If I owned Supernatural do you think I'd be writing fan fiction?

I don't own it, just Clarissa.

- Chapter One -

❝I've never spent much on finding a remedy.

I guess I figured that it hurt for a reason.❞

- A Letter ; La Dispute

Tick, tock.

Tick, tock.

The blonde wrung her hands, unable to take her eyes off the clock. The time was off. It said it was eight in the morning, but the office was never open that early. She knew that. She'd been there long enough to. Dr. Jones really needed to fix it.

"Clarissa?" the man behind the desk asked, his eyebrows drawn close together. "Clarissa? Are you listening?"

Her cloudy brown eyes snapped to him. A small rush over took her at the tiny action. The medicine they'd given her that morning had yet to wear off. Which resulted in her feeling a little loopy. Or, more loopy than she usually did. The side effects were the main reason she detested having to take it. It wasn't like it helped any.

"Your clock is off. How do you expect to get anywhere on time?" she questioned, tilting her head.

His frown deepened, sympathy in his hazel eyes. The young woman sighed, slinking down in the uncomfortable chair. He was looking at her funny again.

"No, the voices haven't stopped. Yes, your medicine failed. Please don't give me more. I don't like the way it makes me feel. It gives me headaches," she pouted, crossing her arms over her small chest.

Dr. Jones smiled softly, though it didn't really reach his eyes. Clarissa Ridge was one of the few patients he couldn't crack. She responded to no treatments, no medicine, not even any verbal therapy. If he hadn't know any better, he would have thought she was faking it. Lying for attention, but he'd experienced some of her scenes first hand, and he knew it definitely wasn't fake to her. She was considered a lost cause, but her parents were very commanding regarding their daughter; and the big guys in charge were too afraid that Mister and Mrs Ridge would cut fundings if they stopped.

"You want to get better, don't you?"

Clarissa shrugged noncommittally, having long since given up hope of being 'fixed'. She'd been in this asylum all her life. Why would she be getting out now?

The man continued to talk, but she was far too interested in a loose stitch of her khaki cardigan to pay a lick of attention.

Clarissa didn't really like to label herself as 'crazy.' At least not more so than anyone else. Everyone was a little mentally unstable. Even Dr. Bores across from her. Some people were just better at hiding those parts of themselves, scared someone might run screaming if they saw that dark side to them.

Hell, Clarissa would have too. Unfortunately, before she understood the coldness of reality, she'd been naive enough to think people would believe her. Especially her own parents. Of course, what six year old wouldn't? Dear mom and dad hadn't really taken their darling daughter hearing voices too well though. She'd been packed and sent away before you could say 'loony bin.'

"Clarissa?" Dr. Jones sighed, recognizing he'd lost the girl to the depths of her mind yet again. "You may go back to your room. Would you like for me to accompany you?"

She shook her head, rising up.

"I know where my room is," she stated, almost harshly, as if she took a personal offense to the innocent offer.

The light haired man nodded, looking down at the open folder in front of him. Taking this as a sign of her being dismissed, she stepped out into the sterile hallway. A woman pushing a metal tray cart smiled politely at her. Her own lips twitched into a small grin in return. The action was accompanied by a little wave.

'Help me, please.'

'What did I do to deserve this?'

The mourning voices vibrated through her. The girl's heart skipped a beat; familiar panic rising inside her.

'My father...'

'Thank you...'

'...boy...'

'...heal her.'

'Why?'

The voices swirled together. Their choppy sentences blurring into one. A wave of anguish slammed through her, enticing a pitiful groan. Clarissa collapsed to the ground, clawing at her hair. It felt like a million people were dancing around inside her head, their words like hammers driving into her skull.

"Shut up," she hissed, her nails digging deaply into her scalp. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

Her voice bounced loudly off the white walls. Which all seemed to be closing in on her. Workers startled at the noise, rushing to find the source. Inside his office - where he was safest - Dr. Jones was already dialing for someone with something to sedate the girl.

Tears were welling up in her eyes, clouding her vision. All she saw was a blur of white coats coming towards her. There were more voices now; some from the doctors or nurses, most only she could hear. Her heart felt like it might burst out of her chest at any moment.

"Go away!" she shrieked, using her hands to cup her ears.

There was a sharp pain in her forearm, then her eyes began to droop on their own accord. The voices became distant as darkness slowly captured her.