Edith wandered to the left as Paul guided Dean straight down the hall. They arrived at a circle broke off into several directions. Paul stopped them, his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Well, how about we start by having me introduce you to some of the fellas."
"Have you ever had a girl here?" Dean asked with little interest. It seemed like a decent question. Paul gave a half-hearted smile.
"Once," nostalgia washed over his features, "she was a sweet girl, like a daughter to us. She was here for about eight months or so. That was quite a while ago though." The man's southern accent was heavy, comforting even. Mr. Hartley stared at Dean, who merely shrugged in response. He wasn't sure where to go from there. He honestly was expecting a no to come out of the Paul's lips.
In Dean's opinion, he could probably stand Paul Hartley. The man seemed decent enough and as if he actually cared about the people lodging here for their rehab or de-gayification or whatever.
He followed the older man down a hallway. Dean admired the hardwood floors but decided the layout plan for this place was inane as all hell. They stopped at an open door that had a familiar guitar rift wafting out. The teen's ears perked up at the familiar tune. The boy with the guitar looked up from under his lashes as Paul and Dean entered the room.
"Hey, Paul." The boy's hand slid up the neck, resting on the headstock as he tuned his instrument. The soundboard had a sweet custom paint job of a barbarian queen riding a polar bear. Dean had a feeling he was going to like this guy.
"Andy, this here Dean Winchester. Dean, this Andy Gallagher." Andy raised his chin in a sort of hello nod to acknowledge the new comer.
"Hey, that was Spinal Tap's "Stonehenge", wasn't it?" Dean said with a grin at the sudden realization of the song Andy had been playing a moment earlier.
"Yeah, it was." Andy actually looked up, staring directly at the two men standing in the door way. "Cool. You have a great taste in music." Dean let out a breathy laugh.
"I've been told; right back at ya." Dean was relieved knowing not all of the company was going to be a drag. "That's a Fender Starcaster 6-String Acoustic, right?" "Yeah, she's the love of my life actually. My most prized possession." "Dude, I could say the same about my dad's car. Total beaut. Manual '67 Chevy Impala." Andy let out a low wolf whistle."Impala's best year, if you ask me. That's a serious classic." He stuck out his hand to Dean in a gesture of friendship. The other boy gladly accepted. "I have a feeling we'll be good friends." Paul directed their gaze to the other half of the room.
"And this is Alan Corbett. Alan, say hello to Dean" Alan shyly lifted his head out of his book, a nervous smile gracing his features. Dean couldn't help but smile back. This kid reminded him of Sammy.
"Hi," he gave a small wave before staring back at the text spread in his lap. It seemed like a rather old book.
"Hey," Dean replied back, "It's nice to meet you. What do you have there?" He pointed at the worn text his Alan's hands.
"An old copy of Voltaire's Candide. It was my father's and it's probably my favorite."
"That's one of my mom's favorites." Dean went to the younger boy to shake his hand as well. "If you want, I can lend you the copy of Machiavelli's The Prince my brother packed in my bag. My mom really seems to like that one, too."
"Okay. Thank you very much." Alan flashed a quick, fraction of a smile before returning to the open pages of the paperback before him. Dean didn't see the point in being an asshole even though he wasn't too fond of being at Mercy House. He was only going to be here for a couple of months. No point it making this place hell by making enemies off that bat. They seemed like nice people. In fact, he probably would've been friends with them prior to when he met Adam. He wanted to ask Paul if these were the only two other occupants in treatment but decided he would find out soon enough.
"Boys, make sure you get ready for dinner. It should be shortly. Whatever Marion's cooking smells good." Paul gestured for the latest addition of their flock to follow him over a room or two. Upon entering he noticed the right half. It gave off the feeling of a log cabin. Lots of exposed wood on the furniture as well as plaid fabrics with dark greens and rich browns. It had the standard bed and nightstand everyone seemed to have, however, there was also a desk. It looked as if it had lost a fight with a paper shredder or something equally as horrific. "This here is where you'll be staying. You're rooming with Chuck Shirley. Chuck's a good guy. You'll like him."
"Do I have to have a roommate?" Dean wasn't judging this Chuck fellow before meeting him but he was never big on sharing a room. Even with Sammy. Dean savored privacy. Especially considering it wasn't something he's had for quite some time now.
"Everybody does except fifth phasers."
"What is this? Like scientology or some shit?" The green eyed teen was confused as well as slightly irritated.
"No, fifth phasers have been here the longest and are accomplishing what they set out to do." Dean histrionically rolled his eyes.
"Whatever." The soft padding of feet could be heard nearby in the hallway. A knock on the doorframe got the attention of both men. Edith beamed brightly, approaching her husband. Tentatively she grabbed his hand.
"Paul, honey, could you please round up the rest of the boys for dinner? Charles and Adam are already helping set the table and such." He pecked her cheek with gentle grace.
"Of course, sweetheart." This left his female counterpart alone with Dean. Something about her gave him this apprehensive feeling that he could feel flitter beneath his skin. Edith's chocolate eyes, round and full of synthetic sympathy, stared at the teenage boy next to her.
"Add a personal touch when you're ready." Throwing his duffel harshly onto the plain bed on the left half of the room, Dean let out a mirthless chortle. "Or don't. Whatever makes you comfortable."
"Don't have to. I didn't get that gene."
"You have the genes that the Lord designed for you and you have the choice to lie in his image." She glanced over at the boy beside her, deciding by the look of disdain on his face that now probably wasn't the best time to start the healing process. God's word will cleanse this boy's soul yet. They had time. "Just run it by Chuck first before you do anything. He shouldn't have a problem with it."
"Got a key for that door?" Dean pointed in the direction he was speaking of, knowing full well that the answer wasn't going to be the one he was hoping for.
"No. We don't lock our doors. There's nothing to hide here." The dirty blonde was less pleased with her response than he thought. Why couldn't she just say yes or no like a normal person? "Are you going to eat tonight?"
"No." See, was that really so hard to do?
"Then come straight to my office so we can you started. I'll give you a little time to adjust to your new room, okay?" With a purposely loud and melodramatic sigh, he plopped down on the bed he was going to be sleeping in for the next few weeks, two months tops. It wasn't the most comfortable thing he's slept on but it was better than the hospital bed. And definitely better than sleeping on the cold, damp pavement of an alley.
Eventually after unpacking the few chattels he was allowed to bring with him, Dean thought he should head out in search of Edith's office. Better to get it over with now so he could sleep in for the rest of the day. There was a myriad of doors in this place. It was like a fun house from the Twilight Zone. He soon made his way out to a gravelly, cobblestone path that seemed to lead around the building.
Having not really paid attention to anything going on outside the whirlwind in his head, Dean ran into another boy. It wasn't either of the boys he had met earlier and he pictured Chuck to be a lot more…eccentric. The male in front of him was shorter by an inch or so, more lean and lithe in his build. His inky tresses tastefully ruffled about. They brought out the heavenly blue orbs that danced with joy on his pale face.
"Hi. Castiel Hartley," the boy stuck out a willowy hand, "you must be Dean." The emerald eyed boy stared in awe, pulling one of his own hands from the pocket of his raggedy jeans.
"Yup."
"Well, are you coming for dinner?" The taller of the two was slightly irritated at this point as he retracted his hand from their shake.
"Jesus, is that all you people think about?" Castiel let out a brilliantly melodious chortle. It made Dean want to smile out of pure reaction.
"Well at meal time sure." The raven haired teen opened the door they were standing in front of. "Guess I'll be seeing you around then, Dean. It was a pleasure to meet you." Dean followed the boy in the house, watching him join the room where everyone seemed to be gathering for dinner. Turning left, he made his own way towards a room that had Christian empowerment music drifting out. It had a very Edith vibe to it.
Turned out he was right. Mrs. Hartley was hunched over her desk, reviewing manila folders, humming to whatever harp laden song was playing on her radio. Clearing his throat, the teen approached her hesitantly, sitting down in the chair that she gestured to. She continued her work for a moment longer before looking him straight in the eyes.
"We are Christian recovery program specializing in sexual brokenness and in addition to the golden rule," an abrupt pause. "You do know what the golden rule is, correct?"
"I'm not an idiot," the boy growled in retort.
"Well then, in addition to the golden rule we have a few others we'd like for you to follow." Dean regretted coming early now.
"No caffeine." That's fine. He never really liked the stuff anyway.
"No nicotine." Okay, he'll just find a new way to relieve stress and keep himself awake when he didn't feel like sleeping.
"Meals are at six, twelve and five thirty." That seemed more organized that Saint Bartholomew's. Who would complain over three square meals a day?
"The second Sunday of each month is reserved for fasting and reflection. Group meetings are six days a week at ten am. They are mandatory. Sundays we attend morning service at the local church." Great, things that are supposed to help him not only better himself but make it seem like his life has structure. It could be worse…
"As far as addiction issues go, Paul will be helping you. Nine years of victory over addiction and alcohol." That's not so bad. Paul seemed like a decent guy. It's probably better than rehab and all of those mental institutions.
"We expect modesty in language, behavior and dress." Change his entire personality and wardrobe. Got it.
"Daily chores are assigned at the beginning of each week and they include house cleaning, yard work, cooking-"
"We don't have to attend classes, do we?" Honest to fucking God. This lady is ridiculous. How many more rules could this place have?
"Dean, this is a choice your choice. Do you understand?" She just received a glare. How was it his choice if he wasn't the one that decided on being here? "You're free to go at any time. But here's the good news, if you are ready to make a change, you're in the right place."
"Ya'll just do this for free? Seriously, who pays for this?"
"Actually," Edith pursed her lips unsure of where to go from here. With a deep breath, she continued, "your uncle paid for six months here." Dean was done. What the hell was this?
"Sonovabitch!" He jumped out of the chair, throwing is across the room before knocking all the paperwork off her desk and smashing a hole in a nearby wall. "That mother fucker!" He couldn't prevent himself from speaking in anything but a shout. Anger pumped throw him boiling over like rice in an unwatched pot.
"Your uncle cares…" What the fuck does this bitch know? He literally met her a few hours ago. She knows nothing about him or his family.
"Of course he fucking paid for six fucking months! You know what? I don't need anyone's charity or help, you got that? I can't fucking stay that long. He fucking just wants to get rid of me. Fuck, this is just like fucking dad all over again! He sees me just like his fucking brother!"
"Dean," the older woman's voice tried to sound assertive yet soothing. She was failing miserably. "I think you should stay the night over and pray about it."
"I don't want to fucking pray!" Truly he was hated this woman the more he spent time with her. God damn, can't she just shut her mouth?
"Just think then. We'll talk in the morning. Until then watch your language." A pregnant pause filled the void but didn't help with the unpleasant aura in the room. "Please." He could strangle this woman. He really could.
"Jesus Christ," Dean stared at those irksome brown eyes. "Sorry." The apology had a bit of a sarcastic bite to it. "Can I go to my room now?"
"Sure, but after dinner check with Paul about when you'll be helping with birdhouses. He'll be seeing you for your first session tomorrow." Dean stormed out of the room, slamming as many doors as he could until he could lay in bed in peace.
