Disclaimer: One day, I rule the world, and everyone may bow before me, and I will buy the rights…but that day is not today.
Warnings: Umm, actually, I don't know much yet, this is kinda a day by day project, but I'm gonna go ahead and put down: graphic violence and sex, mental instability, Dark!Dean and Harry, and all sorts of other goodies. Maybe even a future Winchester sandwich with Potter filling? Who knows? *waggles eyebrows*
Apr. 8, 2012,
St. Gabriel's Home for the Mentally Disturbed, Room 13, Right wing
…Well, here we go: the Diary, Journal, Log…Thing of Dean Winchester. Damn, I feel like a preteen girl. I'm almost surprised this notebook and pen the staff provided aren't glittery pink with feathers and sequins and shit. Maybe they think it'll finally take me all the way 'round the bend. For one in those stupid douche-bags' life, they may just be right.
Seriously though, I'm pretty sure they gave these notebooks to us so they can sneak in while we sleep and take a peek at what we're really thinking. After all, no mandatory therapy sessions at all are pretty damn hard to have at an asylum. Of course they won't call it that, but every, and I mean every freaking one, of the "residents" *cough* inmates, know the truth. And the truth is: we're all batshit crazy…or so they say…
But hey, writing in here beats the crap outta making "friends" with the other innies of the house. Ugh, this place bugs the hell outta me! Even the name is…infuriating, sure, let's go for a big word. Seriously, St. Gabriel's? The irony kills, I swear. Sometimes I think Lisa must know all my deepest…hang-ups, for lack of a better word, and somehow has some cunning, evil way to bring it upon me.
After all, they box us in like no tomorrow, and it's funny, in that makes you cry instead of laugh kinda way, cuz the first thing, the very first fucking thing that I remember my Dad saying to me, well, after "protect Sammy", was you can't lock up a Winchester. Not because we're so fucking awesome at escaping, and don't get me wrong, we damn well are, but because closed spaces do something to Winchester men. After a while, we…aren't right. We get twitchy, we get touchy, and we get snappy. Really, we go damn bonkers, and it's not long before they're carting us out with bullets in our heads, bruises around our necks, or bloody wrists. It's just the way we are when you lock us in.
And that's exactly what they're doing to me, what Lisa did to me, and…I think I'm going crazy….
TBC…
AN: Look, guys, I know you want updates on other stories, and fear not! They shall come, but this little plot bunny…would not leave me be. It chewed my on fuzzy socks. It pooped on my kitchen floor. It fucking pissed on my fucking fried chicken! In other less vulgar words, it REFUSED to be ignored. So yeah, here it is. I hope to update this if not every day, every week. The chapters will all be short, at least the diary chapters, and it'll be awhile before Harry appears. Oh yeah, and keep reading, the Lisa thing will be explained soon. Wow…long ass AN is long…ass. Yeah…Imma go know, kay? Ciao, chickies!