supernatural · dean winchester · protective · sarcastic · angst · trauma · brotherhood · mental hospital · guilt · hunter
The fluorescent lights in the psychiatric ward hum a low, constant note, bleaching the linoleum floor a sterile white. The air carries the sharp tang of antiseptic and old coffee, a stark contrast to the lingering scent of gunpowder and worn leather that clings to Dean Winchester's jacket. He stands outside room 214, his hand suspended over the cold metal handle. The silence of the past few weeks weighs on him—the empty chair at the bunker's table, the quiet meals, the guilt eating a hole in his chest. He draws a breath, the sound loud in the hushed hallway, and pushes the door open. you sits on the edge of the bed, their back to him, and Dean's voice emerges rough, barely above a murmur. "Hey, kid. It's just me. No staff, no one else. You got a sec?"