"We didn't call psych down here to get the kid upset. We wanted you to find out if he was mentally unstable. What if the younger one can be saved and put with…a more capable family?" One of the doctors yelled at Dr. Krohn. His hands were up in the air with frustration; this doctor had absolutely no patience for the Winchesters.
"Well you called me down to help these boys and if you think you can do a better job than let me see your certification." She paused, making her point. "So, if you don't mind I just want to help these boys, and find out if everything's okay. And the only way to do that is to let them see their father so if you wouldn't mind tell me what room?" she said, letting out a sigh as she finished her sentence. She spoke politely, but with a rough edge to her tone as she watched the doctors try to figure out what to do. Her hand went to her hip as she cocked an eyebrow at the two male doctors.
Both doctors were up there in age, to say the least, and they peered at each other from the corner of their eyes. The same doctor that spoke before ventured out, "They can't see the father. What if he tries to do something? He could hurt those children and himself. They had to sedate him to actually get him into the ambulance! He's out of control! He's the reason you were called down. We want to know if his kids can be saved!"
"Saved from what?! Their own father! Just let them see him!" her voice had turned into yelling, but she paused, calming herself down. The doctors wouldn't back down easily, she thought, but she knew she had to try. "And I'll get you all the information you want on the boys."
"I just can't let that man near those children. Maybe if you can get him to calm down and agree to be peaceful, then he can see his children. But right now, in his condition, I just can't risk it," the second doctor spoke, quietly and thoughtfully. He rubbed this bald head with is fat hand trying to find a way to keep the family together. He knew that his patient wasn't in any condition to see those boys, and wondered how he could take care of them in such a state. He wouldn't even tell them his real name, how could they trust him if he couldn't even tell them his name. Thank God I know my Led Zeppelin members.
"Fine," she said, turning back to the door she just left. She knew that this would be a long night, and being the only psych counsel on call for 4 hours wasn't helping either. She looked through the small window near the top of the door and peered in on Sam and Dean.
Sam was asleep in the bed, while his brother was sitting on the bed looking around occasionally. When Dean's eyes stopped on the door, she knew he had seen her and she knew that she would have to break the news.
The door opened slightly, far enough to allow her to slip in. "Dean…" she paused, allowing a sigh to escape her lips. "You can't…"
"Why not?" Dean interrupted; he knew that they wouldn't let him see his father when Dr. Krohn walked in with a sympathy smile. He saw that smile often when he went out to the grocery store and bought food for him and Sam. It definitely wasn't something he enjoyed seeing.
Karen just stared at him; How do I explain to an eight-year-old that he can't see his father because they're afraid of his father? "I need to see him first."
"Why?" Dean asked in a whisper, looking back to the little sleeping form in the bed, making sure he was asleep still. His fingers ran through the little mop of hair, more for his own comfort than Sam's.
"Well aren't we inquisitive today," she said, sitting on the foot of the bed, only a foot or two away from Dean. Dean wasn't exactly sure what inquisitive meant, but he figured it had to do with his questions. He looked down at her hand that seemed a little too close for comfort, causing him to inch a little closer to the sleeping form.
Karen's eyes saddened at how untrusting he was. "We just need to make sure that he is perfectly okay before he sees you. I just wanted to know if you would be okay in here while I go see your father."
Dean's eyes slid over to their corners as he took a glance towards his brother. His head nodded before he could look at her. She left the room in a hurry, trying to make up time lost between a father and his two sons.
My memory couldn't tell me where I went wrong; I was on a hunt for a Rawhead. Luckily I wasn't electrocuted, but before I toasted the bastard, it got a good beating in on me. It wasn't that bad; I was able to drive all the way "home". "Dean would be able to patch me out. It'll be good practice," I remembered thinking on my drive home. My side hurt a little as I drove to the motel I had left the boys at. I knocked, leaving the keys of the Impala in the car. It wasn't like anyone would think twice about stealing it, since I had parked next to a '78 Mustang. Dean hadn't answered the door at the first knock, making me smile at how cautious he was; I knocked a little louder this time accompanied with, "Dean, open the door. It's me."
I wasn't expecting Dean to open the door so rapidly, and had forgotten that it was supporting my weight. I hit the floor with a THUD; I thought I might have landed on Dean, but I felt his body support my weight, leading me to the couch. I noticed the shot gun being kicked under the couch as he guided me. Dean had gotten the first aid kit and I smiled at how well he was doing. There was a knock at the door and Dean and I exchanged confused looks. Dean disappeared behind the couch, out of my line of vision.
I tried to sit up, my vision growing a little fuzzy; but I could still see my eight-year-old son holding the shotgun. It seemed like ages since Mary was alive, but seeing Dean made it seem that she had taken his childhood with her to the grave. "I can't think of that now; I must deal with the problem at hand," I thought. I was afraid that someone decided to come visit and, not being able to come in, call the police. But I know no one saw me get out of the car; I hadn't seen anyone around.
I looked at Sam's door, just as Dean had, but Dean took action. I laid myself slowly back down onto the couch as Dean checked his little brother. He knew he had to protect Sammy, and he never once complained about it. I wish I hadn't given him that burden, he doesn't deserve to have that all put on his shoulders. No, I can't think of that now.
Dean came back and prepared everything to patch me up when another knock hit the door, much louder than last time. It was followed by a yell, "Open up! It's the police." Shit! This can't be happening. I refuse to have my sons torn apart and taken away from me. My son's eyes looked up into mine and questioned me. I knew he wanted to know what to do, wanted me to tell him they would make it out of this in a whole, but I just can't lie to him like that. "Take Sam and get out. Call Pastor Jim and tell him to come pick you up when you get far enough away."
I could see it in his eyes; he didn't want to leave me behind. "But—" he began before I cut him short with my signature, "Dean, that's an order." It seemed that Dean would only listen to that tone of voice, that command. He could be stubborn, but when it came to orders Dean was always ready to follow them. I watched as my eldest walked into the room where his brother slept. I wondered if he would have to carry him out like he did four years ago. I had to push that out of my mind, I can't think of that now.
Dean had made it into Sam's room for about 3 minutes before the door was unlocked. Oh that little bastard! How could I be so stupid!? That damn night manager was probably watching me from inside the check-in/out building. He must have called the cops; how could I be so naïve?! He was a little suspense-looking when I had left; I should have made sure no one was looking! I would kick myself if I could.
But at the moment my arms and legs were strapped to a bed. Apparently if you threaten some nurses and refuse medical treatment they can strap you down like a mental patient. I had laid there while they stripped me down and taped me up. It was only a few stitches to my side and head and then a quick pat on the back with a 'You're free to go'. It wasn't necessary to keep me this long, especially away from my sons. I knew they had to be in the building, but I didn't know where they were or what was going on.
My thoughts were interrupted by a woman with long blond hair, at first I thought it might have been my Mary, but I knew better. She was wearing a white lab coat, although it was clear that it wasn't hers; it was too short for her long frame and there was a rip on the shoulder. She must have tried to stretch or reach for something and pulled a stitch in the lab coat. I wonder who she had to steal it from.
At that moment it hit me, what if she was a demon? I sure couldn't do anything from where I lay, but I couldn't let her hurt my boys. But what if she was just a doctor? What if she didn't want to hurt me or my family? Why must life be so hard?
"Hello Mr…"
I didn't answer; I didn't know if the boys had said anything. If they gave out our information and I give fake info. they might try to take them away, saying I didn't even know who I was. Her bright blue eyes stared into mine as she waited for my answer. She took a seat across from my bed; if I turned my head to my right I could see her perfectly. She was slender, worked out, athletic probably, not married by the absence of a wedding ring, but recently divorced by the difference in the color of skin on her ring finger; it was paler than the healthy Italian tan that she had on the rest of her body.
"Alright, well if you just cooperate with me…the sooner you can see your sons again. Your oldest son has a stubborn streak and the doctors won't let them see you until I've evaluated you. So the sooner I get this information the quicker this whole mess can be cleaned up." She spoke with emotion; her eyes dropped down to the floor as she mentioned Sam and Dean. She was a get to the point kind of girl; I like that. She also seemed genuine, real, trustworthy, but she wouldn't be a good demon if she wasn't so perfectly human.
"Where are they?" I asked, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. It didn't work; it sounded bitter to my ears, but I couldn't help the anger that had engulfed my body. This whole night has been Hell, and the anger I have towards the night manager is apparently coming out on this doctor.
Her eyes widened as she realized that this probably wouldn't be as easy as she thought it would be. I realized that I wasn't making a great first impression, so I let out a breath of air and counted to five. One, Two, Three, Four, Five. Another breath. Okay I think I'm good to talk to the pretty little doctor now. "What kind of doctor are you…Doctor…?"
"Oh, well my name's Dr. Karen Krohn. P.H.D. in Psychology. And you are?" she asked, her lips starting to turn up into a smile. She looked at her lab coat, "It's the coat isn't it?"
"What?" I asked in confusion; the coat that what? I wonder why she's wearing the lab coat down here if she doesn't have to.
"Your son, Dean, noticed that I wasn't a 'doctor doctor' because of the lab coat."
I nodded up and down and smiled slightly at how attentive Dean had been. I knew I could rely on him to make sure Sam was okay and safe.
Her head bent down at the floor, but her eyes looked up at me almost as though she was looking over invisible glasses. She was questioning me about my name; do I give my real name or a fake name? I couldn't think of what to do, so I answered the only way I knew. "John."
"John…" her pen moved across the paper and came back up, finding its way into her mouth. She chewed on the tap as those blue orbs flickered up to my brown ones, waiting for the rest of my name. But she wouldn't be getting that answer, at least not yet. I need to see my sons.
"Once I see my sons."
"But John, I can't let them see you until I evaluate you."
"Then evaluate away." I don't have enough time to deal with this. I tried to wiggle my left hand out of my shackles without Dr. Krohn noticing, but I can't seem to get it out. I looked at my wrist and then back up at the doctor. Maybe if I pull my stitches and cause it to bleed I can get someone to at least let one of my limps free…
"Then John, are you married?" My eyes drooped a little at how I thought to answer the question. I wore my wedding ring, hell I haven't taken it off since Mary passed on. Why should I let her know? She still could be a demon.
"I see you used to be married."
"Yes, and you're avoiding the question." She answered quickly, a little annoyed at my move to change the subject onto her. Her right eyebrow cocked up at me, trying to question my motives.
"I used to be." My throat closed. I was afraid I was going to swallow my tongue. This was the first time I had ever had to voice what happened to Mary. Not even to my own sons did I talk about her. She was always on my mind, but I dare not speak of it, in hopes of one day she would walk back into our lives with open arms. But that dream had shattered long ago, I knew the truth and I don't believe in false hope. It just sets you up for disappointment and despair.
I noticed that Dr. Krohn was quiet and reserved. Her presence started to fade into the background as she was daydreaming with her own memories. I could tell the look of depression on her face as that of a mourning widow. She felt the same pain as I did.
The door opened showing a new doctor in the doorway. "Oh, you can clock out. I'll take over from here."
Dr. Krohn looked at the new doctor questioningly. She glanced at her wrist; not having to pull the coat cuff back for it was too short. "It was 9:40; the next psyche counsel wasn't supposed to be in for another couple of hours."
"I was told to come in early. They said they had their hands filled, but apparently not. Sorry, but I've got this one," the new doctor answered, the ends of her short black hair just touching her chin as she spoke.
Dr. Krohn looked pissed, but waved a goodbye to me. Yea, like I could wave back. Dr. Krohn left the room, storming off to wherever. The new doctor closed the door and locked it behind her. "Hello John Winchester," she spoke as he eyes turned pitch black. I had the urge to curse, but I held it in. I was too busy trying to figure out how to get my family out of this mess. If that was even possible at this point; it seemed that today is going to be the worst day of my life, if not my last.