Chapter 7

"Damn, dude," Dean grumbled darkly as he looked at himself in the mirror. "I like my hair short but this is fucking ridiculous."

Sam huffed. It was a good sign. If Dean felt well enough to bitch, he was getting better.

They'd cut his hair even shorter; the better to attach the electrodes, my dear. He'd lost twenty five pounds in that damn place. His wrists and ankles were bruised from the restraints. He was eating more, didn't wake up screaming as much.

Baby steps.

Sam would take every last one he could.

Slow and steady wins the race.

-30-

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