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mini_deanBen sat in the waiting room of the rehab center, his things in a duffel bag. Hell, his whole life could currently fit in a duffel bag after his move from Indiana. Dr. Feel Good had a theory on that - he had a theory on everything after all - and said that Ben would feel more at home when he had things that tied him somewhere.
Thinking back to the apartment with Shelia, he never had anything there that was truly his. Ever since he was a teenager, the only things that were his, he kept on him at all times.
But for now that duffel bag was next to him as he waited for Dean and his mom to come pick him up from rehab. The previous afternoon, Ben had his 30 day evaluation with Dr. Feel Good. The good doctor had given him the OK to head home, barring that Ben continued seeing a psychologist outside of the clinic for another 3 months minimum. That plus the 200 hours of community service that Ben needed to do to finish his sentence, he'd be able to get back to a normal life.
There was a brand new leather journal in his lap that he was writing furiously in. In one of his last meetings, the doctor had told him that he needed to continue working out his anger and pain in a way where he could see his thoughts. The journal had been a gift, and Ben was taking advantage of it.
But it wasn't a Dear Diary type journal. Instead he wrote in lyrics, as if he was writing songs about his struggles. During his second half of the stay, Ben had discovered the music room, and fell in love with the guitar that had been in the corner. His mom had gotten him lessons when he was 10, and it came back to him quickly.
At the moment, he was writing a goodbye song for Elle. The night before, they had repeated their little rendezvous, this time Ben had shelled out a few extra bucks and they got to go into one of the volunteer psych doctor's offices. The couch was much better to be on, and they made sure they cleaned up after themselves. And he slipped her the address and phone number for his Uncle Sam's, explaining that it was where he was staying until he got his own place.
He hoped she meant it that she would look him up when she got out.
So into his writing, Ben didn't even notice when Lisa walked in. She smiled at the look of her son, looking even better than he had when she saw him just two days ago. Dean was out at the car waiting, so she walked over to her son. "Keep writing like that, people are going to expect you to be an author one day."
Ben's head snapped up, his hands closing the journal. "Mom."
"Come on, kiddo. Dean's outside and if you're good, we'll even pick up dinner on the way home."
"Not Chuck E Cheese again, Mom. I'm too old for that crap." Ben smirked, shoving his journal into his bag and standing up as Lisa signed the paperwork to take him home.
"You know, I don't think I missed that smart mouth of yours."
"At least we know who I inherited it from," Ben remarked as they walked through the doors and started towards Dean. "Among other things. How you doing, pops?" Ben gave his father a smart ass smirk that was pure Winchester.
Thinking back to the apartment with Shelia, he never had anything there that was truly his. Ever since he was a teenager, the only things that were his, he kept on him at all times.
But for now that duffel bag was next to him as he waited for Dean and his mom to come pick him up from rehab. The previous afternoon, Ben had his 30 day evaluation with Dr. Feel Good. The good doctor had given him the OK to head home, barring that Ben continued seeing a psychologist outside of the clinic for another 3 months minimum. That plus the 200 hours of community service that Ben needed to do to finish his sentence, he'd be able to get back to a normal life.
There was a brand new leather journal in his lap that he was writing furiously in. In one of his last meetings, the doctor had told him that he needed to continue working out his anger and pain in a way where he could see his thoughts. The journal had been a gift, and Ben was taking advantage of it.
But it wasn't a Dear Diary type journal. Instead he wrote in lyrics, as if he was writing songs about his struggles. During his second half of the stay, Ben had discovered the music room, and fell in love with the guitar that had been in the corner. His mom had gotten him lessons when he was 10, and it came back to him quickly.
At the moment, he was writing a goodbye song for Elle. The night before, they had repeated their little rendezvous, this time Ben had shelled out a few extra bucks and they got to go into one of the volunteer psych doctor's offices. The couch was much better to be on, and they made sure they cleaned up after themselves. And he slipped her the address and phone number for his Uncle Sam's, explaining that it was where he was staying until he got his own place.
He hoped she meant it that she would look him up when she got out.
So into his writing, Ben didn't even notice when Lisa walked in. She smiled at the look of her son, looking even better than he had when she saw him just two days ago. Dean was out at the car waiting, so she walked over to her son. "Keep writing like that, people are going to expect you to be an author one day."
Ben's head snapped up, his hands closing the journal. "Mom."
"Come on, kiddo. Dean's outside and if you're good, we'll even pick up dinner on the way home."
"Not Chuck E Cheese again, Mom. I'm too old for that crap." Ben smirked, shoving his journal into his bag and standing up as Lisa signed the paperwork to take him home.
"You know, I don't think I missed that smart mouth of yours."
"At least we know who I inherited it from," Ben remarked as they walked through the doors and started towards Dean. "Among other things. How you doing, pops?" Ben gave his father a smart ass smirk that was pure Winchester.