MY HEAD IN THEIR HANDS
Story type: Multichapter
Characters: Dean, Sam
Timeline: Set in Season 4
Summary: Wrong time, wrong place – an unhappy coincidence lands Dean in a mental hospital. Memories he'd thought he had pushed back far enough are being stirred – who's able to keep him from drowning?
Author's notes: Okay, so this is my second multichapter story and I don't know how it's going to work out. Let me put it to you this way: I was on the verge of kicking this whole thing into the garbage can about 4587 times. Thanks to my brain ('Are you nuts! You're working almost a year on this, don't you dare throw it away!') and my Beta MeAzrael ('Aw, come on, where's the problem, let's work it out!') the 16 chapters are still on my computer and I'm still working on it.
It was also hard for me to rate this thing properly. Most of the chapters are easy stuff, or 'the usual' stuff. But the story deals with Dean's time in hell and his memories about it, so I don't need to mention that those chapters might get nasty and disturbing. I will give a holler in my notes here at the beginning of every chapter that contains such stuff so you can decide whether to read on or skip those parts.
One giant hug goes to my MeAzrael for reading and reading and reading all my ramblings – my sister in crime, mind, heart. Thank you so much for having my back!
Last but not least: I remind you that neither my Beta nor me are english natives – if you find some funny mistakes feel free to let me know – I'd really appreciate it! I also appreciate to hear your opinions – if you think my story sucks, let me know (maybe a few words why it sucks), if you have a few nice words for me: they're always welcome!
And here's the disclaimer: Supernatural and it's characters belong to Eric Kripke and the CW – no money's made with this work.
Let's start with chapter 1 – it's rather short but hopefully teasing – Enjoy!
Steely green eyes met blue ones. A mixture of blue and grey watching him with the same coldness, yet masked with empathy and understanding.
"Mister Rodgers, are we in a bad mood today?"
That 'we' again. What was it with the people in here all talking about 'we'?
"Could you tell me where that mood comes from?"
The green gaze remained steely, a set of raised eyebrows adding scorn to his unfazed expression. "That's a pretty dumb question for such an intelligent man, don't you think, doc?"
The doc smiled. A smile a toddler would receive while presenting a misshapen sandcastle to his grandfather. A smile he wanted to punch from the white coat's face. "Mister Rodgers, I know you're upset about being here..."
He snorted, his glare leaving the doctor's sickly sweet face and wandering over to the large window. He needed to keep his cool. When he had met the friendly doc for the first time yesterday his freak out had sent him right into solitary for the last 24 hours. A repetition of this certainly wouldn't help him to get out of here.
"...but it's for your own good. We want to help you, that's all."
He slid his eyes back to the doctor. "I already told you, I don't need your help. I'm totally wrong in here, okay? This is a simple misunderstanding."
"Well, good, let's clear the misunderstanding up then." The doc skimmed through some papers on his desk, "Let's talk about why you're here again..."
"We already tried, remember?"
"Before you've started to rearrange my office yesterday, I do remember, yes. I just hoped you might be a bit more talkative today. So. This is the police report." He grabbed the glasses lying before him on his desk without looking up from the report and put them up. "It says the police had gotten a call from a young woman on Monday night – very scared and very agitated – reporting a homicide."
"So, the police found you at the crime scene, leaning over the corpse, hands and clothes bloody..."
"I was checking the guy's vitals..."
"The girl SAW you kill the man." The way the doc drew out the word 'saw' was downright annoying. "She watched you shoot him at point-blank range. You carried the gun that had been fired."
He watched the doctor with narrowed eyes. This was a dead end and he knew it. Whatever he did, whatever he said, it wouldn't get him out of this.
"Can you explain to me how you meant what you said to her? After you noticed the girl?"
"I don't think I said anything to her." Damnit, me and my big mouth...
"Oh yes, you did. I can read it to you: 'Don't worry, you're safe, it's over.' and 'Freakin' werwolves, nasty sons of bitches but this one can't get you anymore.'" The doctor lowered the report and looked at him expectantly, "So?"
Oh crap. Crap. Crap.
Okay, what now? He got it that gaping at the white coat in combination with opening and closing his mouth like a carp didn't help.
"Do you think you're a werwolf?"
"What makes you think that you might be a werwolf? Or do you think other people are werwolves and you have to kill them at night? What about me, do you think I'm such a thing?"
Now was a good time to gape, he guessed. "This is..." Ridiculous. Bullshit. A giant lake of crap I accidently fell in and don't seem to be able to crawl out again. "...listen...I didn't...this isn't what it looks like, okay?" Lame.
"Okay, so what is it then? Explain it to me, that's why we're here. I'm all ears."
He said nothing. He got nothing. He was so screwed and he knew it. What could he possibly say? It was the truth that had brought him in here – so what kind of hoax could bring him out?
The doc placed the police report on his desk and folded his hands. "You are lucky to be here, Mr Rodgers. You are lucky that we try to help you. You could easily face death penalty or at least receive a life sentence, we're talking about Leavenworth here." He leaned forward, "This is a chance."
And wasn't it cute that you had a bigger chance to be a free man after you killed someone when you were insane?
"You know what I don't get, doc? I wonder why that girl isn't sitting here. I mean, werwolves? Come one, I didn't mention anything like that. She must have made that up, so who's the crazy one here?" Once again, lame.
The doctor shook his head. "I don't think the eye witness is crazy..."
"Try Facebook. I bet you find a lot of crazy stuff about her."
The doctor smiled a smile that not even got close to reach his eyes and let out a sigh. He pulled off his glasses and leaned back in his huge leather chair.
"What do I find about you in Facebook?"
He got an even more artificial smile in return plus the deepest growl available, "Not a single thing. But hey, you're the shrink, find out what you want to know on your own."
"Yes, I am the shrink. And that's why I want you to open up. Tell me what you think, Mister Rodgers. May I use your first name? Do you think this is funny, Dean?"
Oh, please, shoot me now.
"What do you think you can achieve with the show you put on?"
Hilarious. This isn't a show, Sunshine, this is totally me, totally pissed.
"Okay, I see." The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose and smiled again, this time a wry one. "I'm going to leave you alone for the next days, how does that sound? You can settle in properly..."
Stunned silence. The sickly smile frozen.
"No. I won't. You're wasting your time here, doc. Get me a phone, get me a lawyer, then we'll see. I'm not staying in here."
"Oh, you're not staying in here? You do notice that I have the final say in this, right?" With that the doc pressed a button on his intercom, "Mister Rodgers is done, could someone get him into his cell, please?"
And boy, the doctor could glare, too.
To be continued...