Chapter Text
“Alright, Dean, let’s get started.”
They always said that. Those exact words.
“Start where?”
“How about when you first remember feeling or thinking this way.”
They always wanted to start there.
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Castiel got to the group early. He usually did. He didn’t like to waste time. When he got to the library, all the chairs were empty. Castiel loved the library. He loved to read, and there were hundreds of books here. Also, it was the only room here that had carpeting.
He sat the farthest away from Charlie’s chair; he didn’t want to have any questions asked of him today. The sounds of the old school record player could be heard coming in from the common room, where most people were sitting around on the worn blue couches, or in the hard plastic chairs in front of tables with board games. Castiel could only stand the music for so long; the only records they had were the hits of Boston and Oasis. Not that he didn’t like the music, just not consistently, every single day. Like spaghetti dinner; it was good but having it every night for weeks could make your stomach heave every time you saw it or smelt it. Castiel was lost in his memories of his mother’s homemade spaghetti dinner when he heard his name.
“Castiel.”
He jumped up a little and looked up from where his eyes had been trained on the floor at his feet to see that the circle of chairs had been filled up and Charlie was there, her clipboard resting on her lap. His effort to avoid questions hardly ever worked. Castiel cleared his throat and looking around before looking at Charlie head on, his fingers fidgeting with his pale blue robe. Everything was blue here.
“Yes?”
“We were all just wondering what you were thinking about.”
Castiel’s fingers started to move faster, moving up and down the seams of the robe. All the eyes in the room moved to him, waiting. Jo was tapping her foot next to him. Jo did this a lot, and it never bothered Castiel, until now. The sound of her foot hitting the soft carpet (blue, like everything) shouldn't be sending earthquakes through his head. Ash had his elbows on his knees, ready to listen. Everyone else was just looking at him. Castiel cleared his throat again, and looked down. He slowly took off his robe and laid it over his lap, showing off his favorite gray long sleeve. They all had to wear long sleeves.
“I, um, was thinking about my mom, ”
“What about her?” Charlie shot back. While Castiel was quiet and didn’t like to speak, Charlie was always able to come up with a quick response. Charlie was a nurse who was also in charge of a few of the patient groups. She had always like Castiel, ever since she watched him drag himself through those doors.
Castiel didn’t like attention.
“Her dinners. She always-”
He was cut short as soon as his voice had started to gain volume, when he had started to grow confident in himself.
The door had opened to the library, making a terrible squeaking noise. Everyone hated it, but nobody ever fixed it.
All the eyes in the room left Castiel and made their eyes to the two people walking into the room, one in white wash shoes and another in shoelace free, faded black converse.
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“When I was younger, a kid, I never thought about it. Never. I don’t remember thinking much really. I remember the days, all rambled up together, not full days, or weeks, but moments in a day. Like watching a show or a moment outside. I don’t remember thoughts or conversions. I couldn’t sit here and tell you conversions that my parents had. But I know that I never thought about it. I never thought about killing myself. Or death. Not once. It's weird to think that I had days where those thoughts weren't running through my head.”
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Castiel was looking too, and was surprised to see a new patient so late in the day. It was Bobby, the caretaker they called him, all of them, even though there was an official name for him somewhere. The man next to him was looking back at everyone, no nervousness in his eyes or his step. His converse hit the floor without hesitation.
“Sorry to burst in, Charlie, but we got one more for you.”
“Oh, it’s no problem,” Charlie smiled at them both, standing up and walking around her chair to stand in front of the boy. That's how Castiel saw him. Not a man, just a boy. There was no way he was older than 20. “Hi, I’m Charlie.” She held out her hand.
Castiel could feel it. The silence, the caught of breath. A church full of sinners waiting for the amen. Everyone was waiting. New patients were required to join Group when arriving, but they usually waited a few days until the patient was settled in. It took Castiel a full week before the nurses felt comfortable with placing him around everyone else.
The man looked down at Charlie’s hand and looked like he really thought about it before reaching forward and shaking it. Castiel felt everyone breathe out, including himself. The second he did, though, the man’s eyes shot straight to his an Castiel's breathe caught again. “Stop staring, stop starting at me, stop.” A trail of stops ran through Castiel’s head as he stared back, taking in the man’s gray sweats that he had obviously just gotten, and a pale blue robe that looked just like his thrown over his lap. They all had the same sweats, shirts, and robes, and only the new patients got to keep their shoes for a short time here.
“Dean,” the man said to Charlie, finally looking away from Castiel, and back to Charlie. Castiel dropped his stare back at his spot on the floor, slowly breathing in and then out. In and then out.
“Well, Dean, you can go and sit in the chair next to me.”
Dean nodded, and walked past her to the last empty seat in the circle. He leaned back, his ankles and arms crossed. Everyone’s eyes were on him, everyone but Castiel.
In and then out.
Castiel heard Charlie come back to her chair, the slight creak of the old seat. He heard Bobby’s slow footsteps leading out back to his seat in the common room, the terrible squeaking noise deafening.
“Alrighty, everyone, this is Dean.” Castiel's gaze rose with her voice, and he immediately noticed that Dean’s eyes not leaving Charlie.
“Dean, would you like to tell us anything, a small something about you?”
Charlie's voice trailed off and Castiel felt himself flinch. He hated that question. Charlie always asked the new people, she had asked him and he had flinched then. It felt so cold to him, even though the person didn’t have to share anything they didn't feel comfortable with. The air in the room was already stale after a while of sitting in the circle, but new patients and that question always made the air feel dead. He always wished in his head that they wouldn’t even respond.
But they always did.
In and then out.
Dean looked around the group, at all the eyes focused on him, waiting still. They were always waiting. If nobody was talking, they were waiting. If someone was talking, they were waiting. Always.
“If this is the group I think it is, than I think everyone knows why I’m here.”
“Well, yes and no. What group do you think it’s for?” Charlie never sounded annoyed, not even now. New patients could be rough when it came to group, it was a lot to take it. A lot of people with a lot of judgement.
Dean pulled at the ends of his red long sleeves, covering his hands.
“We're all here because we all tried to kill ourselves, right?
In and then out.