Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, any of their characters or anything that can be related to something that exists in the real world. I do not support some of the behaviors that the characters posess.
Warnings: Minor swearing, mentions of violence/injuries and possibly mildly sexually suggestive (in future chapters). Trigger-warning for self-harm.
Author's notes: Hello dear readers! So here is a new story! I got some inspiration from a few specific episodes (you probably know which ones) and couldn't get this story out of my mind. It's an AU. I'm nervous. My stories for Glee always got good response, but since this is my first for Supernatural, I have no clue how it's going to be recieved. I really hope you like it as much as I do, though! Enjoy! :*
Italic text are thoughts.
This Is Gospel
Chapter 1
Thursday the 18th September 2008
Dean gets into work at noon, sitting down at his desk to do some paperwork. He flips the lid of a folder closed and reaches for one of the two stamps by his desk lamp. He sighs heavily as he picks the left one up and stamps the front of the case folder.
Deceased.
He stares at the red letters for a moment, before putting the stamp back and filing the folder in the gray cabinet next to his desk. He had gotten into this line of work to save people. He tries his hardest, and he has helped save many. But sometimes there is just nothing he can do, it seems. One of his patients had hanged herself in her room this morning, before his shift had started. Having a patient commit suicide was never a sign of a good day to come. But Dean has to push on. Maybe this woman's death could help him get more motivated to help his other patients.
Dean closes the cabinet drawer and pinches the bridge of his nose. There is a knock on his door, and he moves to regain his composure.
"Come in!" he calls, smiling politely as one of the nurses enters the room.
"Mr. Winchester. A new patient has been admitted and the boss wants you on the case." The nurse walks over to his desk and hands him the case file she was holding.
"Thank you, Jocelyn." Dean eyes the sticker on the front.
"They've got him all settled so you can go see him when you're up to speed with the case." Jocelyn says, moving back toward the door.
"Have a good night." Dean says as he flips the folder open, not watching as Jocelyn leaves the room and closes the door behind her. He skips reading the name on the folder, having a tradition of letting the patients tell him when they themselves feel ready.
Case #2402613
Patient admitted after hospital visit for lacerations to both palms and wrists.
Initial analysis: Paranoid schizophrenic with religious psychosis and self-harming tendencies.
Dean sighs heavily and flips the folder closed again, laying it on his desk and picking his small notebook up to stuff it in his pocket. He stands and shakes his head for a moment. A religious patient. It had been a long while since he had gotten a new one of those.
Leaving his office, he stops by the nurse's station to ask what room his new patient is in.
"Case number 2402613." he tells the nurse and taps his fingers on the counter between them as she checks her computer.
"Room 13." she finally replies with a smile.
Dean strides off, throwing a quick "Thank you, nurse." over his shoulder.
Dean lifts his hand to knock on the door, but hesitates for a moment. He takes a deep breath and knocks.
There is no answer. He opens the door carefully, sticking just his head in. He keeps his body behind the door, since he has been attacked when entering a patient's room in the past.
There is a figure curled up in the corner of the room, seemingly looking out the window. Dean steps inside and the door clicks closed behind him. "Hello there. I'm Dean." The figure doesn't move, so Dean does. He takes another slow step forward. "I thought I would come talk to you for a bit. It seems you've had a rough day."
The fading sunlight that seeps in through the half-closed blinds reveals a head of short, unruly dark hair. The man's eyes are fixed somewhere beyond the glass.
"What's your name, buddy?" Dean asks, kneeling between his patient and the bed. He would sit on the bed, but he's had patients freak out about that in the past. There is still no answer. "Is it okay if I sit on your bed?" Dean asks instead. He thinks he sees the man nod slightly.
Dean rises back into a standing position, pausing to look at the man again before sitting down on the bed. "Do you know where you are?" This time Dean is sure that the man nods. "You're in the Illinois Behavioral Medicine Center. I'm Dean Winchester. I work here."
The man's eyes flicker toward the floor for a moment before returning their gaze out the window.
"It's okay if you don't want to talk right now. I love talking about myself. Is it okay if I tell you some things about me?" There is another small nod from the man. "I have worked here for about two years. I like watching bad shows on TV. I like junk food. I like rock music, preferably on cassette tapes. I LOVE my car. I have a '67 Chevy Impala. She's beautiful. I call her baby."
A noise that Dean can't determine if it's a huff of laughter or a scoff emits from the man in the corner. "I'm afraid of flying. I love pie. And I have a brother named Sam." The man in the corner has closed his eyes. "What are some things that you like?" The man doesn't move or make any noise.
Dean pauses for a moment, thinking. He doesn't want to mention how the man got here, as it might make him upset. He doesn't want to mention religion, as that could be a big trigger.
"Do you want me to come back later?" Dean asks, but gets no response. Sometimes patients need a long time to settle in whatever has happened to them or where they have wound up.
"I'll come back later." Dean rises from the bed and starts moving toward the door.
He looks back when his hand reaches the door handle. The man in the corner is still unmoving. So Dean opens the door and-
"Castiel."
"Sorry, what was that?" Dean says and turns around to look at the man again.
"Castiel." The man in the corner is facing him, blue eyes almost shining in the light from the window. "My name."
"Alright. Nice to meet you, Castiel. I'll come back in a little while, alright?"
The man - Castiel - nods and moves to look out the window again.
"Hey, Patrick. Could you tell me a little more about Castiel?" Dean asks as he approaches another nurse in the hallway by his office.
"Sure." Patrick replies. "What do you want to know?"
"How did he end up here?" Dean crosses his arms over his chest, the sleeves of his white coat a bit too short for him.
"Apparently his brother found him in his apartment, arms all cut up. He was drawing something on the wall with his own blood." Patrick answers, frowning. "The brother hadn't heard from him in a few days and got worried. He had been acting paranoid the last time they talked so he just wanted to check up on him. The guy was rambling something about angels coming for him and that he had to protect himself."
"Poor brother." Dean comments.
Patrick looks down at the floor, his frown deepening. "So he was rushed to the hospital and patched up. They thought he was best off coming here."
"I see. Thanks."
"No problem." Patrick nods politely before wandering further down the hallway.
Dean enters his office and pulls his dinner out of the mini-fridge in the corner. He sighs down at his salad, but takes it to his desk. He eats slowly, thumbing the lid of Castiel's almost-empty case folder.
Dean knocks on the door to room thirteen. "Can I come in?" He peeks his head inside, to see Castiel sitting gingerly on the bed. The sun has set, leaving the room in almost complete darkness. Dean steps inside. "Can I turn on the lights?"
He gets no audible answer, but Castiel leans forward and turns on the bedside lamp.
Dean moves into the room and sits down in the armchair by the window, where Castiel had sat earlier. He crosses his legs and folds his hands in his lap.
"Hello, Dean."
Dean is slightly surprised when the other man speaks. His voice is a low rumble. Slow, calm and patient.
"Hello, Castiel. How are you feeling?"
Castiel shrugs, a movement that looks odd. Like it's rehearsed.
"Did you eat some dinner?"
"No." Castiel replies.
"The food here isn't always very appealing." Dean notes, and the corner of Castiel's mouth twitches. Dean wants him to talk more, but he has to approach him patiently. He now knows a little more about Castiel's situation thanks to Patrick, but Dean never wants to tell his patients that he knows more about them than what they have told him themselves.
"Do you have any siblings?" Dean decides is a rather safe question. He hopes that Castiel will bring up the brother that took him to the hospital.
"Yes." is Castiel's reply.
"Wanna tell me about them?"
"I have a brother. Gabriel. He's short."
Dean smiles. Castiel is still looking at the floor, but his facial expression is soft.
"Is he older or younger?"
"He is older than me. But you'd never guess as much." Castiel is smiling, the slightest smile Dean has probably ever seen, but still a smile. "He has always loved pulling pranks, even as an adult. And he has a… sweet tooth. His home has candy wrappers all over the place, all the time."
"Are you two close?"
"Very. He has assisted me a lot with getting an apartment and such. He is the only sibling I speak to now."
"So you have more?" Dean asks softly.
"Many. My parents were very religious and thus, didn't believe in contraceptives."
"How many?"
"I'm the youngest out of thirteen siblings."
Dean lets out a low whistle. "Wow, that's many. I only have the one."
Castiel visibly stiffens. "Michael, Joshua, Raphael, Uriel, Balthazar, Gabriel, Gadreel, Daniel, Lucy, Anna, Hannah, Samandriel and I." Castiel lists in a monotone voice.
"Some interesting names there." Dean offers.
"Like I said, my parents were very religious. Our names were all inspired by… angels." Castiel shudders.
"I like your name. It's unique, unlike mine."
Castiel's eyes snap to Dean's face suddenly. "Dean is a beautiful name. It means "valley" or "leader"."
"Oh." Dean really hadn't expected that. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." Castiel responds, moving his piercing blue gaze away from Dean. He looks down at his bandaged hands, wiggling the fingertips poking out at the top. "I'm really very tired now." He sighs heavily and lies down on his side, facing away from Dean.
"Alright." Dean stands reluctantly. "I'll come check on you tomorrow. Goodnight, Castiel."
"Goodnight."
Dean watches Castiel's bent back for a moment before leaving the room. When he enters the hallway and closes the door behind him, he looks through the small window beside the door. Castiel is curled up in a fetal position on top of the covers, not moving except for picking at the fabric of his comforter.
After sighing again Dean checks his wristwatch and notes that he still has several hours left before his shift ends. So he walks down the corridor to visit another one of his patients. He knocks on the door to room number six and steps in carefully.
"Meg? How are you doing this evening?"
A woman with dark hair and dark eyes turns her head to look at Dean as he enters the room. She's sitting on her bed, smiling mischievously. A thick book is laid out on the duvet in front of her. "Hey Deano." she greets. "I'm bored out of my mind."
"Oh, really?" Dean sits down in the armchair in the corner, taking his notepad out of his pocket, flipping to a new page.
"I know what you're thinking." she remarks, narrowing her eyes at him. "That I am already out of my mind."
"Your words, not mine." Dean says cheekily. Meg has been here for some time now, and she responds best to sarcasm and snarky comments. "I heard that you caused a scene at breakfast."
Meg scoffs. "I would hardly call that a "scene". All I did was pour my cereal onto that old man's head."
"And what did Fergus do to upset you this time?" Dean quirks an eyebrow at the brunette.
"He called me a wh- a foul name." Meg lifts her chin into the air slightly, clenching her jaw.
"And did you do anything to upset him that would cause him to do so?" Dean scribbles a short note in his notebook.
"No!" she exclaims before crossing her arms over her chest. She's quiet for a moment. "I might have noted that he still hadn't died of old age."
Dean smiles slightly at her confession. "You two…" he trails off, writing down another sentence.
"I heard there's a new guy." Meg slides her legs off the edge of the bed, her feet dangling far above the floor. "He hot? I didn't see him at dinner."
"He's still getting accustomed to his new environment. I suggest you leave him alone." Dean gives Meg a hard look, showing that this issue is not a joking-matter. "He'll approach you guys when he's ready."
"So he is hot. Must be why you want him for yourself." Meg looks thoughtfully toward the ceiling.
Dean rolls his eyes. "He's my patient." Dean stands, stuffing his notepad back in his pocket. "I have a couple more patients to see before bed. I'll see you in your session tomorrow. And try to be nice to Fergus until then. Goodnight, Meg."
"Night, Deano!" she calls sweetly after him as he leaves.
The next patient Dean visits is Fergus MacLeod in room number twenty-seven. He knocks hard before stepping inside.
"Hello doctor." The bearded man greets in his British - Or was it Scottish? - accent.
"Evening, Fergus." Dean greets.
The man is sitting in his armchair like it's a throne. "You're here to talk about the incident at breakfast, I presume?"
"Exactly." Dean confirms, sitting on the foot of Fergus' bed. "Wanna tell me your version?"
"I don't understand why that girl is always so rude. I'm such a sweetheart."
"Uh-huh…" Dean plucks the notebook from his pocket. "She said you called her a foul name."
"I did."
"Fergus." Dean sighs. "You need to be respectful toward the other patients. We've talked about this. Just walk away from her if she's bothering you."
"She should know better than to bother me."
"Maybe. But her bothering you does not give you the right to call her names."
"Fine." Fergus rubs his beard.
"I told her to be nice. But that goes for the both of you." Dean writes down a few words. "But dinner went well?"
"Yes. Rather boring meal, however. I wish you'd get us a decent chef."
"I wish I could." Dean stands. "I need to put this incident down in both of your records. But I'll see you in your session tomorrow."
"Very well." Fergus replies. "Have a lovely evening."
"You too."
Dean leaves the room and returns to his office. He transfers his notes from the breakfast-incident into both Fergus' and Meg's files before doing some more paperwork.
During his evening-shifts Dean mostly visits his patients briefly to check on them and then spends the rest of the night doing paperwork. Tomorrow Dean has the day-shift however, in which he has hour-long sessions with all his patients in the "Discussion Room".
There is a soft knock on the door and Dean calls for his visitor to enter. It turns out to be one of his fellow psychiatrists, and also dear friends.
"Hello Benny." Dean greets happily as the other man enters and sits in the chair on the other side of Dean's desk.
"Hello Dean. I heard you got a new patient today."
"I did. He had a rough day. But I think he'll settle in well, with some time. He was very calm when I talked to him."
"That's good. It's always hard in the beginning." Benny smiles kindly. "All my patients had a good day today, miraculously. So I'm heading home in a minute."
"That's good to hear." Dean leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. "I still have about an hour before I leave."
"You want to get a couple of beers this weekend? Maybe watch the game?"
"Sure. My place?"
"If it means I don't have to bother tidying my place, absolutely." The two laugh together before Benny stands. "Well, I'll see ya'. Have a good one."
"You too." Dean waves as Benny leaves, already getting excited for some guy-time with his friend. It had been a while.
When Dean puts the last file back in the cabinet, he's worked about ten minutes more than he thought. So he stands and hangs his white coat on a hook by the door. He shuts off the lights and locks his office behind him. It's just past midnight, but Dean decides to walk in the opposite direction of the front entrance and toward a last patient's room before going home. He walks slowly, careful not to make too much noise as his shoes hit the squeaky floor. He doesn't want to stir any of the patients from their slumbers. He rounds a corner and stops outside room number four. The light from a bedside lamp seeps through the tiny window into the corridor. Dean sighs and knocks softly on the door. There is no answer, so he opens the door as carefully as he can and quietly steps inside.
Dean is met by a bright smile. He smiles back. "Hey, Sammy."
To be continued!
Author's note: DUN DUN DUUUN! So there you go! I really hope you like it. Feel free to give me suggestions on what you would like to see, and I'll take them into consideration.
Please leave a review to let me know what you thought of the chapter! I love you all. ^^