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?
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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?