Sorry for how long it's been since I've updated. I've been really busy with other projects and with school, but I should have updates more frequently now. There are six more chapters left at this point, and it's my aim to get them done by the end of December. Once again, sorry for the delay.
Hope you enjoy the chapter.
He needed to get out of here. He didn't belong here. A lot of the people here definitely belonged, like the lady who swore that she spoke to the Virgin Mary every day, but he knew that he didn't. He hadn't really wanted to kill himself, hadn't really attempted. Sure, technically, he did have the pills in his hand and deliberately swallowed, but did it really count when you were being influenced by a spirit?
Sam was crawling the walls. There were so many interesting people, and he had no desire to get to know any of them. It was all a joke. They had to go to group, and they wanted him to talk about his "issues." He hoped that Dean had some better way to get him out of here, because if they were depending on him opening up and talking about his "problem," they would be here for a long time. There was nothing that he could tell them that would be real enough and that wouldn't keep him in here longer.
He wondered what Dean was doing, all alone. 'Dean better not be going after this thing.' Even as the thought passed through his mind, he knew that his big brother was doing just that. He was probably at the dorm building or a cemetery right now. This was his fight now, and he knew that if they needed bait for anything, he would be the most likely candidate. This woman wanted him, had shown the interest already, and he knew that there was something that stood apart and made an easy target out of him. It seemed unfair that Dean should stand guard and come between him and danger again.
He had gone through a whole night, tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable on the cot he had laid on, bright lights out in the hallway distracting him from sleep every time he closed his eyes. The night nurse had come down the hall every ten minutes it seemed. He could not wait to get out of here.
Now, he sat in the rec room, watching some cartoon out of the corner of one eye and waiting for his doctor to show back up. She needed to listen to him, that he was no longer a threat to himself, that he would be fine to go home. Dean needed him, needed him to be there and to back him up. All that time they had been forced to take off was too much. They didn't need to have a botched up case first thing back. He was worried, because Dean should have at least called him. Visitors had come that day, so he knew that Dean could have come. They could have sat down and figured it out without Dean putting himself in the line of fire. He craned his head around, trying to see down the long hallway. If his doctor would hurry up and get there, he could get out quicker.
'So, this is what jail feels like,' he thought idly to himself. You're locked in, watched all the time, and unable to do anything you really want to do. It was actually quite fascinating, the things that his mind had conjured up to torture him with since he was brought up here last night. Everything from laying in a bed that was actually soft, riding in the Impala with Dean, to a chicken mcnugget meal at McDonald's and being allowed to have his light on whenever he needed it, made an appearance.
The harsh clacking of high heels could be heard all the way down the long hall, and Sam looked back, anxious to see his doctor. Sure enough, the woman was walking down the hall carrying a huge stack of files. She walked through the nurse's station, another place that he wasn't allowed to go, and laid the stacks of paper on the table. He watched her intently, waiting for her to come talk to him. She was talking and laughing, and he was getting really frustrated.
Finally, she walked over to him, carrying his file with her. "Would you like to come with me, Sam?"
He got up, quietly, nervously, and went to talk to her. They walked down the hallway to where there were offices, and she walked into one, sitting down behind the desk. "So, Sam, how was your night last night?" She asked in a condescending tone that he felt was better suited for a ten year-old than a grown man.
"It was fine." He grumbled, telling himself that he needed to cooperate for her to let him out. "I did a lot of thinking."
She leaned forward, like she was listening intently. "And?"
"I never should have done what I did. I just...there was so much pain, and I didn't know how to deal with it. I realized, after my brother found me and brought me here, that I can't leave him. He would be devastated." He spoke, hamming it up, because he knew he needed to get out of here.
"Go on," the doctor said, folding her hands in front of her.
"He hasn't been here to see me yet. I just wanted him to know that I'm sorry and that I learned my lesson. I know he's there for me, and I'll never do it again." Sam said, sincerely, in an effort to get her to believe him. She seemed to take a deep breath and think about what he said.
"I'll tell you what, Sam. I'm going to give you– I'm going to give your brother some anti-depressants for you. If you can promise to take them and keep the follow-up appointment with the psychiatrist, Dr. Marx, then I'll go sign the papers to release you. Do we have a deal?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said quickly, without thought.
She nodded, and collected his file. "I'm going to go get those papers. The phone's here," She plopped a big phone that looked like something right out of the '70's down in front of him, "Dial 9 to call out, and I'm going to go write up your papers."
He took a deep breath and held it, not quite ready to admit how easy that had been, and when she was gone, he called his brother's cell phone. When he got the voicemail right away, he left a message. "Hey, Dean. They're letting me out of here. Can you come pick me up so that I don't have to stay here anymore...please?"
Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Feel free to comment any way that you would like, whether it be constructive criticism, praise, or a question.