I do not own Supernatural.
This is a shorter chapter because it didn't flow as well with the rest of what I wanted it to include.
And if anyone'd like to send me a review, even if it's negative, that'd be appreciated. It makes me want to work harder/update faster.
.o0o.
An orderly eventually came to fetch him for group, promptly dropping their keys as they walked into the room. They called for help, a faint noise to the bleeding man who sat semi conscious on the tan linoleum floor of his room.
He was taken to the infirmary by the two people who responded. He passed by Evan, who stood in his doorway with the same casual look that he had worn during their earlier conversation.
A young, kind nurse met him there, shooing away the orderlies. The infirmary was a white room with white floors and white trim. John left a thin trickle of blood as he made his way to the cot.
After a few minutes of sitting and silence, the nurse interjected "So, why'd you do it?"
John stared at her for a while before responding. She didn't seem upset or angry like the doctors at the old hospital had. In fact, she seemed calm. "I don't know. It just came over me."
She walked towards him, moving unlike the other doctors. She moved like she actually wanted to go somewhere.
"Ah." She said, rubbing a patch of gauze over his jagged wound. "You have a lot of scars; do you get these feeling a lot?"
"No." He answered simply. "These scars aren't from me."
The woman nodded and continued to treat the wound, a true and comforting smile etched into her rather attractive face.
As she finished, she patted John kindly on the shoulder.
"You're good to go. Just shout into the hallway and an orderly will take you to your group session."
John was confused. Whenever he had acted out at the other place, there were consequences. Here, it seemed as if they just wanted him to move on.
"But I attacked myself. I painted some kind of satanic sign on the wall out of my own blood."
His voice sounded quiet and meek despite his generally strong stature, causing the nurse's smile to grow.
"We see stuff like that every day, John. How are we supposed to punish you? You're already in a mental institution. I suppose they'll add a few more questions in your individual therapy session, but that's it. And anyways, you're already different, better perhaps. You see that what you did was wrong or abnormal, now don't you?"
Her words were better than any of the strange medicines the doctors had been giving him. He was here to get better, to remember why he had landed in that hospital to begin with. He wasn't here to be punished.
"Thank you." He tried to return her pleasant smile. "What's your name?"
"Annabelle. Annabelle Conan."