Chapter Text
^
Fire. Fire
Smoke. So much smoke
“Help!”
A voice echoes down the hall. But the boy doesn’t stop running, feet pounding on the ember tainted carpet as he races through the flames, eyes burning, and lungs screaming.
“Help! Please…I can’t”, the voice trails off, coughing, “I can’t…breathe!”
Keep going. Don’t look back. You’ll make it. Everything is fine. Don’t look. Don’t. Breathe.
The boy bursts through the front door, scanning the trees desperately, looking for any possible hidden paths of exit. He jumps down the porch steps and presses a hand to his chest, eyes heavy, but focused.
Time is running out. Time. Run.
A path makes itself known as the house behind him erupts in an explosion of fire. The sound leaves a constant ringing, insistent and loud, and he covers his ears, pain exploding through his head. Glass rains down from the sky, flames escaping through every shattered window. He hears another high-pitched noise, recognizing it slightly as the sound of sirens rushing towards him. But his gaze is locked on the house slowly burning to the ground in front of him.
Memories. Pictures. Family
Gone
He hadn’t meant to. It wasn’t supposed to – he thought he could – why?
He is vaguely aware of the faint, distorted, sound of screeching tires as they brake to a stop in front of his house. Well, what’s left of it. But the world is slowly fading away, black shadows sweeping through and claiming his vision.
Gone
^
John Winchester bolted upright in bed, breathing hard, sweat dripping off his forehead. He looked around the room, panicking instantly at the unfamiliarity of it. No family portraits, no discarded toys, no crayon markings covering the walls. Pressing a hand to his forehead, his brain took a few seconds to fully awaken before he registered his surroundings, relaxing faintly. He hadn’t dreamt of the fire that way in a while. The fear, the intense heat, and the dread were still flowing painfully through his senses and he trembled violently. The dreams had been fading away lately and he had been sleeping peacefully for a while, but things could never be that easy. His subconscious apparently thought it was funny to twist the knife in just a tad bit deeper, showing his interpretations of what went on during the night of the fire through the eyes of his deceased family.
The man rubbed a hand down his face and grunted, taking deep breaths as the dream faded away. An assigned therapist he had gone to, once, had insisted that the dreams were his own way of piecing together the puzzle, showing that nothing could have been done. A way of easing the guilt, he had put it. John had never walked out of a room faster in his entire life. Something always could have been done. He could have stayed with Mary. Sam could have seen the flaming sections of wood crumbling above him. Dean could have–
Sighing heavily, he glanced around at the white walls, tiles, and bed sheets with barely contained disgust. He never understood the point of having such blandly colored walls but dismissed the question with a bitter scoff. St. Adler’s Mental Hospital. Right; wouldn’t want the patients to start killing themselves over the color of the walls, he thought bitterly. Checking the clock on the nightstand beside the bed, he stretched and threw his legs over the side, wobbling unsteadily before moving towards the bathroom. Breakfast had started half an hour ago, but John wasn’t exactly known for his punctuality. Besides, if the amount of people he could hear outside the door currently heading towards the cafeteria was anything to go by, he wasn’t the only one.
John didn’t even bother looking in the mirror as he grabbed his toothbrush; the sight frequently made him dizzy. He supposed being in a mental hospital did that to you. Coating his toothbrush in a line of toothpaste the hospital supplied, he tucked it into his mouth as he went to relieve himself. The “mint” flavor was foul tasting in his mouth, leaving an almost acid like aftertaste, and the scent stung his nostrils. Toothpaste after toothpaste continued to taste like bile and he’d given up long ago that they would have one that didn’t make him nauseous. He grimaced and washed his hands before brushing his teeth in record time and rinsing out his mouth. And if he rinsed his mouth more times than was generally considered normal, well, it was the hospital’s fault for their freaking acidpaste.
Deciding to skip his morning shower, he exited the bathroom and got a clean pair of clothes out of the nightstand. The outfit looked exactly the same as the one he was currently wearing, but it was clean. A plain white t-shirt and white pants. So, that made it different. A loud grumble interrupted the silence of the room and he moaned, rubbing his stomach, already feeling the beginnings of hunger pooling in his belly. He threw on a pair of socks, once again not bothering with shoes, before opening the door and peeking into the hallway. John Winchester wasn’t scared of anyone, but there were a few people he tried quite hard to avoid. Becky Rosen, in particular. John didn’t know exactly what was wrong with her, but her too-animated rants about famous “bromances” were enough to drive the man away at rocket speed. It was like she believed the characters were real people.
A quick scan in both directions deemed the hallways Becky-free and he yawned, closing the door behind him, trailing off after everyone else. White tile, white walls, whitewhitewhite. He scratched idly at his neck as he walked, studying the all-too-familiar halls of Ward A. Photos that gave off the impression of being in an elementary school were scattered along the walls, mocking him, each drawn by an inhabitant of the hospital. John had no artistic talent whatsoever, so it wasn’t even worth the attempt. He’d been here for nine long years, and it continued to amaze him that he was here at all. So what if he sometimes blacked out and couldn’t remember how he got from one room to the next? It wasn’t like he was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room crying about ghosts and demons. As long as he didn’t hurt anyone it was fine. Violence only took place when John wasn’t blacking out. Which, he guessed, was the main reason he was still here. It wasn’t his fault that he got irritated by anything and everything. Right? Right. He supposed he should consider himself lucky that he wasn’t in one of those strict mental hospitals; the ones with straightjackets and cameras lining every corner. He shuddered. If he didn’t have the free-roaming abilities he had here; he would end up going crazy. And then he would never be free.
He’d almost made it to the cafeteria before being approached but, luck was never on John Winchester’s side.
“Winchester!” He recognized the voice, and let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.
He turned around and smiled, it wasn’t large, but it was a smile nonetheless. “Adam.”, he greeted, taking in the sight of the young boy jogging towards him. Adam Milligan was an eighteen-year-old patient with Autophagia, and his condition was the reason for his missing fingers; middle and ring from his left, index and pinky from his right. At first, his condition had freaked John out, but after he had gotten to know the boy more, he discovered that it frightened Adam too, and he tried desperately, daily, to live with the emptiness where his fingers should be. He didn’t have too many friends, feeling self-conscious about his hands made him curl in on himself, avoiding the very topic of them.
From their past discussions, John had learned that Adam had long ago decided that he’d stick with anyone who spoke to him first. And long ago, John had given up arguing that introducing himself with “Hi, I’m Adam; I ate my fingers,” in a mental hospital wouldn’t be as weird as Adam might think. Getting past the familiar look of brown hair and green eyes, the kid was bright and a pleasure to be around. John would never admit it, but he had a soft spot for the kid. When he wasn’t being an annoying little shit, that is.
“Hey,” Adam said, voice a bit breathless. The boy gazed innocently up at John and the older man didn’t believe it for a second, eyes narrowed.
“You want something”
“It’s pancake day. With cherries.”
John nodded and scratched at his stubble. “If you want my cherries just go out and say it. Don’t beat around the bush.”
Adam chuckled and nodded, “Can I have your cherries, Winchester?”
“No.” And with that, John clapped the boy on the shoulder and sauntered off down to the cafeteria.
^
The pair entered the cafeteria and gathered up their trays to head over to the food station and pick out their meal. The cafeteria was worn down, numerous tables sitting in rows of five throughout the room, several of them littered with cracks and markings. Most of the tables were filled with people, but John could spot a few that were empty. A faint amount of sunlight filtered in from the windows, lighting the room gloomily. Although it wasn’t a complete loonies nest, it felt like one. Everyone just sat around at the tables all day or in the day room playing board games. John shook his head, walking faster towards the food line. The rumbling in his stomach was becoming a bit of a distraction.
Missouri was manning the station today and John smiled fondly at her. Her dark skin illuminated the silver cross hanging loosely on her neck, it was just a ruse though; she wasn’t even religious, but it had been a gift from her sister. Warm brown eyes gazed affectionately at him and she smiled. She truly was a beautiful woman. But when he said “manning” the station, he meant it literally. The woman didn’t take shit from anyone, especially John. If by some miracle he managed to get out of this place, he’d be sure to stay in contact with her. Maybe she could help him out if he ever got into a bad fight. Missouri seemed quite capable of knocking a couple teeth out. Or ten.
“Well good morning, sunshine.” he said, nodding his head in greeting.
“Don’t try to sugar me up. I know you use me for my food,” she deadpanned, sarcasm dripping from every word.
“Oh how you wound me,” he said, mock hurt coating his voice, laying a hand over his heart.
She chuckled, the sound warm, and after a few seconds John echoed the noise. “Alright, enough fun and games. Four pancakes as usual?”
“You bet. And give the cherries to the little squirt here,” he said, gesturing to a slightly offended Adam.
A genuine smile lit up John’s face as Adam protested while Missouri dropped a few extra cherries on his pancakes, claiming he was “too small to be considered an adult.” The banter went on for several minutes before it ended as abruptly as it began.
“Oh, come on, Missouri; don’t be such a bi-“
“Boy, if you finish that sentence I will hit you with a spoon.” Her gaze was unwavering, but not unkind.
John snorted, faking it off as a cough when Adam turned to glare at him. Raising his hands and eyebrows innocently, he flicked his eyes towards an empty table, and Adam sighed and nodded. The two set off for the table with their trays, promising to be back later for lunch. Upon setting down their trays and taking a seat, the younger of the two immediately dug into his pancakes, devouring them as if it were his last meal. A distant memory was prodding at John’s brain, but the more he prodded back, the weaker it became. Adam looked up with a mouthful of food, blushing slightly at the gaze the older man had trained on him.
“What?”
John let out a sigh and shook his head. The fire had melted away his memories of life with his family. And it seemed like the harder he tried, the bigger the headache.
“You sure?” At John’s nod, he continued. “Remember Andy Gallagher?” A blank look. “Right. Well he’s my roommate. Kinda crazy guy but he grows on you. He’s got extreme anxiety and has panic attacks a lot so I try not to set him off all the time. But it’s hard, it’s almost like anything’ll set him off.”
He proceeded to blabber on about how he and Andy had gotten in trouble for releasing a mouse they had caught into the employee lounge. They’d lost all their activity privileges for a week but it had made the two of them grow closer. All those hours spent in a room with nothing to do but talk or stare at the ceiling. John didn’t have that luxury. Plagued with a temper, John snapped at anyone who tested his patience. And it made it difficult to get along with people. Especially the nurses. Mostly the nurses. They considered him too dangerous to pair him with a roommate. His personality just wasn’t compatible with others. Besides Adam, but he had a feeling it was his fatherly instincts that made the kid a friend.
He had had a roommate once, Gordon Walker, but due to a few complications between John and the man, they had to be separated for their own safety. Shameful to say it was as much for John as it was for Gordon. He might have initiated the fight, figuring Gordon’s unstable mental health was due to an abusive childhood. No. No, it was not. Gordon Walker was a retired army veteran, but he never quite came home from the warzone. Hundreds of murders taint his steps, but, unfortunately, a psychological test saved him from the fate of the chair. Gordon was diagnosed with Posttraumatic stress disorder, and admitted to St. Adler’s as a substitute for jail time. If they had asked John, he would’ve sent him straight to the chair anyway. Gordon seemed healthy enough. It wouldn’t be surprising if the only reason he signed up for the military was because he’d have a chance to kill something. But no one had asked, now had they? The look in his eyes as he watched people gave John the impression that the man was a hawk; waiting patiently for something to take off after.
John had picked a bad adversary to start a fight with. But, to be fair, he had gotten in a few good hits before security managed to rip them apart. The monster deserved worse. Gordon had let it slip that the last victim he killed he had burned alive, watching her skin melt away as her screams resonated throughout the house.
Everyone knew that arsonists didn’t sit right with John.
Well, now everyone did.
And it only took two broken fingers, a split and bloody nose, a dislocated shoulder, and a few cracked ribs to make it known. But, hey, details, right?
^
After breakfast was the dreaded community group. John had personally lost his community group privileges a week ago after launching himself at Gordon. For the third time in one day. The two men walked on eggshells around each other, and it just so happened that they stepped a little too hard that day. When John arrived at the meeting, Adam ditched him at the doorway, murmuring something about finding Andy and seeing if he was skipping again.
It was his first time being back in over a week and security was far more efficient than it had been the last time he was here. He raised his eyebrows, impressed, when he noticed that Gordon had been moved to a different group room. The other patients regarded him warily, reading his expression for any chance of future misbehavior. John gave a small wave and sauntered to a seat in the back. Deeming him stable enough to relax around, the other patients trained their gazes back on the nurse sitting at the front of the room.
Unfortunately, the group was being led by Nurse Naomi for the day. Her cold and unsympathetic expression gave John the chills. He understood it was hard to control the group at times, but the woman didn’t seem to care about them in the slightest. What was the point in working at a hospital if you didn’t care about the patients? A nurse’s cap sat comfortably atop her head, hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her blue uniform was in perfect condition, almost too perfect, and she was wearing blue slippers. All of the nurses got slippers, and John envied her; he was stuck with white sneakers he never wore. After glancing around the room, calculating, she nodded and smoothed out the invisible creases in her shirt. As she opened her mouth to speak, Adam slipped into the room, dragging a horrified-looking kid by the wrist and took a seat next to John. The kid – Andy, John assumed – dropped reluctantly into the seat next to Adam. He kept looking around as if the entire world was coming to destroy him. John nodded, definitely Andy.
Adam smiled, smug, and gestured for Naomi to continue, keeping a twitchy Andy in place with a hand wrapped around his bicep. She scowled, but then a dark smile appeared on her face. “So Adam, why don’t you start; how’s your condition going?”
He tensed visibly, eyes widening, unconsciously moving his hands to rest under his legs. John narrowed his own eyes and glared at the woman. Even on the rare occasion Adam expressed his concerns, he had volunteered, refusing to speak when singled out. It was no secret that Adam’s condition was a sensitive spot for the boy, and the way she had said it confirmed she knew and didn’t care.
“I hope everything is going well?” Her voice could freeze lava, dripping with mock concern.
The young boy was trembling subtly, eyes downcast. Andy placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, trying to catch his attention, but Adam was curling in on himself.
“We wouldn’t want you to lose anymore fingers would we?”
Adam flinched, his expression growing pained as his eyes welled up with tears. John clenched his hands into fists, fingers digging painfully into his palm. He watched a few tears leak out of the young boy’s eyes, a deep ache in his chest, before turning back to Naomi and opening his mouth to unleash a few choice words. But a small voice beat him to it.
“H-h-he’s doing great and you know it.”
The room grew dead silent as all eyes turned on Andy. The twitchy boy fidgeted under all the attention, but pressed forward, voice still shaking.
“You’re j-just saying that b-because he walked in late. B-but he only did because he w-was coming to find me. I didn’t want t-to come because I know I’m n-not improving, and I don’t n-need you to tell me. But Adam is, and I w-wouldn’t be s-surprised if he was released soon.” A tinge of sadness colored his voice near the end and he looked down, wringing his hands.
John Winchester decided he rather liked this boy. And the look of surprised affection on Adam’s face made him like the twitchy kid even more.
Adam attempted to say something, but eventually settled on gathering the other boy into a hug, clutching desperately at his back. Andy hesitated for a few seconds before gripping the boy close to his chest. John nodded at him over Adam’s shoulder, a grateful smile on his face. Andy nodded back and tightened his hands around the brown haired boy.
Smirking, John turned back to Naomi. “Satisfied?” Naomi’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Wonderful, let’s get this shit finished, shall we?”
^
Half an hour later and the trio were exiting the group room, emotionally exhausted. Adam left without a word and Andy, after giving John a hesitant smile, jogged after him. John definitely liked Andy then, he never was one for chick-flick moments. And Andy was currently walking right into one.
The group session went as eventful as it ever did. People cried, people laughed, people screamed. Same old, same old. But they always managed to get something off their chests, walking away feeling lighter than when they entered. Max Miller admitted that he hadn’t been taking his medication but felt fine, stable even, and Rose Holt, through tears, revealed she’d started cutting again after having nightmares about the fire that killed her parents. John tuned out then, not wanting to hear anything about fires and family. Personally, he never said anything during the group sessions, there was nothing to say.
But when Scott Carey had complained about the toothpaste tasting like bile, John was right there with him.
^
“Um…excuse me. Dean? Dean Winchester?”
John froze and heaved a deep sigh. His room was right there. Seriously? Turning around, he fixed the nurse with a dangerous glare, daring her to call him that name again. She took a few steps back and opened her mouth but, aside from a slight nervous laugh, nothing came out and her hand moved to hover over her pager. John shook his head and waved a hand, softening his glare, but only slightly.
“I’ve never seen you around here so I’ll let you off with a warning. My name is John Winchester. My son, this ‘Dean Winchester’ they used to call me when I first got here, is a pathetic and useless boy who set fire to our home, killing my wife and youngest son. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t revive the trend of confusing me with that murderer.” The last word was bit out as if the term itself was bile. He turned away slightly and murmured, voice lower than before, “He never looked like me in the first place.”
Ending it with that, he turned away and trudged down the hallway, socks padding softly on the tile, to his room.
^
Nurse Ava stood, stunned, for a moment, staring after the patient named “John”, before Charlie, lead nurse of Ward A, came bouncing into her vision, a sympathetic smile planted on her face, bright red hair fanning around her like a crown. Her eyes held a twinge of sadness that Ava was sure mirrored her own. Despite being her superior, Charlie’s easygoing and goofy personality made it impossible to even think that way. She would probably be more intimidating if her eyes didn’t usually reveal constant mischief and the white lab coat she was currently sporting wasn’t littered in Harry Potter and comic book knick-knacks, the most noticeable being the “What would Hermione do?” pin placed right below her nametag. If Ava didn’t enjoy the woman’s company so much, she’d point out that Charlie didn’t exactly give off a “professional” aura. But it was because of her childish antics that made most of the staff adore her.
“Don’t worry Ava, he just can’t tell the difference between reality and what goes on in that head of his,” she said softly, patting Ava’s arm reassuringly, “He never has.” She sighed, eyes locked on the door the man had entered.
Ava nodded, rubbing her forehead lightly. First day in the new ward and you’ve already angered a patient, she thought tiredly. She lifted the clipboard in her hand and glanced toward the patient’s file, rereading it, scanning every detail in the slight chance that she misread the name. But, no; the file was exactly as she had read it originally:
Dean Winchester. Ward A
Age: 24
Date of Birth: January 24, 1988
Diagnosis: Dissociative Identity Disorder, DID (Multiple Personality Disorder, MPD)
Ava smiled sadly and looked up at Charlie.
“And he never will if he continues like this.”