Wow, all those gorgeous reviews – thank you, guys!
And because I'm too tired to write a drabble tonight I'm going to post the second chapter for this one instead. By the way, I'm going to update every week on Sunday, so hopefully there won't be huge gaps in between the chappies.
This chapter contains a few curses, so be warned :-) But most importantly: Enjoy!
Chapter 02
Damn, that went well.
When the heavy door snapped shut behind Dean, he could almost feel his bones vibrate due to the approaching wave of panic. He turned around and lunged at the now closed door, hammering against the small window, shouting. When the giant male nurse, Phillip, who had just brought him into his cell re-appeared in the glass square, Dean didn't mask his relieved smile.
"What?"
"I need to call someone."
"You're not allowed to call someone as long as you're in crisis stabilization."
"I'm in what? What do you mean, crisis stabilization? I didn't notice I'm crisis-ridden."
"You killed an adult man in cold blood with a gun in point-blank range. That classifies as violent. You totally freaked out yesterday. That classifies you as violent. Which puts you into crisis stabilization unit. End of story."
"Come on, I wasn't allowed to use the phone yesterday either, I have people out there who might want to know where I am!"
"Sorry pal, regulations. Now, settle down." With that, the Phillip marched off, leaving Dean look after him in utter disbelief.
He wanted to smash the window. He wanted to hurl something through the tiny room he was trapped in like some vicious animal. If only there would be something he could hurl.
Crisis stabilization. Check. Classified as violent. Check. So, nothing to hurl or use to hurt someone. Double check.
Dean settled for slamming his fist against the door in frustration, accompanied by an angry howl, before he turned around vigorously and slumped down onto the cot at the other side of his cell. He leaned back against the wall, pulled his knees up and dropped his head on top of them.
This wasn't happening.
He was a looney bin inmate. With no opportunity to call Sam, tell him where he was and what had happened. The kid was sure as hell digging over the whole town by now.
Dinner. That had been the reason for his nightly excursion. Sam and him had arrived in their motel with two growling stomaches after a common salt'n burn, nothing special, but exciting enough to earn Sam a tiny cut on his head, so Dean had volunteered to get something eatable from the town's diner.
Of course there was no way to innocently cross a park at midnight without encountering something supernatural.
Dean pulled his head up and ran a gentle hand over the white bandage on his wrist. This had been close.
That thing had gone right for the vital parts, hadn't bothered to knock him out or something similar classic. No, it had swung his unmanicured, way too long claws at Dean, to his luck missing most of the times, except for one. And lucky him, the cut on his right wrist wasn't too deep, not life-threatening anyway.
He should have left the 'crime scene' immediately. Shouldn't have taken care of the girl, should have given a rat's ass about her state after she had almost ended up as werwolf chow.
But no, the great Dean 'Are you okay?' Winchester had stayed by her side, had tried to calm her down despite her panic, her fear of him. He should have known.
And now, almost 48 hours later he was here. The police had only served as dispatch rider. After a short interrogation of the girl and an even shorter one of him, they had dropped him right onto the doormat of Lake Okeechobee Psychiatric Hospital.
And within the last 48 hours he had managed to piss off the nursing staff, his doc, had broken one orderly's nose and had gotten to know the solitary unit of the lovely facility.
He knew that had been a mistake. He knew that those actions had obstructed the easy way out. If there was an easy way out at all. The doc was right, he could have been brought right into a supermax for what he had done. Why he had landed in a nuthouse was kinda obscure to him.
Dean dropped his bandaged arm and let his head roll backwards against the wall. He ran both hands over his face. He had to shave. He didn't do two-day-old beards. Maybe he could ask for a razor. Maybe there was a little kiosk in this facility, some place where he could purchase one.
A laughter erupted from him. Yeah, fat chance of that. Crisis stabilization, remember?
Man, he was so deep in the mire, he didn't know how to get out of it. Even Cas wouldn't be a big help this time. Plus, the apocalypse was in the pipeline and as long as he was trapped in here, there was no way he could do anything about it.
Not to mention the things waiting for him in here. What was he about to do, to say? He could play dumb and they would do everything to get him talk. He could say the truth and the straitjacket would be the last clothing he'd ever wear.
Speaking of choosing between the devil and the deep blue sea.
A plan. He wouldn't say anything unless he had made a plan. Had played through every possible explanation he might have and the possible diagnosis the doctor might offer in return. This wouldn't get him out of here. But it wouldn't get him deeper in, too. Maybe. A shut mouth catches no flies.
Two powerful knocks almost sent Dean jerking from his cot. He looked up to see the face of Phillip looking through the window. Dean heard the telltale sound of the keycard sliding through the magnetic door opener, followed by the 'beep' and the switch of the tiny light at the device on the door lock from red to green.
Funny how the 21th century and it's technical specifications even found their way into mental hospitals. You could almost think you were in a hotel.
The cell door opened to reveal the familiar male nurse accompanied by some less enjoyable gimmicks: two orderlies, one of them with a bandage on his nose and a really dark facial expression, and a tray in the nurse's hand, complete with a plastic cup and a colorful assortment of pills.
Too many things that sure as hell bode ill.
Dean straightened and raised his eyebrows, his eyes darting from the tray to the injured orderly.
"How's the nose?" he asked nonchalantly, nodding at the obviously swollen olfactory organ.
"It's broken, asshole, that's how it is", the orderly growled and Dean could clearly tell from the white knuckles and the visible tension the guy radiated that there wasn't much keeping him return the favor to Dean's own nose.
"Stop it, Griffin", Phillip spoke up and entered the cell, putting the tray on the small table next to the cot. Dean didn't move, just glared suspiciously at the pills and the nurse.
"And this is what?" he asked with a mixture of disgust and disinterest.
"What does it look like, Dean?"
Always with the first names. Normally he had no problem with that, but in here it sounded as if was some kind of retard. If this was some kind of scam to soothe the people it wasn't working with him. At all.
"It looks like an army of pills to me. See, there's the point. Pills are for people with a diagnosis and as far as I know the good doctor hasn't made one for me yet. So I wonder what kind of pills I'm supposed to take."
"I can take care of that", orderly Griffin smirked and crossed his arms, "When I'm done with you there sure as hell will be a diagnosis, and you don't need a psychiatrist for it."
"That so? Gimme your best shot, potato nose."
"Guys!" Phillip almost shouted, holding a palm up to Griffin, "You, reserve yourself! I know you're pissed, but I tell you what, that…" he pointed at the bandaged nose, "…is job hazard. Suck it up, you hear me? And you…" he turned to Dean and pointed at the tray, "…stop fussing, take these, now. If you refuse to take them, we're going to use injections, and trust me, that's a really unpleasant procedure."
Dean's death glare almost split the nurse in two halves. So that was the policy in here. No matter what kind of damage to the brain there might be, just fill the patients up with whatever you could find in the gaps of your sofa. No wonder people never got out of asylums, there was no chance for them to heal when they had to take medications causing their synapses to melt away.
"Dean. NOW!"
He didn't flinch at his name being yelled. Just continued to stare at Phillip before he slowly slid his legs from the cot and leaned forward, picking the three different pills up with his right and grabbing the plastic cup with his left. For a split second he pondered over throwing the contents into the nurse's face, but decided against it.
Dean's eyes didn't leave Phillip's while he swallowed the drugs and downed the cup of cool water, his face an expressionless mask, but his glare heated and full of defiance. He slammed the cup back on the tray and leaned back against the wall again, pulling his legs up.
When Phillip stepped far too close for his comfort, Dean fought the urge to head-butt the man. Instead, he opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out curtly.
"I've seen enough movies to know that it's pointless to hide that stuff somewhere inside the mouth, so relax, okay?" Dean grumbled when Phillip didn't back off immediately.
The nurse held his hands up as a peace offering before he reached for the tray.
"Am I going to have that lovely company every time I'm taking my pills?" Den asked, nodding at the two orderlies standing outside of his cell.
Phillip smiled. "Yes. You should be flattered, that kind of treatment isn't received by everyone."
"You mean everyone else's already assimilated enough to take the medication voluntarily." It was said in a nice, calm tone, underlined with a nice, polite smile. Both so wrong and put-on, it dripped with venom.
Phillip's smile froze before it slid from his face in slow motion. He turned fully to Dean again, and the Winchester saw something in the nurse's eyes he couldn't read.
"For the most people in here those pills are the only protection from themselves", Phillip said, his voice gentle and calm, but with a slightly upset quality to it. He held Dean's gaze for a moment longer before he walked out of the cell, stopping once more before he closed the door.
"The white pill is a soporific. As you didn't sleep last night those might help. The yellow one is a vitamin pill, the green ones are mineral supplements. So nothing you need to worry about. Your brain will be fine, nothing's going to melt." With that, he left Dean's cell and walked away.
For a second, Dean was speechless. Okay, so that guy loved his job. Inter-office memo: wanna piss Phillip off, just rant against the nuthouse policy.
He looked at the two orderlies. The smaller one reached out to close the door, but got stopped by Griffin.
"I got it. Move on to number 89, I'll catch up", he said.
The look on Griffin's face raised the alarm in Dean's instincts. Was it greed? Was it boastfulness? Thirst for revenge? The whole package? Right now he reminded Dean of an animal, an overgrown grizzly, ready to attack it's cornered prey.
Dean once again didn't move and watched the approaching man with narrowed eyes, registering every twitch the orderly made. And once again he found himself in a position where everything he did would lead into a deeper mess.
He knew what Griffin had in mind. He could beat him to it, could surprise the other man. He could start the fight and deal with the consequences.
Or he could wait, could ride it out, and would get some more pills for the next few days.
But one thing was for sure: he was going to pay the piper, no matter which way this went.
"Griffin..." the other orderly admonished, still standing outside the cell.
"We're good, Parker, really. Just give us a minute, will ya."
The orderly, Parker, hesitated for another second before he pushed the door closed with a grim look. Dean listened to the retreating steps before he pulled his attention back to the problem at hand.
"Is your job that boring that you need to play 'Smack the Inmates'?" he asked in a low tone.
Did he just slur?
"Oh, trust me, my job's very interesting. I get to meet the most thrilling people every day. Some of them even hand me welcome presents." Griffin pointed at his bandaged nose, before he stroke out lightning-fast, grabbing Dean's collar. The Winchester was yanked to his feet viciously, the motion and change in position causing the room to spin and him to grunt in surprise.
There were two Griffins standing in front of him. Three. No. Only one? Damn, could someone stop this freakin' carrousel?
Dean clawed at the huge orderly's wrist, startled at the amount of strength it took him and the tiny affect it had on his opponent. He movements were sluggish, almost uncontrollable, his eyelids suddenly weighted a ton each.
"Thisss is…reeeaal brave", Dean slurred, groaning in frustration over his inability to form some simple words, "…comme back tomorrrrrow when 'm not filllld up wis drrrugs."
Damn sleeping pills.
Griffing only laughed and pulled him closer to his face. "You know, since I'm already here…"
Dean felt Griffin's second huge hand close around the back of his neck. Before he could take advantage of the first one releasing his collar, he felt himself being pushed towards the cell wall. With full force.
When his face impacted with the cold concrete Griffin's dirty laughter was the last thing he heard.
To be continued...