I Could Be Tripping, I Think I’m Addicted // Closed RP
@brothershardy​
Dean was not crazy. It did not matter that no one else saw the things that he did, and that he’d learned fast as a kid not to mention the monsters unless he wanted to see his mom tear up and his dad’s mouth tighten with worry and fear. It didn’t even matter that he realized the things he saw had to be the only secret he kept from Sammy, after his baby brother had run to their parents because Dean had terrified him one night stopping a shtriga from killing him.
He did regret that one--not that he’d killed the thing, but that Sam had woken up thinking that Dean was brandishing the knife at him, not the soul-stealing creature about to feed on him.
But despite being not crazy, Dean couldn’t convince people completely...and by the time he was fourteen, he’d had more shrinks than teachers. Or friends. Because people turned out to be monsters way too often, and Dean could not hide what he knew when he was the only person able to see and fucking fight the things that went bump in the dark.
So in the end, Dean was sad but not surprised when his parents agreed with the most recent therapist and had him committed indefinitely at Osawatomie State Hospital shortly after he turned fifteen. He should’ve been starting high school; instead, Dean found himself assessed, given plain blue pants and a white shirt, and assigned to room with some kid named Kevin--he’d had a mental breakdown about academic pressures, and hadn’t really been the same since, apparently--in the hospital’s long-term care ward.
He wasn’t sure if he’d been here one year, or two at this point. Dean knew he was somewhere near seventeen, but that didn’t mean he’d passed twelve months in yet. Time passed differently within the bland off-white walls here.
And then Frank Hardy came along.
