dallas winston wasn't sure he hated anything more than he hated the psych ward.

he hated the stupid clothes, and the stupid socks, and the whispers of doctors who talked like he wasn't in the room, or sometimes like he was just plain dumb.

and he wasn't dumb. he really wasn't. he just didn't have half the motivation needed to say otherwise. didn't care enough to prove it.

the doctors kept saying he was 'catatonic'. he didn't know exactly what that meant. all he knew is that he hadn't said or done anything since he'd gotten here.

he hardly remembered the events that led up to this, anyways.

he knew that johnny was dead. lord, if that wasn't the only thing he knew. it was constantly in the back of his mind, choking him up and keeping him from saying anything further than short, one-syllable mumbles that hardly took the form of words anymore.

he knew that he'd tried to take himself out. when the police hadn't shot like he'd planned, he'd stuck his own gun in his mouth, forgetting that it was empty in his feverish daze.

it had gone off, but only with a click. all it had done was burn the back of his throat.

he'd woken up here. hope hall, they called it. too bright. too clean. the air burned his nose- not with stench, but with its temperature- too cold, too sterile.

the first thing he'd done when given his own quarters was throw his clothes everywhere. comforting, somehow.

it had been a few months, maybe, since he'd entered. stayed almost the same, too- except for when you'd been hauled in.

you'd been...feral, frankly, twisting in the doctor's grip, snapping and biting and practically foaming at the mouth. it was a cause of great amusement for him, even though he wasn't fully present. he'd found you interesting.

most people who came in had this empty, resigned look in their eyes. like they'd given up on everything. dally prayed that he didn't have that look. but you were still fiery.

he'd started talking to you. in small increments, mainly because you'd been assigned his roommate. first a murmur of his name when asked- dallas, not dally, because you weren't exactly close friends yet. then a quip about one of the nurses being hot. nothing too big or remarkable.

over time, though, you'd gotten closer. a lot closer. friends, he'd consider you- if he were so easy to trust.

but he talked to you most in this hellish place- which wasn't much, but it was something. and he could sleep when you were around. he never managed to close his eyes around the doctors.

"we should..."

his voice trailed off. it was about an hour before staff came in, banging on the doors like their life depended on it, and dally had been awake an hour earlier than now. he'd just now woken you up, though, blue eyes gleaming with mischief you'd frankly never seen from him.

he was in a good mood.

odd.

"we should do somethin'," he finished, blonde hair sticking up in every which way and falling into his eyes.

at your lack of response, he frowned just so. "jesus. wake up. it's almost eight." a blow landed on your arm. in dally's eyes, faint, but it was enough to leave a slight bruise.