Dean had concluded that after spending full, proper week at Lawrence State Hospital, a day in the life of a mental patient at a psychiatric institution went as follows:

Lying awakened, from just after six am most mornings, in an uncomfortable, almost too small bed, underneath the scratchy white covers, wishing the sleeping pills he'd taken the night before lasted a hell of a lot longer than they actually did.

Had he been told that waking up that early everyday would be normal occurrence, he would have called them fucking crazy.

However, that being said, the institution was, and always would be in Dean's opinion, eerily quiet at that hour of the morning. The only sounds were the soft snores coming from three doors down, and the whirr of something mechanical. Though, Dean wasn't quite sure what – it might have just been his imagination.

At seven, Rebecca would arrive with her far too cheery smile, singing his praises about how well he was starting to look and how much more rested he seemed. She'd float around his room, doing her usual checks, before shooing him out with his clean clothes to get a shower and wash up for the day.

This was where he'd usually meet up with his two favourite teddy bears, but they had now been dismissed from watching his every move constantly. Dr. Milton had figured Dean wasn't going to hurt anyone. She figured that. Dean didn't like the way she thought she knew him.

By seven thirty, he'd be taking his seat in the cafeteria with a bowl of soggy looking cereal. He didn't have anyone he would have called a friend in here yet, but Benny – the guy that had drained seven guys of blood and bagged it for purposes he wasn't entirely sure off – had taken a shine to him. So they normally sat together.

After this, the stable patients are taken away to do their daily chores. Dean was apparently one of these people, so he'd mope around his room, making his bed and tidying up what little possessions he was allowed in his room - which wasn't all that much. He'd only been here a week, after all.

He thought maybe he'd kick up shit someday so he wouldn't have to do this anymore, but Dean had always kind of liked keeping himself and his belongings tidy and organised.

This characteristic had stretched to how he'd run the business after John had passed away. Everything he did, every job he or his loyal followers took part in, was taken on with perfect precision – like his father had taught him. These things should be kept on top off. That way, most of the work was already done.

If he didn't plan every move he made down to a 'T', cover his tracks, and think ahead, he'd get caught and threw in the slammer. Simple as that.

Dean guessed that mind set wasn't exactly fool-proof either, given the fact he was, indeed, in a mental institution.

When he'd finished with his room, he'd usually find himself staring out his tiny window onto the corridor; the tiny window with a perfect view of Castiel's room.

After his talk with Dr. Milton, Dean had been observing silently. He'd been watching the other man with a curiosity he wasn't sure he had in him. Why was he so quiet?

Dean had learned that Castiel was intense in everything that he did. If he didn't feel like doing something, he simply wouldn't do it. A simple shake of his head would cut the nurses off mid sentence.

Truth be told, Dean kind of wanted to see him go into one of these rage fits he seemed to be famous for. He wanted to assess further what the guy was truly capable off.

But then would come the dreaded group meeting where Dean was forced into getting involved in those stupid esteem building games. Today's topic happened to be "combating negative thoughts" where they were supposed to call out something negative and then counteract it with three positive things.

Castiel didn't partake.

It was frustrating. Dean called him out again, "It's not fair. I don't particularly wanna play the stupid game either, but I've still gotta sit here and tell you that I don't totally feel like going fucking bananas today! Positive enough, for you?"

After lunch, and their vital signs had been taken, they'd all sit down to some bullshit movie or have a group reading session, where Charlie would read to them from the big book for loony-bins, that was supposed to preach life lessons and why you shouldn't murder people, or you'll end up in a place just like this!

At four o'clock it was time for any visitors the people in here might have had. Granted, there weren't that many, but this was the week Dean's little brother decided to grace him with his presence.

He was brought up to a new room by the code team who'd get to sit in on the whole experience, which was a shame. Dean had a few in depth questions about how the business was coping without him.

Sam was his usual smiley, glowing, self, befriending at least three of the nurses before he'd even got his ass to a seat in this room that was supposed to resemble a living room.

There were two sofas and a coffee table between them. Two windows, lacy curtains pulled back at either side. Christ, they'd even gone to the bother of putting up picture frames with generic smiling couples and their two kids. Dean wondered why the fuck they'd went to the bother. Was this supposed to make him forget he was in a crazy house? It was doing anything but.

Dean made a point of spreading out on his sofa, lying his head back on the arm rest with a tired groan. Sam seemed unamused by his antics, shooting an apologetic look at the code team, who were their usual unbothered selves.

"How are you, Dean?"

"Fantastic." Dean answered dryly, pushing his hair back of off his forehead lazily. "How're you, little brother?"

Sam gave him a look, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. "Can you not be an obnoxious dick for ten seconds and have a normal conversation with me? We only have an hour."

"That's plenty of time for me to have a normal conversation and be a dick."

"Dean."

Dean groaned and sat up with a sigh. "What do you want me to say, Sammy? I'm tired. I've been up since six am."

"Why?"

"Getting institutionalized…" He joked, shaking his head with a light laugh. "How is everything?" At this point, Dean changed the subject. Sam being Sam would want to start into one of those feeling's talks Dean hated so much.

Plus, he actually was curious to know what was going on with the business. He could trust his brother to be delicate with the matter too, knowing Dean didn't like sharing such personal information with just anyone. This was why having an audience wasn't ideal.

"Broke up after you went inside."

"What?" Dean exclaimed suddenly, eyes going wide.

"Dean, there was no one willing to take on what you did. You'd have to be-"

Sam was not just about to go there, was he? Dean's lips parted, bemused smile on his lips.

"Crazy?"

"Yes." Sam admitted after a second, staring at Dean with those big puppy dogs. They'd have been an excellent asset to the team had Sam not refused to join. That had broken their father's heart. But looking back, Dean was glad his little brother had had the sense to stay out. Otherwise they might have been room mates right now.

Dean, however, was feeling incredibly deflated upon hearing that news. Everything he and his father had worked for was gone. They'd built up the reputation from the ground, to the point where people got scared of saying the name 'Winchester' case it should summon one of them.

He must have seemed out of it because the next thing Sam was singing his name, clicking his fingers to bring his attention back. Dean looked up at him with a frown, but it disappeared after a second when he saw his brother smiling warmly at him.

"Earth to Dean." He chuckled, making Dean roll his eyes slightly. For a serial killer, he had a real soft spot for this guy. "I asked if you'd made any friends."

"Nah, not really. It's not exactly day care, Sammy." Dean reminded him with a puff.

"I was actually reading up about this place. Did you know it's been known for housing some of Americas most wanted criminals?"

Could have fucking fooled Dean, but he just hummed and nodded, seeming to be interested.

"So, guess if you've made no friends, you've made no enemies either?"

"Not really – there is this one nut case though," Dean started with a laugh, sitting forward in his chair as he went to launch into the story. "Really pensive guy, right? Would stare a hole right fuckin' through you – Hey, what do you call Castiel's last name?" He asked, leaning over the sofa suddenly to look at the big guys, leaning at either side of the door.

"Novak."

"-Right. Castiel Novak. Thinks he's the dogs balls, but I've been trying to stare him out. It's really getting on that crazy bitch Milton's nerves, but it's the most fun I've had since I got here." Dean hadn't told a story with such enthusiasm in a very long time, and when he realised this, he was very surprised at himself. But Sam didn't seem to be responding the way Dean had expected him too. "You're allowed to react-"

"Castiel Novak?" He repeated. Dean nodded.

"Yeah."

"Castiel Novak - murdered his whole family, then went on a four day killing spree before getting picked up?"

Dean sat speechless for a moment. Not many things rendered a guy like Dean speechless, but here he was.

After a moment of watching his brother, trying to find the lie in his features, he managed to get his tongue working again. "What? How do you know that?"

Sam gave him a tight lipped smile. "Dean, it was all over the news. It happened years ago!"

"I don't remember that."

"That's because you were doing you own fair share of killing at the time." Sam deadpanned, shaking his head. "In all seriousness, dude, don't torment the guy. Don't torment anyone in here. You're all here for a very good reason."

"Why are you lumping me in with them? You think I belong here?" Dean narrowed his eyes as he pointed to himself, just to make doubly sure his brother was talking about him. But Sam just sighed.

"Dean-"

"Oh fuck, not you too."

"You do belong here." Sam said with a nod, looking regretful.

"I'm not fucking crazy." Dean bit at him, going to get to his feet, heading over to the door. "I wanna go now."

"Dean, don't – come back and sit down." Sam frowned, getting to his feet as well, putting one hand up as a sign of surrender.

"Do you think I'm crazy?" Dean asked, turning to look at him with a furrowed brow. "Really?"

"I think you need a little help, yes." Sam nodded. "After the life you've lived Dean…All those people you-" His brother swallowed thickly. "No person could have gone through what you did and come out sane."

Dean's jaw clenched as he lifted his eyes to look out the window. The sun wasn't out today. It was overcast and kind of windy. Dean could tell by the way the grass was blowing. Maybe he was purposely drowning out the apologies Sam was making. Maybe he was trying to repress the fact that his little brother might have been right.

Maybe he was crazy too.