Dean had not wanted to do this case. In fact he was positive it wasn't a case a all. But all Sam had to do was whine and beg until he had finally given in. Now here he was in white scrubs, pushing a medicine cart down the C wing of Westwood Psychiatric Facility for Women. According to Sam, they needed to save a possessed woman named Fiona Gambril. She had stabbed her father in the temple with a pair of safety scissors, screaming of demons and devils. Dean personally thought she was just a crazy bitch.
But the picture he had conceived in his mind was not the site he was greeted with, as he walked into her room. She sat on her bed, her skin pale from the lack of sunlight, and bruised from he wasn't sure what. Her hair was long and black, knotted in curls down her back. The thing the shocked him the most was the intensity of her eyes, at first glance they were grey but really they were a pale lavender.
"So surprised I'm not a crazy bitch." She muttered, staring straight at him, his thoughts echoed back to him eerily. "They always are you know, they just act like I am." Her eyes roamed the walls, "Come to poison me some more?"
"Christos," Dean muttered, picking up her medicine and water.
Her eyes went to his immediately, a bark of laughter escaping her throat, "Dropping Latin accusations." She smirked slyly, and stood up, "How rude." She held out her hand for the items, which he gave to her and she peered into the water, "And you blessed the water yourself." Dean didn't know what to think, as she laid a hand on his shoulder, "What is going through that head of yours?" She murmured, her eyes flickering shut.
Dean wasn't sure what to say 'sorry I thought you were possessed by the yellow eyed demon'; she already seemed to know that. Was she psychic, or maybe something completely different all together. "I'm sorry if I offended you." Was what he decided on, and she opened her eyes.
"You thought I was a demon, is that nothing but offensive?" She inquired, downing the medicine and holy water, "Look ma no smoke!" She teased, flashing a brilliant smile. "You've got a lot to learn Dean." Before he could question how she knew his name, another man in white scrubs came in, Fiona's smile vanishing instantly.
"Having trouble in here?" The man asked, not really bothering to look at Dean at all.
"You are the trouble Marshall." Fiona spat, sitting on her bed with her back pressed firmly against the headboard, and her knees to her chest. "I've taken my poison. You don't need to be here."
"Then why are you still here, Roberts?" Marshall questioned, and Fiona's attention was back on Dean.
"Roberts? That doesn't suit you at all." She told him. "We were having a conversation." She redirected back at Marshall, "It's where two people who actually like each other talk about things of meaning. I know such things are foreign to you." Marshall bristled, and Fiona's face darkened, "Big thoughts for such a little boy." She whispered, "Oh you'll show me."
"You still have the rest of the wing to get to, Roberts." Marshall said curtly, before heading out the door. Fiona didn't offer anymore bits of conversations or smiles, instead she wound her hands into to tight fists around her knotted curls, until Dean finally left.
Two hours later she was being wheeled down to isolation, strapped tightly to a gurney. She caught Dean's eye, "They'll never understand." She whimpered, blood dribbling down her bruised lip, struggling against the binds, "I can't help it. Such thoughts, such ugly, ugly thoughts. Why am I here?" It broke Dean's heart as she was taken out of sight, in so much obvious pain. I didn't, however, go unnoticed that Marshall was no longer looking over his first day.
Dean hurried through his other remedial tasks, before leaving the facility as quickly as possible. Sam was sitting in the impala, surfing through his computer, when Dean got in the car. "So, is it out?"
"She's not possessed," Dean told him, pulling away from the curb and heading down the road.
"She's seriously crazy?" Sam was surprised, he had seen her in his dream. She was sitting next to Dean, completely sane and coherent, in the dream, yet now she a lunatic, how was this possible if possession wasn't the answer.
"I don't think she's crazy." Dean muttered, "I really have no clue what's going on in their, but I have a feeling it's our type of job." Dean glanced over at the laptop to see it open to Facebook, "What are you doing?"
"Looking at Fiona's profile, seeing if there was a point where things get weird, but as far as I can tell she's a normal twenty year old girl." Sam sighed, "Well except for stabbing her dad."
"You don't think maybe her Dad was possessed or something? Maybe she was trying to defend herself?" Dean suggested. He was about to pull away when he saw Marshall walk from the building, sporting a scratched up face, and red knuckles. Dean's thoughts instantly went Fiona's bloody mouth, and his rage boiled over, "All I know is we need to get her out of there."