I sit in the isolation room, losing track of all time, not even sure of the foods I had eaten and trying not to think of my nightmares. I can't sleep because I'm afraid that, spell or no spell, I'll dream that Mick hates me. The others can hate me all they want, but if Mick hates me, that'll break my heart. Here, I come to admit that I love Mick. Fucking love the man.
I want to dream of him. I keep myself awake, afraid of those nightmares, until my body forces me to sleep and I dream of nothing. That dark void, the safe void.
Anyway, Clotho is slowly convincing me that Mick might not hate me. She's trying to be optimistic, which I find hilarious. Otherwise, she doesn't talk much. She soothed me once in a while, like a friend. It makes me think that I have the best imaginary friend in the world.
She didn't find that funny, much to my surprise.
I lie in my bed, facing the wall. I'm not myself and everyone knows it, even if they didn't know me well. I'm not depressed, but I'm feeling down. I just don't know why I can't shake this off. I turn in my bed and look at my pan on the floor. That's my bathroom. I was apparently wrong about not having a bathroom.
I put the pillow over my head and sigh at the voice in my head. No, not mine.
Do you know why you feel like shit?
Hey! What the Hell! Since when do you talk like that? You know damn well I'm damaged goods right now.
Answer me.
I don't know.
You can't lie to me, Celeste. Enough is enough. I am tired of hearing you bitch and moan.
Wow, I hate you right now.
You know you do not cower in here because of the seer. You are not her victim. You are not the victim of her nightmares. You killed her. You must be proud of that. You know you do not cower in here because of Emily. You are not guilty because you helped her where no one else could. You delivered her and you must not forget that she is grateful to you. Now tell me, why do you remain here when you are free to leave?
The nightmares –
Are not real. I'll tell you why you cannot even bring yourself to teleport out of here. You are afraid of rejection. You fear everyone hating you, so much that you don't have the courage to go prove yourself wrong. Has any fiber in your body said Mick is a hateful man?
Mick probably does hate me.
So you'll rot here? What if you miss any chance of having that hot sex with him?
What?
Get out of here, Celeste. Go to Mick and prove to yourself that he doesn't hate you. You resurrected him. Made him immortal. You showed him the only kindness he's ever known. How can he hate you? The real monsters were the British Men of Letters, not you. No matter how upset he might have been with you, what you have done to the rest of his life, it is nothing compared to how those assholes ruined his life until he met you.
I keep the pillow over my head, thinking it over.
Celeste, I will go insane in here. If I go insane, so will you.
Okay.
Celeste, get out of here!
Geez, you're persistent.
I sit up in my bed, looking around the room. I'm trying to imagine a life for me outside of these walls. I don't think I can go back to the bunker. Maybe I can stay at the motel, even if it's dreadfully lonely. I can slowly work back into Mick's heart from there.
He's the only one that matters.
So go to him and get the fuck out of here!
Oh, such language!
No worse than you.
I get up and just before I can teleport, Dr. Frederick taps on my door, opens it and steps in. I'm suspicious of him, but he stays in the doorway with a small smile like he's still my friend despite the fact he'd be the first to lock me away.
"You have a visitor." He says and I arch an eyebrow.
"Who?" I ask, not knowing who the Hell could be visiting me or why for that matter.
Oh, the Morrigan?
"Your psychiatrist." Dr. Frederick replies and I stare at him with confusion. "Dr. Michael Fergus." He adds and my confusion remains, until I start getting a little hopeful. Fergus.
No, not Crowley-Fergus, although I would still take that.
"Medium height guy, black hair, a little unshaven, beautiful light eyes, talks with an accent?" I ask and Dr. Frederick steps out, gesturing for me to join him. I'll take that as a yes. God I hope it's a yes.
I step out and look down the hall, not seeing anyone. Dr. Frederick lets me walk down, just following behind me and I turn the corner, seeing the nurses' station at the end, with a man clearly upset with the nurses and the old secretary. Holy shit, it feels like months since I saw her.
And the guy?
He's exactly as I had described him, but I feel like I forgot how gorgeous he is. Now I feel like it's been years since I saw him and it feels so fucking good to stare at him!
"Mick?" I ask, my voice soft as I look at him in a tan trench-coat over his black suit, a white buttoned shirt under and black loafers. He looks so hot. He glances over at me as I approach. He doesn't look happy, but his face softens. I can feel the relief and happiness on my face. Maybe that surprises him.
"Celeste." He says and reaches an arm out to me. I step up, as much as I dare, stunned that he'd even reach out to me. He places that hand on my shoulder and looks at me, examining me. "When was the last time you slept?" He asks and I frown in confusion. This is not the first thing I expected to come out of him. Am I still trapped in some delusion?
"I don't remember. I was isolated." I reply and he immediately glares at Dr. Frederick.
"You placed her in isolation?" He asks, irritated. Wow, Mick looks so sexy when he's mad. Maybe it won't be so bad if he's mad at me.
"She requested it." Dr. Frederick replies. Mick takes a letter out of the secretary's hands and waves it at Dr. Frederick. Oh, he's kinds scary when he's mad… so sexy.
"If you had read my letter, you would have known not to give her what she wants." Mick says and I frown at him, confused. "You should have contacted me when she had arrived." He adds, angry. I'm lost, just what the Hell is going on? Why would Mick send a letter? I'd check with my Moirai powers, but I can't focus right now, his sexiness distracts me too damn much.
"She admitted herself." Dr. Frederick argues. "We had no way of knowing she was already seeking treatment." He adds and I start to form an idea of what is going on. One can't get a patient out if she committed herself, so give a convincing story and blindside the institution. Sneaky little bugger.
"If you'd have read the letter, you wouldn't have ruined any of my progress. She commits herself when she becomes stressed and overwhelmed with aspects of her life. Her treatment is with me. The last thing she needs is isolation. You have fed her insecurities and increased her desire of emotional and mental self-mutilation." Mick says, making the doctor and the nurses cringe. "I am taking my patient out of here and the next time you receive a letter, read the damn thing." He adds, flicking the envelop at Dr. Frederick and walking away with his hand gripped around my arm. Tightly, that is.
Just by looking at Mick, all of this is an act. There never was a letter, until now. He's so convincing that even the staff here believe him. Fuck, I believe him. What better way to get me out of here. But why? He's mad at me. I deserve to be locked up.
"He already signed the forms. I swear I had not seen the letter." The secretary says softly as everyone takes a breath of relief, despite the major confusion of what the fuck just happened.
As we walk out of the hospital, I keep glancing over at Mick, wondering if he's angry with me. His hand on my arm is pretty tight, so I'm not sure. Just outside is a luxurious car and Mick opens the passenger door for me, waiting for me to get in, then closes the door, going around impatiently. He gets into the driver's seat and starts the engine, putting it into drive and getting us out of there faster than a Lamborghini.
I glance over at him to see his tense jaw, his hands tight on the steering wheel. He looks pretty pissed. However, we remain silent, but not for long.
"Explain to me why you were in that mental institution for over a week." Mick says, cutting the silence like a butcher's knife. I look over at him, at how he keeps his eyes on the road.
"Over a week?" I ask, a little surprised he knows and I don't. Did he keep track of my absence?
"Yes, Celeste; eight days." He replies. "I know about the seer, but what I don't know is why you'd commit yourself." He adds and as I get over the shock that Mick Davies rescued me from that place, I begin to see his not-so-distant past. "You're not insane." He adds and I don't focus on his words anymore.
Amelia and Lindsey received the call from the seer, but ignored it. Mick became worried that I was nowhere to be found. He used every trick he knew to find me and there was nothing. He turned to my cousin and she refused, too busy sulking over the facts that the Winchesters had found: the sigils on their arms cannot be broken. That's not even the worst of it. Once the essences are in your body, there's no extracting them out of you. It's only sweet freedom through death. Now, that isn't even an option.
Mick made Amelia face the facts, telling her that I can be in danger. All he wanted to know is where to find me. Once she told him, the Winchesters tried to stop him, but he told them to get out of his way, and left the bunker without any other words.
Yes, he was mad, but he wasn't mad anymore about me not telling him he's now immortal. He wants to be angry about that, but he then became angry at how I left like a coward. Then his anger about that faded too, leading him to just be frustrated that he couldn't find me. And now? Angry all over again about everything: me hiding the truth for so long, running away and being away for eight days.
However, he can't seem to stay mad. He saw my face, looked into my eyes, and empathy replaced anger. Why? Because he saw my pale face, the stress and sadness. I looked like a hopelessly heartbroken stranger with resemblance to someone he knew.
I'm stunned. I don't know if that means he cares about me or if it's just unfinished business, anger totally removed. But I'm impressed and so fucking relieved to have Clotho prove me right; someone who obviously cared about me got me out of that Hell-hole.