"Wake up, Sam," a voice whispers through the grey shroud that is Sam's entire existence right now. "Sam, please wake up now."  

Sam fights his way through the fog, dazed, but trusting that familiar voice implicitly. He's heard that voice speaking to him through these fugues before, drawing him back to the waking world and away from the fires and the monsters. He opens his eyes and has to squint to see passed the bright florescent lights that are affixed to the cracked plaster ceiling above his head. He can hear the soft whirring of air conditioning and the sound of echoing footsteps in the hall outside his barren room. There’re four reassuringly plain grey walls and a high barred window near the ceiling. The only thing in the room other than the bed he’s on is an empty desk and an uncomfortable metal chair, both bolted to the floor. All familiar, all wrong.

Sam turns his head toward the desk chair in time to see a familiar nurse hold out a little cup plastic and a bottle of water. His eyes are warm and green, and he’s looking at Sam with something that could be fondness, or could be pity.

"Hey there bright eyes. Time for your medication," the nurse says softly, his voice kind.

 "Dean?" Sam chokes, eyes wide. The room is spinning alarmingly and the grey walls are interrupted by bright spots of colour that burst behind his eyes. Nausea and a drilling in his head suffocate Sam, making him gasp and curl up again.

"That's right, Sammy, that’s me. Open up now," Dean coaxes, his uniform wrinkling as he bends over Sam and presses the cup of tiny multi-coloured pills into his hand.

Eyes wide, lost and adrift in the confusing flood of sensations and sounds, Sam obediently opens his mouth and tips the plastic cup into his mouth. Dean opens the bottle of water and holds it to Sam’s mouth so he can swallow the pills, before taking the plastic cup and the water and setting them on the desk beside him.

“Dean? What’s happened?” Sam asks, confused, as Dean guides him back down onto the pillows and tugs Sam’s pale blue scrub top down, smoothing it free of creases. “Where’s Cas? What’s going on?”

“Shhh,” Dean soothes, a tiny crease between his eyebrows. “It was just a dream, you’ll be fine now. No more monsters.”

Sam watches Dean’s lips twist into a frown of disapproval, or maybe disappointment, as he glances at the empty pill cup on the desk.

“Promise?” Sam asks desperately, reaching up to clasp Dean’s forearm.

Dean’s forehead smoothes out and he smiles down at Sam reassuringly. “I promise, Sammy. Now get some sleep.”

Closing his eyes, reassured, Sam drifts back into oblivion while Dean brushes his sweaty bangs back from his forehead. The sound of Dean crooning Hey Jude in his ear chases him into a white oblivion this time, where Sam is alone and safe and far, far away from his nightmares and delusions. 

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So, um. Yeah. I kinda sorta mental-hospital!AU'd? Please don't ask, it was just an anonymous drabble I submitted to someone about a week back when they had a heartbreaking edit of Sam in that mental hospital in s7 on their blog. >___> And then I needed to write something and I pulled this out again and added to it and made myself cry.