A/N: Howdy, friends. This is the latest fic I'm working on, along with one of my good friends (lordofthepotatoes on AO3). It's co-written and it's going to be pretty dark, so if that's not your thing you should head on back! For those of you on board, enjoy the ride! :)
Waiting. That's all Dean Winchester seemed to be doing lately.
Waiting for police interviews and court sessions.
Waiting around in a correctional centre, in a cell of his own, for his brother to come visit him every now and again.
Waiting while on a suspiciously long bus ride as he was transferred to another building 'more suited' to his needs.
And now he was waiting outside an office with two huge men in clean white shirts placed at either side of him.
He'd gotten used to the waiting. But that didn't mean to say it had made him anymore patient.
For a man that was used to getting things done quickly, this was a stark change that made him really rather pensive and down in the mouth, especially at this hour of the morning.
The door to the office finally opened, the piercing squeal made by the hinges as they collided together echoing right down the empty hall, as a girl in a long white coat and contrasting bright red hair that draped over her shoulders stepped out and peered around.
"Dean Winchester?" She asked the men at either side of him but Dean was the one to do the answering.
"That's me." He smiled smugly, going to get to his feet with a puff while the other two stood. "Real chatty couple of guys you got here."
The woman pursed her lips, slipping her hands into her pockets. "Now, Dean, you're not gonna cause any problems for us today, are you?"
"Absolutely not." Dean promised, raising his right hand with another handsome smile. "I could just really kill for something to eat, y'know?" He winked, clicking his tongue, as one of the large men when to lead him, still hand cuffed, into the office.
The two men that escorted him pushed him down onto a chair in front of, yet another, white object; a shiny, new looking, desk with a reflective surface. It sort of reminded Dean of a rectangle shaped ice skating rink. But as he waited for the red headed woman to sort out her notes and chat in hushed tones to the monstrous looking men, he had a good look around him.
The room was small. It had one square window that looked onto a grass pitch, rounded off by high gates that almost reached the sky, topped with a sharp rack of barbed wire. No one was escaping this joint anytime soon. That was a half comforting thought, because by this stage, Dean was ready to settle in one building for good.
He let his eyes wander over the white walls, the white cabinets, white files, white chairs – everything was so bright in comparison to the dark prison he'd just come from. It was giving him a headache.
The only things that weren't white in there was the wilting fern shoved up by the window, desperate for the days light to hit its browning leaves and a framed picture of the institute with the title: Lawrence State Hospital written underneath.
"I'm Doctor Milton." The red head was suddenly in front of him again, lowering herself onto her chair. Dean raised a cuffed hand, waving with a flick of his wrist.
"Good to put a name to a pretty face."
"Now, Dean, why don't you start off by telling me why you think you're here?" She seemed to dismiss his tight smile and cocky demeanour easily. But Dean was determined to break her down and at least get a rise out of her. He hadn't ended up in a mental institution for being cooperative.
"Well," Dean cleared his throat, sitting up in his chair a bit, peering over the desk at her notes. "I dunno. What's it say there?" He asked, running his tongue along his bottom lip as he brought his eyes up again to meet hers.
Doctor Milton watched him carefully for a few long seconds, before glancing down at her notes again. "It says a few things here. A few rather concerning things, Mr Winchester." She looked at him again. "It says you're belligerent, risk of being violent, uncooperative, resentful in attitude-"
"Really? That's all?"
"No, that's only your log from today." Doctor Milton said, seeming unconcerned. "You and I both know the reason why you're here. But I'd like you to tell me."
"Where do you want me to start? – hey, any chance I could get a smoke in here-"
"Dean." Doctor Milton clicked his attention back with the snap of her fingers.
"This is fucking stupid." Dean huffed a laugh. "Why would I tell you if you already know? What kind of mind game is that? Like if I admit it I'll suddenly see the error in my ways?" He asked, brows raised, before he slumped back in his chair. "And people are saying I'm the crazy one."
"Fine. You've been convicted of murder of the first degree on thirteen separate occasions. You've been suspected of killing and torturing many more. You've got a long history of DUI's, drunken disorderly charges - there's a whole list here of substance abuse and assault cases. And this is all not to mention, by the way, the gang involvement."
"Don't insult me. I wasn't in a gang." Dean tisked, shaking his head. "That's the family business you're talkin' about, Doc."
"Whichever way you want to put it, Mr Winchester, you're here on the grounds that the court thinks you're mentally ill." The Doctor said, cocking her head a little as she spoke, dark eyes narrowing. Dean was more focused on the sun finally breaching the high wall in front of him. It was starting warming his face. "- Dean. I asked you a question – why do you think they might think that?"
"Think what?"
"That you're mentally ill."
"Oh." Dean let out a breath, pursing his lips. "Why don't you refer back to that long list of bullshit you just spouted my way? You'd waste less time that way."
"You know, this attitude isn't going to get you very far in here, Dean. It's not prison. We don't tolerate uncooperativeness the same way-"
"Doctor Milton, do you know who I am?" Dean cut her off, tired now. Tired of fucking around all day on buses before the sun had even got up. Tired of being uncomfortable in handcuffs. "You seen me on the TV, didn't you? All over the news. The papers. And you're gonna sit there and threaten emme/em because I'm not telling you what you wanna hear?" He blinked. "I've killed people for asking me to do a lot less. Now, 'you and I both know'," Dean mocked, smile returning, "I'm not crazy. Ya'll just don't know what to do with me anymore."
"I think you'll find that's about to change." Doctor Milton said leaning on the desk as she stared back at him. "You're not the only person in here with a huge ego and a history of murder. I'll see you at group session."
Dean was given a brief tour of the institute not so long after that. It was small compared to the prison he'd just come from. Some might even call it cosy. There was a rec room at the front of the building, complete with nurse's station that was sealed off with a window of glass. A television that hung from the wall, locked up in a mesh caged box. There were tables with various board games and card games laid out. Three sofa's in the middle of the room, looking as depressed and deflated as Dean felt as the tour went on.
Down from that was a room with chairs all around in a circle. He guessed this was where their group session would be. There wasn't much to this room; just a storage closet at the back and a couple of motivational pictures adorning the walls. Dean found it pretty cringe-worthy and slightly ironic. Imagine telling a couple of serious law breakers to 'be the best you, you can be.' That sort of called for trouble.
After that, he was given his institute issues uniform that basically consisted of a grey sweater and sweats. There Dean was going to go guessing it'd be white, like everything else so far in this place. He was left in a room with one bed while the staff worked out where would be would be best place.
Dean could give them the answer to that right now if they'd asked him. He'd be best suited back in his condo in Costa Rica. But he figured he wouldn't be seeing that place again for a very long time.
Some hours later, after Dean had had himself a nice nap on a cold steel bed, he was collected by a nurse with eyes that seemed too big for her small face. She held the door open for him as he sauntered out with his hands in his pockets. Though, he felt free, he was still being followed by the two big men from this morning.
"So it's share and care time, right?" Dean asked the nurse, who's heels were clicking along the corridor loudly as she lead him to the room he'd been shown earlier.
"It sure is, Dean." She sang, not turning to look at him. "Have you been to a group session before?"
"Prison wasn't too big on it, so no."
The room was already full when Dean arrived so he took the only seat available beside a guy with fair hair and a lackadaisical look about him, slumped back in his chair with his hands in his pockets.
"Thank you, Rebecca – everyone, this is Dean. He was just transferred this morning so can we all make him welcome?" Doctor Milton asked, but she was answered with silence. "Boys, c'mon. Don't we all remember our first day?" Someone shifted but that was the best she was getting from anyone in this room. "Why don't you tell them about yourself, Dean?"
"My name's Dean. I'm an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets and long walks on the beach-"
"I'm going to remind you of that talk we had this morning, Mr Winchester. About cooperation."
Dean stared at her, sealing his lips shut with a smile. "Doctor Milton, y'know it does things to me when you get all assertive-"
"That's enough. Someone else – what about you Fergus?"
"It's Crowley. And I'm fine. Thank you for you asking." While they spoke, it gave Dean the chance to look around the room. There were around ten other guys in here, some older than him, some younger and thus far he wouldn't have pegged any of them as mentally unstable.
He'd said that about himself too, yet here they all were sharing group session.
No one really seemed to stand out, until his eyes caught a pair of blue ones staring relentlessly back at him. Even as Dean narrowed his eyes in response, the other didn't look away. In fact, his expression didn't change at all.
"The fuck are you looking at?" Dean piped up in the middle of the session, cutting some guy off from griping in Doctor Milton's ear about how the system hated him and he was a good guy, really, that girl had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time-
"Dean."
"Someone get the guy a camera, think he's star struck." Dean snorted, continuing to stare back. Whatever he did today, he wasn't going to back out of the silent war he'd started with this guy.
"Castiel, why don't you tell the group how you've been feeling?" The guy, Castiel, didn't answer. Just glared. No hint of anything on his features. It was infuriating.
"Stop fuckin' staring at me, man." Dean warned him, but Castiel stared on. Face totally unchanged. Honestly, Dean was starting to feel the prickle of goosebumps rising over his shoulders. Was this guy trying to intimidate him? Or was he really just that crazy he didn't know what he was doing? He looked like a mixture of both. His eyes hooded, lips pursed in a straight line.
This seemed to get the other guys in the room going, chuckling quietly like they knew something that Dean didn't. That just wasn't going to fly.
Doctor Milton called for the dynamic duo of a code team that seemed to be following Dean like a shadow since he'd stepped foot in this place. But it didn't stop him. Or Castiel.
But it soon became evident that Dean was, in fact, losing their little competition as the longer Castiel stared, the hotter his temper became and the next thing he knew he was being wrestled back into his seat by two sets of chubby hands.
That was how Dean ended up spending his first night at a mental institution in solitary confinement. Turns out this place was nothing like a prison at all, and sedation really was the best way to determine the outcome of a silent staring competition.