White, white, white.
That was Castiel Novak's life on and off since he could remember. White walls. White floors. White uniforms. White pills. White everything.
Sure, he hadn't always stayed in the same facility, but one thing Lawrence State had in common with the rest was the white.
Castiel was a strange case, a tough nut to crack, if you will. He had been at LSH for 5 years now, and he had yet to say a word to anyone beyond the filth spewed from his mouth during one of his infamous "violent outbursts."
He didn't really understand why he was made to participate in group, he never spoke, and he often caused trouble for the other patients, setting off various reactions ranging from rage to paranoia, once being attacked by schizophrenic patient who claimed Castiel was attempting to steal his soul via his "soul penetrating gaze." But, still. He was made to join, every day, same time, in a white room, in his white clothes, locked in behind a white door.
It was all so routine, all so bland, and it left Castiel with plenty of time to think, which wasn't necessarily a good thing. Left to his own devices, Castiel often day dreamed, and while most people daydreamed about their wedding day, a crush they had, or one day being free from their meaningless, dead-end job, Castiel has other fantasies. Fantasies that had nothing to do with sunshine and sweet first kisses. Fantasies of pain, of rough sex, tears, blood. Fantasies that had become realities, resulting in his admittance to the Godforsaken hospital.
It wasn't that Castiel was a particularly violent or malicious person, he just had urges. Urges like anyone else had. Urges that almost cost him his life.
These urges came and went, though. He felt as if he had two people living inside his body. Two souls, one fractured, one pure, forced into a vessel not strong enough to contain them both. One was vicious, he was who came out when Castiel became violent. He hated everyone and wanted to watch the world burn. The other, he was quiet. He was calm. He wasn't what Castiel would describe as "kind" or "remorseful" in anyway, he was just mellow. A silent observer.
It was funny, in a way, how his disorders that caused him to take the lives of not only his parents, but a group of kids from his previous high school, also saved him from receiving the death sentence, which the DA desperately was aiming to get him. He was deemed unfit to stand trial, and shipped away to hell on Earth, aka- Lawrence State.
The day he met the man with the green eyes was a day he would never forget. The moment the man walked in, something deep inside Castiel told him he didn't like him. He could feel the fractured part of his soul tell him to detest the new member of their group, and after the man with the freckles spoke for the first time, even Cas' pure side disliked him.
He stared, as he always did. Big, blank blue eyes taking in every detail of the man, who he learned name was Dean, as he spewed bullshit out of his mouth. He knew the type. Loud, obnoxious, narcissistic, a dude with a serious God complex. He hated him. He reminded him of his father.
Dr. Milton looked panicked when she resorted to calling in the code team for assistance with Dean, their new, macho and loud mouthed group mate, and Castiel simply tilted his head as Dean was forced back into his seat, blue eyes bleeding intimidatingly into green, none of them willing to tear their gaze away from the other, staring at each other as if they were both hunting one another, daring the other to make a move first. Even when out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the very thing that drove the lot of head cases in the facility to madness Dean's eyes never left his. Not until stuck with a needle like a wild animal, vivid green eyes fluttering shut.
It came as no surprise to him when Dean had become irritated with his staring, as most people often did. If he were the type of man to show emotion, he might have chuckled. First day and he already got the dick wad sedated. Thrown out like a piece of trash, and that was enough to satisfy his fractured soul.
While Castiel was feeling mildly triumphant, Dean getting thrown out though caused a ripple effect with the other patients.
"Lookie here, first day and angel already got the GQ model tossed out." Crowley, a short, stocky man with a Scottish accent quipped.
"Fergus, that's enough. Now if we could all just-" Dr. Milton started, being interrupted not to long after.
"It's Crowley, you uneducated swine!" The Scot exclaimed, standing abruptly, causing his chair to screech across the floor in an ear shattering move.
"Show her some fucking respect, before I beat it into you!" Another patient, Adam Milligan, younger than the rest but no less aggressive, yelled.
"He's a demon! His eyes- they're black!" Another patient yelled, standing quickly from his chair and lunging at Crowley.
And just like that, group was over. Dr. Milton calling in security to restrain the now rowdy bunch before her or any other patients became injured. All the while, Castiel stayed firmly seated, his eyes staring blankly ahead, his fractured soul telling him to hurt someone. To jump on them and smash his fist into their skull until he felt it collapse, but his pure soul, in part with his medication, winning the mental tug of war, willing him to remain stoic and unaffected by the chaos surrounding him.
He felt a pair of gentle hands on his arm, causing him to slowly avert his eyes up. Dr. Milton was talking to him, saying something but he couldn't comprehend it. It was easier to shut everything out when things became overwhelming.
Dr. Milton pulled Castiel up with a grunt, the brunette's expression unchanging as she led him out of the room to bring him back to his room, insisting to the guards that he didn't need sedation. Castiel had never laid a hand on her before, and she doubted he ever would. She gave him his space when he needed it, didn't shove his medication down his throat, and tried to include him in group activities despite the other patient's general dislike of him.
He was led past the common area, waiting as Dr. Milton pressed her key card against the locked door leading into the long, very white hallway where all the patient's rooms were.
With a loud buzz, they were granted access and they started their journey down to his room. Normally, the doors were left open, and patients were allowed to come and go from their rooms during the day unless either they had to be sedated or they were on lockdown, which was what was currently happening.
The patients were all riled up now, and add a cup of rage into a pot of mentally unstable criminals, and you had yourself a recipe for disaster. The patients needed time to calm down, some needed sedation to wear off, and they would most likely be free to roam after dinner time, which Castiel was completely fine with.
Castiel's room was the the last one at the end of the hall on the left side, which made the walk there seem much longer than it actually was, the hallway seeming endless. The stuff of nightmares. Once to his room, he stepped inside and turned on his heel, standing like a statue, staring blankly at Dr. Milton.
"I'm sorry we have to do this, Castiel. You know the drill. I'll see you at supper, okay?" She said, offering him an apologetic smile before the door closed, leaving him staring at a the back of it. It was white. He stood there for a few moments before he decided to make the best of his time alone. He was allowed books, which he was thankful for, and so he turned finally and padded over to his single bed, sitting down on the stiff mattress and crossing his legs, picking up the book that he left on the perfectly made bed, the one he had been reading before he was called to group, opening it up to view black words typed on white paper. His sheets were white. His pillows were white. His blanket was white. And yet, all he could think about was green.