[psl] they were there when i woke up this morning

[freewill]

Lucifer was still with him.

In his head, whispering in his ear, plastered against the walls. Castiel felt him around him like a set of shackles, paralyzing him most parts of the day. Sometimes he saw glimpses of what he thought Lucifer's true form would look like if it were physical, hiding in the shadows of the institute. Dark tendrils flitting around corners, gnashing teeth surrounding him in the four small walls that made up his room. Sometimes he felt like his socks were soaked with blood.

Nothing made sense, and try as he might to overcome it, to push past the damage he'd inherited from the boy with the demon blood, it wasn't so simple. Castiel couldn't even trust his own thoughts anymore, and to have control wrested from him so completely left him catatonic half the time. If he blocked it out, if he erased even his own thoughts, then maybe he could at least control something.

That only lasted so long, however. He heard a knock at the door that sounded like a crash of thunder (he could feel the wood shift under the banging fist, could feel it vibrate through some deep part of his soul; he was wired all wrong, now) and startled up from his bed. He ignored the Enochian writing on the wall, blasphemous language meant to taunt him, scribbled out by Satan, and focused on the door.

Meg strode in. At first he didn't recognize her, saw only the truth of what she was, a decayed and sickly thing that clashed so harshly against him that he jerked backward and almost fell right off the bed.

"Whoa there!" Meg exclaimed, darting toward him to grab him by the forearm.

By that time, her human mask had slid back into place, and Castiel let out a breath. "It's you."

"Nice observational skills there, Clarence. Come on, we've got something special going on today. It's playtime."

Castiel tried to parse through the words, but she was pulling him up from the bed and bodily out the door before he could say anything on the subject. Now he was expected to be placed in a room with others as sick as he was and interact.

Interacting with humans was something he'd barely known how to do before. How could they ask it of him now?

"Just you wait," Meg spoke, and the words filtered in like they were coming from some faraway place. "There's a surprise waiting for you today."

Castiel didn't like surprises, but he remained silent, too dazed to protest. Before he knew it, they were in the recreational room, and he saw a few other patients lingering around. When Meg released him, Castiel skirted around them like they were plagued and instead headed for the shelf with the board games.

A game did not have a soul that he could see, did not have anything for his tainted mind to analyze. It was simple, there were rules, and it had nothing to do with the horrors of his life. There was no blood, no conflict, no betrayal. Just the simple act of a game. It was supposed to be "fun."

Comments

[tom_hanniger]

The rec room was of a decent size and painted an uncomfortable canary yellow with paintings and hotel grade framed prints hung about with the false cheer you might expect. Littered with tables and chairs, patients were scattered around with various forms of entertainment. Several were gathered in one corner watching taped recordings of I Love Lucy on an old television, a young apprentice nurse lingering nearby texting on her phone. A middle aged man was working on coloring sheets and muttering to himself, another playing chess with an invisible opponent named Rufus who seemed to be winning. Castiel's adversion to them went unnoticed as he slid by. After all, he was just another sick man in his own private hell.

Meg watched as the angel made his way to the games, a smirk playing at her lips. She really had to hand it to him. The incredibly circumstances which left them in this moment were beyond ridiculous, but all in all, she was half sure he was handling it. Sure, he was one sick puppy, but better him than her.

She waited patiently until he had picked one and sat down before moving to an armchair near the tv and leaning over the back to speak with its unseen occupant. For the most part, like 99.9% of the time, playing nanny was one of the most boring things she had ever endured. Really, she might honestly enjoy watching paint dry more, but there had been a few gems, and getting to know the other patients, especially one in particular, was a big fat Tiffany's diamond.

Tom Hanniger. The spitting image of Dean Winchester, and just about as cracked in the head. Ten years ago he had been at the epicenter of a horrific tragedy in his daddy's mine in Pennsylvania. A simple mistake on his part had meant the death of a whole crew of men and a pack of unsuspecting teenagers at the hands of a psychopath, and it had landed Tom in a facility not unlike this one for seven long years.

And being soft and stupid, he had come straight back to the scene of the crime after finally being released. But this time he had come carrying a darkness. Something which had been building that whole time, festering away inside of him, waiting for an opportunity to finish what it had started. Tom didn't really stand a chance, and the madness which had survived so cleverly in the back of his mind struck Harmony without the poor kid even realizing what was going on.

Without even realizing that he had created the spitting image of that man in the mine shaft and now they, together, were unleashing another brutal wave of murder. And on top of it all, he had survived. Not only survived, but faked his death, got out of Dodge, and wandered bleeding and half deranged across the country until a police car found and admitted him.

It was so beautiful Meg thought she might cry.

"Cheer up, Charlie" She greeted with a lazy grin, crouching next to the chair and laying a hand on top of his. "You could be that guy." Nodding, of course, in Castiel's direction.

Tom, who had been sunk in front of the TV but reading an old cowboy paperback raised an eyebrow, flinching back (though only just) from her touch. He looked at her for a second then sighed and peered around the high back of the chair to see who she was talking about. He didn't recognize him, but these days Tom wasn't sure he recognized anybody.

"I want you to go talk to him," She encouraged, standing up and adjusting her watch.

"That's the guy you were talking about." He answered, referring to the few conversations they had shared since she started, voice a little rough from long days of disuse.

She nodded. "He's a doll, I promise."

"Great," Tom grunted but eventually moved to get up - neatly dog-earing his place in the book and following her back to the game table, lingering just long enough to earn an, uh, encouraging look from Nurse Meg before pulling up a chair and quietly sitting across from Castiel.

Because this wasn't awkward at all.

Thank God she made the first move, coming to lean on the end of the table and make the introduction.

"Castiel, this is Tom. I think you two have a lot in common."

Oh, this was going to be fun. And why take a job like this without the occasional perk?

[freewill]

To mentally prepare for something like this would have been impossible, but Castiel wasn't even given that chance. The only warning he'd received was a vague mention of some kind of "surprise," something that he'd practically forgotten about already; his fractured mind couldn't hold onto much, didn't want to.

The game he'd picked out was called Candyland, because what could be more benign than a board game based off of dessert? It was bright and colorful and meant for children. Castiel had learned that he liked the way that children thought and perceived the world. So simple and so uncomplicated. He could lose himself in chocolate rivers and cotton candy clouds.

He was organizing the game, putting out all the pieces and then moving them around at random. In a way, he preferred setting up the games to actually playing them. It gave his life an order it didn't really have otherwise, and once again, it had to do with control. He was in charge of the pieces, even if he wasn't in charge of himself.

You're gonna love this one. Castiel suddenly heard Lucifer's voice, whispering in his ear, and as he jerked around to search for the source, he caught sight of Meg and--

A man with a stolen face. A man he knew, and didn't know. For a moment, Castiel could only stare, because this was exactly what he'd been waiting for. A savior, some sign of redemption, a way home. And yet at the same exact time, it was reminder of everything wrong. It was because of this man, with this face, that he'd ended up here. And while that had been his choice, now he--

He'd missed him.

No, because this wasn't him to begin with.

Castiel blinked, the shock only registering minutely on his face, and for a second he saw Dean's double drenched in blood. Moments later, it was all gone, and Castiel forced himself to bow his head and try to drown everything out.

That was impossible, though, with Meg there. Castiel peered at the mimic from under his hair, barely making eye contact. (If this was Dean, he would have stared, right?)

Tom was the wrong name, completely wrong, closer to Sam than Dean, and for a brief moment Castiel was tempted to shove the game board to the ground and stalk away. But that would only earn him more drugs, more confinement, more of Lucifer taunting him.

Since there were no words for this, Castiel refocused his mind, made it cling onto the one thing that made sense. "Did you want to play?" he asked not-Dean, sliding the board so that it sat an equal distance between them.