Rosebud <<destiel>>

Chapter One: Lungs

     There is something to be said about the universe. Sometimes it hands you everything, like you're a spoon fed baby. Other times, it chooses to make you fend for yourself. You can't control the people you meet or the places you go, or even the things that happen to you. But sometimes, just sometimes, it turns out wonderful.
                     X X X

Dean was silent. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary for him. His eyes didn't meet with anyone else's in the cold circle. He had been admitted into the ward a few weeks ago on account of being a danger to himself. His brother insisted it was the best thing for him, after all he had been through.

"Dean?" A soft voice spoke. It was soothing and calm. "Would you like to share why you're here?"

No. Thought Dean. He was slouched in his chair and he was staring at the floor. He didn't bother to look up, that'd only mean they would pester him to speak.
     The voice turned to the person next to Dean, he hadn't bothered to see who he was in a circle with. The last thing he wanted was to accept himself as one of them. The person stood up and through his peripheral vision, Dean could see the person's legs twitch. This is stupid. The soft voice asked the person for their name and why they were in the "Mental Rehabilitation" facility today. Of course, everyone already knew why anyone was there. Because they were being put in time out for something no one else understood.
     The group dissembled for lunch about thirty minutes later. Whenever possible, Dean would get permission to go outside and walk around in the garden. It was much better than being stuck in a cold metal room while someone would constantly rip their skin off and rock in a fetal position on the floor. Dean found himself sneaking around the back of the building away from all the wardens and pulling out a cigarette box he kept hidden behind one of the cement blocks that had been charred away. He was never much of a smoker, but once his beer privileges were taken away, he turned to the next best thing he could get his hands on. He dug out a lighter from the hole in the wall as well and brought it to the white end of the cigarette. Once it started to smoke he hid everything back again and puffed on his cigarette.
     "Those things will kill you." someone commented. Dean anticipated that they were about ten feet behind him.

     "Yeah? Why do you think I smoke?" Dean commented, looking over his shoulder. He saw a man, just a few inches short of himself. He had jet black hair and piercing blue eyes. His uniform matched Dean's, blue scrubs and white tennis shoes. His face was rather clean shaven, so he was obvioisly new. The man shrugged and stepped up to stand beside Dean and plucked the cigarette from Dean's fingers and put it in his own mouth. Dean gaged.

     "Ain't you the new guy?" Dean asked suspiciously. They had inducted a new member into the institution the night before. His room was a few feet across from Dean's and he had screamed the whole time they dragged him into the room-leading into the night.

     "Aren't." The man stated, puffing out smoke from between his lips.

     "Excuse me?" Dean asked, an eyebrow arched.

     "Aren't I the new guy?" Was this guy seriously correcting Dean's grammar?

     Dean huffed out some air and turned to look forward. "Yes, I am." The man answered. He looked Dean up and down; trying to get a feel for who he was.

     "Yeah? What're you in here for?" Dean asked. He turned to look back at the new guy, his eyes squinting to block the sun.

     The man sighed, and with a tone that mocked a therapist's said, "Dissociative Identity Disorder." He made the gesture of flipping over a paper on a clipboard to enhance his performance.