Same shit, different day.
Wake up 6 am. Make bed. Shower. Breakfast. Meds. Chores, for those "stable" enough to do them. Free time.
Same routine, so mundane that Castiel suspected any sane person would have already blown their brains out.
He didn't require being woken up by the nurses as they other patients did. It was almost as if his body has become accustom to being up so early, his inner clock waking him up precisely 5 minutes before 6, giving him time to stretch, make his bed, and be standing at the door waiting patiently for someone to come open it for him to start his day.
A kind, eccentric nurse named Charlie was the one to get him that morning. Castiel was fond of her, and she never lost her patience with him when he never spoke back to her, instead staring at her with curious blue eyes.
With the click of a lock, his door was open, a smiling, bright eyed Charlie greeting him at the door, her fiery hair a pleasant contrast to the endless white that filled Cas' daily life.
"Mornin', Castiel." She said cheerfully, stepping aside to let Cas out of his room without being in his personal space. He appreciated that.
He didn't reply, his eyes trained on hers for a couple of seconds in acknowledgment, his lips pressed into a hard line before he turned his head, averting his gaze down the endless hallway as the pair sauntered their way to the "cafeteria" aka a bland, white room with white tables and white chairs, where the patients ate on white trays with white plastic cutlery.
"Enjoy your meal, Castiel!" Charlie grinned enthusiastically, leaving Cas to his own devices as she headed off to round up some more patients. He scanned the room, eyes landing on his preferred table in the back, strolling over and taking a seat, clasping his hands together and resting them gently on the table, staring blankly ahead as his fellow peers stood in line to be served.
He could sense eyes on him, and he knew it was the guards. They were always itching for an opportunity to pin an patient down and call the code team to sedate them.
Thankfully for him, Dr. Milton told them to leave him alone. If he wasn't hurting anybody, then there was no need to take action. She was aware of his refusal to eat, and even though the behavior wasn't encouraged, nobody wanted to risk triggering him, so they stuffed him full of pills and nutrition supplements and turned the other cheek when he felt like being difficult.
Breakfast was gross. He refused to eat it. Some rubbery, florescent yellow globs that passed for scrambled eggs, milk he was sure passed its best before date, a bruised banana, and a piece of slightly burnt toast.
"Nourishment for the day." The doctors would say when he refused to eat. After all, he all needed it to grow big and strong for his bright future, right?
Castiel didn't complain, though. All things aside, he woke up feeling indifferent. He wasn't necessarily pleased, but he was far from feeling the tell tale signs of an "episode."
After breakfast, he swallowed down his plethora of medication. An anti-psychotic, a mood stabilizer, an anti-depressant and various vitamins that he requires for his lack of food intake, as refusal to eat was expected from him.
On the rare day, the hospital would have something half edible. He was fond of the meatloaf and the macaroni and cheese. They made him happy.
After breakfast he wandered off to hang out in the rec area. Normally he would go off to his room and get lost in the endless words of a good book, but the staff was doing their weekly room sweep, searching for hidden pills, homemade weapons, things of the sort that patients might have stored in there during the week. Most of the times the searches would come up empty but they couldn't be too careful. He wasn't trusted with chores should he have an outburst and harm another patient or staff member, and that suited him just fine because it required socializing which clearly, was not his forte. So that left him with the rec area.
He entered the room and ambled on over to a lone table, pulling the white chair out and planting himself in it, a colorful board catching his eye.
He looked down at the board in front of him. It said "Sorry" on it and had little strange shaped pegs, varying from the color red to blue, and 2 small stacks of cards sitting in the middle of it. He didn't often play games so he was perplexed, head tilting and eyes narrowing in concentration.
When Castiel was daydreaming, concentrating, or reading, he easily shut out the world around him, nurses and guards often having to shake him out of his state of mind to get him from room to room. It was because of this that he didn't realize he was being spoken to until a fist slammed down on the table, shaking the small strange shaped pegs and causing the neat stack of cards to collapse.
He heard gasps and chuckles around him, but he remained unaffected, his eyes upturning to meet a field of green. Dean.
"You-" The freckle faced man began, before Dr. Milton quickly headed over, heels clicking against white floors as she approached.
Castiel continued to stare, his eyes unblinking. He didn't understand why Dean took such offense to him. His fractured soul told him to get up. To wrap his hands around Dean's throat and squeeze until he seen the lights go out in those pretty leafy greens, but honestly, he couldn't be bothered, his pure soul winning this round.
"What the hell is wrong with him?" Dean exclaimed, causing the attention of the other patients and even worse, the code team to be averted over to them.
Castiel watched the interaction between Dr. Milton and Dean, who seemed personally stung by Cas' actions. For a man who didn't like being stared at, Dean sure did stare a lot.
Cas' hands remained placed on his lap, his head only tilting slightly as Dr. Milton went on to explain that there was nothing wrong with him. That in itself was rather laughable, as there was clearly an ocean of issues and disorders Castiel was burdened with, but he could appreciate her standing up for him. She always did.
Dean didn't seem so convinced, though. Kudos to him for realizing something was not quite right with the brunette, but it didn't earn him any brownie points as far as Castiel was concerned. He still hated Dean, he hated his face, his voice, his existence, though his face would never show it.
"I'd like a word with you." Dr. Milton said firmly.
"Talk then." Retorted Dean.
"Privately."
Castiel's fractured soul rolled his eyes when Dean warned him that he wasn't done with him. What did Cas care? Dean wasn't the first inmate to try and break him. Crowley tried. A disgusting serial rapist named Alistair had tried. Therapists had tried. He was unbreakable.
It should have bothered him when he watched as Dr. Milton led Dean away, knowing they were going to talk about him. But it didn't. His eyes followed the pair as they disappeared, feeling more or less impassive about the whole scenario.
He finally tore his gaze away and started the task of rearranging the game pieces, setting them up in an orderly fashion. The green pegs with the green side of the board. The red with the red side. Blue with blue and yellow with yellow. He also took the liberty of neatly stacking the cards, feeling internally triumphant for the good job, though now he was left feeling bored and restless.
Thankfully, his dilemma was solved with the irritating static of the announcement system, a man's voice stating that room checks were through, and patients were free to head back to their room should they want to.
Of course, Castiel wanted to so he stood, neatly pushing his chair back in, paying no mind to the other patients who were either watching TV, chatting animatedly, or engaging in activities to one another as he headed out of the room, walking down that damn unsettling stretch of hallway until he was in the safe confines of his white room, his book resting in the middle of his neatly made bed.
The only rules during free hour was doors weren't allowed closed and a patient wasn't allowed to take a nap. So with that, Cas walked over to his bed, running his hand over a ripple in his blanket, smoothing it down to perfection before sitting down.
He just happened to look up as he heard a pair of footsteps come down to his end of the hall. The room directly across from his was vacant after a patient offed himself, Castiel witnessing the entire thing as he was reading one day.
From his room he could see the bed of the one across from his, and when doors were shut for the night, the small, rectangle shaped window decorating that damn white door peered into the matching one of the door across from his, allowing him and the former patient to stare at each other through the small glass shape.
He cocked his head to the side as he heard the soft, lullaby-like voice of Dr. Milton, obviously speaking to the patient who would be taking over the dreaded "suicide room."
"Now, this is going to be your room. Once you have proven you can be trusted you will be granted the privilege of keeping books, magazines, letters, stuff of the sort in with you. You are not to bring any food, cutlery, items from the rec area, or medication into your room. I expect you to stay civil or you will have to stay in solitary confinement."
Of course, Cas already knew the rules. They weren't news to him and he could hear a male voice scoff at all the them.
"You didn't say no chicks. Maybe you'd like to spend the night with me, huh, Dr. Milton?" He heard the voice reply.
That voice.
That fucking voice.
Out of all the patients in the hospital, who would get the room directly across from his?
Dean fucking Winchester.