Perception

You Remind Me of My Favorite Songs

"...and so I shot my wife and murdered the guy with his dick out in my kitchen. And now I'm here."

"Ah, yes, thank you, Lester. I can see you're improving," Dr. Squill said, jotting something down on his clipboard and smiling warmly at Lester, The Homicidal Maniac.

Castiel didn't see much improvement, to be frank. Lester still didn't show any regret when he told that story, and he hadn't for the past six years, since he had landed himself in North Dakota State Hospital.

"And how about you, Castiel?" Blinking, Castiel looked up from where he had been gazing at his feet in a trance. He hummed in acknowledgment and shrugged noncommittally. "How are your new pills working out? Do you feel any better?"

As a matter of fact, Castiel did feel marginally better. They didn't stop the voices, or the hallucinations, or the fact that he inexplicably knew Latin, but they made him calmer, less prone to his crippling panic attacks. He felt good, peaceful. So he nodded slightly, saying quietly, "Yes, I feel calmer."

The doctor smiled again, warm gray eyes sparkling. "Wonderful. Have you done anything notable today?"

Castiel shook his head. There wasn't much for him to do, considering there were no bees this time of year for him to watch and Dave has broken his game of Twister a few weeks prior.

Before Dr. Squill could say anything else, a nurse -- Castiel recognized her as Ms. Bá -- poked her head through the door and said, "You have a two be patients, sir. I'll bring them to your office."

Dr. Squill nodded and thanked her. When the door closed, he announced, "Sorry folks, but we're going to have to pick up here on Thursday. You're dismissed."

Castiel was the last person to leave the room, shuffling slowly back to the recreation room, where he took a seat next to the old, four channel radio and turned the volume to a low buzz.

This was one of the only things he could do during the winter. The third channel was a 90s rock station, which was preferable to the political talk shows they had on the other three. For hours, Castiel would listen to the nice growley voices and occasional soft melodies, humming along to the ones he was familiar with.

He remained lost in the cadence of distorted guitars and apathetic lyrics until a loud voice broke his bubble. "At least it's not all white." Castiel looked up from the radio and to the direction the voice came from, intrigued by its rough nature. It reminded him of the songs that flowed from his rock station.

Striding through the rec room doors were two men. One was a gargantuan with floppy brown hair and puppy eyes, while the other was smaller, but more intimidating with green eyes and a crooked grin. They walked past him, talking quietly, the smaller one casting a glance at him when he heard the music.

Castiel watched them as they left the room through the other door, before turning off his radio and following the man with the growley voice out.

**AN -- I'll update when I can. No promises on when.**