Ellen while Jo cleared tables and took drink orders. It was a busy night, but Dean couldn’t help but think about Sammy and how the sleep study was going. He was pulled from his thoughts about Sam when a group of gregarious hunters burst into the roadhouse ready for beer and to tout the tales of their latest hunt.

Meanwhile, the Stillwater Center

Sam was fast asleep in his bed. Kendra moved quietly around the bed to assure the electrodes on Sam’s forehead and temples were all reporting to the digital recorder. She looked at the screen to verify and saw his brain activity. She made sure his restraints were comfortable for him, but would prevent him from lashing out. She did one final check of his heart rate and oxygen levels and left the room leaving the door open.

Sam walked around the mostly empty house, but something felt different as he started down a long hallway. He saw a door he hadn’t noticed before and approached it. He turned the knob and entered. He found himself standing in a bedroom and he walked around looking at the items. He hadn’t seen this much in a very long time. He could hear water running and looked toward a small door that was ajar. He glanced around the room and saw clothing draped over a chair, a bed, books, and a backpack, it felt familiar to him on some very deep level. He felt compelled to lie down on the bed and close his eyes.

Drip … he jerked slightly

Drip … he jerked again and his eyes snapped open

And there she was splayed across the ceiling her face frozen in fear and accusation. As her blonde hair cascaded outward framing her face. His eyes went wide.

…Why Sam...

And, then the flames began to roar overhead consuming her in the fire. Sam felt the heat and ran from the room as the roar of the fire was loud and popping. And, that voice echoed down the hallway following him as he ran.

…Why Sam...

The voice filled the house and he pulled back into a corner.

…Why Sam…Why…Why…Why Sam…

“No Jess!” He yelled a name he didn’t remember knowing. “No!” he repeated. “Jess!” Sam thrashed violently in the bed as all of the monitors blared in alarm at his body’s distress.

“Oh, God,” Kendra’s clipped response could be heard down to the nurses station as she ran into Sam’s room. Dr. Kraus ran in behind her.

“No Jess! Jess!” Sam continued to yell and thrash.

“He’s talking,” the doctor’s eyes showed his surprise as he looked at the monitors and frowned. “His heart rate is through the roof,” Dr. Kraus barked. “We gotta calm this kid down.”

“Do you want the Haldol injection?” Kendra asked.

“No,” the doctor answered abruptly as Sam continued to thrash. “Give me 5mg of Diazepam,” the doctor swabbed Sam’s shoulder and inserted the needle into the muscle of his arm. “There you go kiddo,” he said in a soothing voice. “Come on,” he encouraged. “Calm down.” He watched Sam’s heart rate begin to come down and his breathing regulated.

“Jess?” Sam whispered as his eyes slid closed. Kendra looked at Dr. Kraus with stunned eyes.

“In eight months,” her voice a whisper. “I’ve never heard him speak.”

“Who is Jess?” He asked looking through Sam’s file in the hopes that maybe it was listed in his background notes. He continued to scan his patient’s history.

“I’m not sure. I could call his brother Dean.”

“No, I want to call Dr. Winters first. He’s Sam’s primary physician. Um,” his voice drifted off as something caught his eye. “Here it is,” he began to read out loud. “Jessica Moore, girlfriend, died in a campus apartment fire in November 2005. It looks like Sam was the only survivor.”

“Oh,” Kendra cast a sorrowful glance at Sam’s now peaceful face.

“I need to call Dr. Winter and see if he wants to notify his brother tonight or wait.”

Later at the Roadhouse, 11:20 PM

Things had quieted, but only a small fraction. It wasn’t unusual for a weekend night to go strong until Ellen threw everyone out at 1:00 in the morning. The phone rang and Ellen reached over and picked it up.

“Harvelle’s Roadhouse.”

“Ellen? It’s Marcus,” Dr. Marcus Winters spoke evenly. He could hear the ruckus of conversations in the background and hear the music playing. “Is Dean around? I’d like to speak to him.” Ellen frowned and leaned into the phone concentrating on her old friend’s voice. “Is it Sam? Has something happened?”

“Sam’s okay,” his voice hedged. “I just really need to speak with Dean.”

“Why don’t I believe you,” Ellen complained. “Look that boy is all he has in the world for family and if something has happened I have to be prepared, so I can prepare him.”

“Ellen,” Marcus let out a long sigh. He sometimes forgot how insistent she could become when she was concerned. “I know these boys matter to you, but you’re not family. Look, Sam is fine. He’s resting, but I need to speak with Dean.”

“Hold on,” Ellen replied. “I’ll get him.” Ellen looked around and spotted Dean near the pool table with a group of hunters. “Dean,” she called out waiting to make eye contact with him. He looked over at Ellen and saw she was holding the phone. He felt his stomach drop. It was late and the only calls that came late were seldom very good. He dropped his pool cue with a brief apology to the other hunters and took long strides toward Ellen and the imposing phone handset she was holding. “Dean, honey,” she started. “It’s Marcus.” Dean snatched the phone with urgency.

“Tell me he’s okay,” Dean commanded and pleaded all at once. “He’s okay, right?”

“He’s resting,” Dr. Winters replied.

“That’s not a damn answer,” Dean ground out. “I asked if he was okay. Dammit you said this sleep study wouldn’t hurt him. I trusted you…” Dean was cut off suddenly by two words spoken over the phone line.

“He spoke.”

“What?” Dean replied breathlessly into the phone. Dr. Winters took a breath and proceeded to fill Dean in on what had been reported to him by Dr. Kraus.

Meanwhile, Stillwater Center, Sam’s Room

Sam was back in the house. He felt a slight disconnect from its walls and empty rooms, but not enough that he didn’t remember the fire, the girl, and her voice begging him to answer her … why Sam and most of all he remembered a name, her name and it made him ache. He sat in a lone wooden chair with his arms wrapped around himself and rocked whispering the word Jess over and over.

Kendra stood over Sam checking his vitals and watched his lips move silently in his mildly sedated sleep. She bent close to hear the barest hint of a vocalization and it was clear … Jess…Jess…Jess…sounding almost like a prayer into the darkness he was trapped in. She smiled tenderly at him and stroked his hair for a moment before leaving his room.

Thirty Minutes Later

Dean rushed into the lobby and recognized the night guard at the desk. “Hey Malcolm, can you buzz me into the East wing. I’m meeting Dr. Winters.” The center had two lock down procedures for security. During the day the lobby’s information desk was manned with two secretaries and the wings were open. But, the units were always on lock down and you had to be buzzed through at the nurse’s stations.

“Hi Dean, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you here this late,” the fifty something guard leaned forward to buzz Dean inside. The wings of the center were on lock down after 7:00 PM. “No worries,” his voice casual. “Doc Winters already called me and said you’d be coming.”

“Thanks Malcolm.” Dean hurried through the impact resistant decorator glass door. He thought it was a little amusing that the lobby security doors still maintained a sense of normalcy with their nice glass appearance with etchings of weeping willow trees the center’s logo, but would also withstand the impact of whatever a patient could throw at it to try and get out.

Dean hurried into the East wing and headed straight for the ‘Acute Unit’ and Sam’s room. He saw Dr. Winters waiting at the nurse’s station. “Hi Dean,” the doctor replied with a soft smile. The physician was in jeans and polo shirt with gym shoes. Dean had never seen the man look so casual, but he figured considering the hour and that the man had been called at home it was understandable.

“Hey doc, how’s Sam? Has he spoken anymore?”

“Well, Kendra heard him whispering in his sleep the name Jess once again. But, nothing new was said beyond what I told you on the phone when I called. He’s still resting. I’d like to go talk in my office before you see him, alright?”

“Okay,” Dean wanted to see Sam so badly and to hear his voice even if it meant listening to him call for his dead girlfriend. Dean followed the doctor into his office and sat down.

“Dean as I’ve mentioned Sam is suffering from some kind of disassociation with an atypical catatonia, and I’ll be honest I’ve never dealt with this kind of uncharacteristic attributes to this particular kind of disassociation. Sam’s case is unique and we both know in more ways than one,” he offered Dean a wry smile.

“What about the sleep study?” Dean cut to the chase. “He’s never spoken before and he hasn’t had dreams about Jessica for a while … why now?”

“His brain activity was all over the place during his episode,” Dr. Winters began. “And to be frank I’m not entirely sure Sam’s dreaming,” he paused. “I think perhaps he’s reliving aspects of his life … things from memory. Maybe, he’s seeing or hearing memories, does that make sense?”

“You’re saying Sam was probably reliving the fire and Jessica’s death like it was just happening.”

“Not sure,” the doctor’s face was pensive. “He’s defiantly experiencing something and I’d estimate a guess that he’s been having flashes or auditory memories for a while based on his outbursts and screaming. And, it wasn’t until tonight that he screamed his girlfriend’s name. I think tonight the stakes went up for him and it allowed him to directly tap into a memory enough to recall a name and he was able to vocalize.”

“Does this mean he’ll start talking now?” Dean was hopeful.

“Not necessarily,” the doctor commented. “But, it doesn’t mean he won’t,” he countered. “Sam doesn’t show any signs that he’s engaging his environment and coming out of this atypical catatonia, but the mind is a strange thing. Let’s play it by ear.”

“Fine,” Dean’s voice was soft, but the frustration in his tone was evident. “I want to see him.”

“Sure. I plan on sticking around a little while. I’ll walk you to the unit. I wanted to write some notes in his chart. I’ll be going over his brain activity recordings in depth over the next day or two, but I can tell you he is having major activity during his episodes.” Dean nodded.

Ten Minutes Later, Sam’s Room

Dean sat next to Sam stroking his hair. “Hey Sammy,” his voice was soft. “You wanna talk? I hear you spoke tonight. Sammy, can you hear me? Listen, little brother, whatever is going on in that head of yours don’t give into it, okay? And, Jess,” he paused. “Sammy, Jess’s death wasn’t your fault … you hear me it wasn’t your fault.” Dean continued to stroke Sam’s hair gently.

…you hear me…Sammy…Jess…wasn’t your fault…

There was that voice again and its fragmented speech. Sam felt drawn to the hallway again, but he avoided the door at the far end, the one with flames behind it, but he couldn’t help but notice that other doors had appeared. He stood looking at them and felt pulled toward one.

…Sammy…

That voice surrounded him like a warm embrace, but the pull toward opening a new door was too strong and he turned the knob. Sam walked into another bedroom different from the last, and as if on auto pilot he walked to a wall and kneeled down on his knees with a hammer and small bag. Again, it felt familiar, but he couldn’t touch the memory in its completeness. He picked up the small hammer and it seemed his muscle memory took over and just as he was about to knock a hole in the drywall there was a crash behind him and suddenly something wrapped around his neck and pulled him backward to the floor.

Dean watched Sam’s forehead crease in tension. The heart monitor he was still attached to began to beep wildly.

Sam fought the tightness of a cord around his neck. He couldn’t pull in the oxygen he needed. He felt like someone should be there to help him, to save him, and his eyes moved expectantly to the open doorway, but he was alone, and he felt his world begin to dim around the edges. He struggled in one vain final attempt as he thrust himself upward, but there was no escape and no oxygen.

“Sammy!” Dean screamed as Sam’s body arched painfully against the leather restraints as his brother made struggled breathing noises as if he were trying to breathe through wet cheesecloth and failing. Sam’s eyes were wide and seeing right through Dean. “Help!” Dean shouted as his hands moved frantically over his brother.

In one brief moment right before the suffocating oblivion reaching for him and cutting off his ability to breathe completely claimed him he thought of one word to shout with his last ounce of air in his depleted and starving lungs, “Dean!” and the darkness claimed him.

Dean met his brother’s eyes and for a moment he knew Sam had seen him. He listened to Sam’s strangled last breath expended on his name, and just as quickly Sam’s eyes slid partially closed and he collapsed back against the bed and alarms blared from all directions. Dr. Winters and the medical staff poured into the room with a crash cart. Before Dean was pulled away he glanced at the wailing monitor next to his brother’s bed and it bore an unwavering thin straight blue line and he knew his brother’s heart had stopped.

“Sammy!” He screamed as he was pulled by an orderly from the room. “No! Sammy!”