Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I look at the man seated in my small office with a slight crease forming between my brows. He had begun this session with news of a new relationship, and a conversion… of sorts. Fuck it, my client was claiming to be a Werewolf.

Not that I found that too surprising, Garth had first started seeing me after I had a bit of a nasty run in with what he called a Shifter. I told him what I did for a living and in return he told me everything I may need to know about the things that go bump in the night.

He didn’t come back right away, it was about six months later that he came to me with night terrors and a fear of enclosed spaces. I wish I could forget everything he told me about that hunt… But after that he became a regular, in a way. At least once every two months he shows up, paying in cash or with a (definitely fake) credit card.

What worries me about this Werewolf business isn’t delusion but the very real danger of other people like him (Hunters, he called them once) not taking too kindly to him and his new partner.
“Garth,” I sat forward and waited for a beat, “Have you told any of your… Coworkers about this development?” I poised my pen over the small notebook I kept for Garth’s session notes. After all, I can't exactly put his information into my system.

“Well,” He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Kinda, do you remember those brothers I told you about?”

Of course I did, Garth had described them a couple of times, mainly the elder brother, Dean who had hunted with Garth for a time. They apparently prevented the End of the World, but also have more issues than an encyclopedia.

“Yes, Dean and Sam if I’m not mistaken?” I wrote ‘Winchesters’ at the top of the page near ‘Werewolf’ and ‘Commitment despite clear attachment trauma’. Garth shifted in his seat, growing nervous I presume as no story involving these brothers ever seems to go smoothly.

“Yeah, that’s them. They came to town a few days ago on a hunt and I didn’t really have a choice,” He swallowed harshly. “They thought it was the pack, or at least they thought it was a Wolf and were pretty damn close to figuring the whole pack out.” He leaned forward and sighed. “They weren’t exactly thrilled, but in the end the pack is safe.”

That was way too vague, I sighed and prepared myself to walk Garth through what must have been more than a little traumatizing, but the next words out of his mouth stopped me cold.

“Ya know, after Bess saved my life I started feeling pretty foolish. After all, if Sam and Dean haven’t taken an easy way out, why should I?”

My brow furrowed at the mention of his suicidal ideations prior to meeting his now wife.

“Garth, you know that no good can come from comparing yourself to others. All brains react differently to trauma. That said, have you given what I said about those vitamin D supplements any more thought?”
Garth claimed before that taking vitamins made him feel like a kid, but all the creeping around killing what goes bump in the night tends to keep you out of the sun and on edge.

“Oh, yeah! I forgot to tell ya doc, Bess and I are taking multivitamins now. She says that I need to keep my body healthy to stay in tune with my humanity.”
That’s a new one, but I’ll take what I can get.

“Alright Garth, that’s it for our time today. I’ll be seeing you.” I smile and begin to wave him out of my office, “Wait, doc do you have a business card?” My smile slips as I fumble through my desk, why the Hell would he need my card?

“Sure, can I ask why you need one?”

He smiles in that totally disarming way that a man who could end my life in a moment has no business doing naturally. “A friend of mine, a man named Bobby Singer. Has been having some troubles and honestly doc, you’re the only shrink I know'll believe him.”

I forced a smile and nodded, after all he was right. As far as I knew I’m the only professional any hunter can share their trauma with safely. And if any one needs it, it’s the people out there saving people and hunting things.

Chapter Text

   I slouched down in my chair with a heavy sigh, some things never change, my last appointment of the day had been a man at least a decade my senior. He wasn’t the first patient to walk in expecting a man with salt and pepper hair in a cardigan, but hearing that I didn’t earn my doctorate always puts me in a foul mood.

 Which is why I was too focused on muttering curses under my breath about my goddamn imposter syndrome to notice my office door opening, well past operating hours.

  “Hello?” A man stood in my doorway, I couldn’t place him but something about his eyes felt familiar. If you asked me at the time to put a name to the feeling swirling beneath his calm (albeit sheepish) demeanor I’d call it grief or perhaps melancolia.

   I stood from my desk keeping my hand on the silver letter opener Garth had once gifted me. Long before his newfound aversion to the metal. “Hello, can I help you with something sir?” I could feel the tightness in my voice, after all no one else was in the building. Supernatural beings aside, this man could be violent or unstable. And alone, I was in no way equipped to deal with that.

 “I sure hope so, otherwise I wasted quite the drive,” He pulled off his cap and stepped forward, offering his hand for me to shake. “The name’s Bobby Singer, Garth said you’d be expecting me.”

 I nodded, shaking his hand and gesturing for him to take seat, “And you’re one of Garth’s colleagues, correct Mr. Singer?”

 Bobby chuckled, but it seemed humorless, almost dark. “If that’s what you wanna call it,” He sighed as if he was unsure about continuing. “He’s saved my ass enough times, that’s for damn sure.”

 I nodded and pushed the idea of a shower and a home cooked meal from my mind, I wasn’t getting out of here anytime soon. “So Mr. Singer, is there any specific reason for your visit today or is this more of a general ‘have to vent to someone’ kind of thing?”

 His jaw tensed at that, almost imperceptibly beneath his beard. “There’s been a lot of… issues in my life if I’m bein’ honest.” I nodded, he was obviously going to need a bit more prodding then Garth did in order to open up.

 He looked around the room, as if he was taking in his possible escape routes. “Mr. Singer, you don’t have to share anything that makes you uncomfortable. I understand that you don’t know me, and I don’t expect you to trust me just because Garth does. You chose when to trust me with things, but you came here for help and I really want to help you.” I leaned closer, setting down my pen in hopes of making him more comfortable. 

 He shook his head slightly and crossed his arms, but took a moment to respond, “You don’t need to call me Mr. Singer. Bobby is fine. I- I’ve been having nightmares, not that that’s news given what we do but they’ve been real bad. Worse than ever before.”

 “I see, and what are these nightmares about?” I watched as he searched for the right words, if I rushed him in that moment he may have never truly opened up to me down the line.

  “If I’m being honest, they’re about my mom- and about my wife.” He swallowed harshly as I took note, I could tell I wouldn’t be getting any details from him at least not yet. But if I took it slowly he’d eventually trust me(hopefully).

 “I see, if I may make a presumption?” He nodded stiffly prompting me to continue. “I assume these dreams are of past traumas or recent traumas?” Once again he nodded, “I see, and Bobby, do you ever find yourself trapped in vivid memories of these events while awake?”

“Yeah, sometimes. If I’ve had a bit too much to drink.” His arms stayed crossed but he started to lean forward, properly engaging with me despite his caginess, and irritable demeanor.

 “Well Bobby, from what little I know of your background I know that you’ve gone through intense personal trauma on several occasions. You’ve been injured and you’ve seen injury inflicted on people you care about. I’m not trying to diagnose you with anything yet, but what you’re describing combined your line of work. We should probably consider PTSD as the cause of these symptoms. 

 Now, normally I’d be a little more tactful but working with Garth has taught me to be as straightforward as possible in my explanations (Like the afternoon I spent explaining how ADHD affects Garth’s day to day life.)

He grunted in acknowledgement, “Say we find that’s what’s causin’ this, what can I do about it?”

  I was taken aback but impressed as I began my rundown, “There are several options but it usually boils down to a combination of medication and cognitive therapy which is a type of therapy which looks at working on negative thoughts and responses to stimuli. But like I said there are a few more things to look at before jumping to diagnosis.”

He nodded and rose to shake my hand, “Well in that case, I guess I’ll be coming back again. I don’t wanna keep you too late doc, it’s awful dark out.” I smiled and shook his hand.

  “I really don’t mind Bobby, next time you drop by I’ll have some questions for you and we can hopefully get you on a path to a better quality of life.”He smiled slightly at that and honestly at that point I’d take any win I could get.

“Doc, I’m less... active than Garth. I can make an appointment.” I smiled and worked him into a slot later in the day to allow for his drive from Sioux Falls.

   A little while down the line I’d get a call from Bobby, in the dead of night, “Doc!” He gasped as soon as I had picked up, still groggy and slowly gaining awareness. 

   “Bobby? What’s going on? Your appointment isn’t for another three days.” While I had since diagnosed Bobby with PTSD and he was undergoing cognitive therapy I didn’t yet have the full picture of his trauma or the extent of his nightmares. As he continued to breathe raggedly over the phone I grew concerned that he was disassociating or possibly panicking, little did I know he was out of breath from running downstairs to call me after receiving news about his pseudo son. 

   “Are you- accepting new patients? Ones like me?” He asked breath finally slowing, I in my sleep induced haze had trouble figuring out why he thought I’d be against new PTSD patients. Then it clicked, a hunter. Bobby Singer was sending someone to therapy, I was shocked. 

   Despite my realization I still found myself saying, “Of course, appointment or drop in?” On the other side of the phone I heard a deep sigh of relief.

   “Drop in, and in the interest of transparency doc? An uncooperative one.” Still half asleep I found myself abandoning my professionalism, “Wow, if you think they’ll be combative I must be the last resort.” I could hear a scoff and a faint “You have no idea.” Before he wished me goodnight and hung up.

   Little did I know that three AM phone call would lead to me meeting Dean Winchester and the domino effect of paranormal beings that would visit my office following him and his brother.

Chapter Text

If I could go back to before, before I knew that every childhood nightmare walked among us, I don’t know if I would. The fear that keeps me up at night and the near constant reminders that the world has almost ended aside, I wouldn’t be able to help the people I’ve met who needed it so desperately.

With that in mind, all thoughts of professional duty and good samaritan behaviors left my mind in the first appointment I had with the most uncooperative, unwilling, and quite frankly disrespectful patient I’ve ever seen.

The day Dean Winchester was dragged into my office pouting by his pseudo father I knew he was going to be a handful, I just had no idea how much.

“Hey there, Sweetheart.” The moment he laid eyes on me his pout became a smirk, I watched as Bobby let out what I can only describe as a long suffering sigh.

Taking a deep breath I schooled my slight glare into a polite (if tense) smile.

“Hello, Mr. Winchester I presume?” I looked to Bobby who only nodded in confirmation and then back to Dean, his smirk widened as he settled into the couch, his feet propped up on my coffee table and his arms crossed against his chest.

“That’s me, but you can call me Dean,” He winked, at this point his deflecting couldn’t get any louder, or so I thought.

“Alright then, Bobby it was great seeing you and I look forward to our next session.” He smiled softly and opened his mouth as if to speak, “But for now I think I should get to know my new patient.” I smiled at Bobby and he simply nodded at me once again but then he turned to Dean.

“Listen here ya idjit, the doctor here is gonna help you get yer head on straight. And yer not gettin’ out of this one. Got it?” Dean grumbled under his breath but nodded his acquiescence.

As Bobby closed the door behind him I turned to my new patient, with a quick glance as I grabbed my notepad, while his face was still covered in a smirk it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The green of them dark and muddied in the low light of my office, he looked me up and down and leaned forward, legs spread and hands clasped.

“Listen sweetheart, no offense or anything but I ain’t lookin’ to get head shinked.” He winked at me as I got settled in my chair, taking an extra moment to adjust my glasses before I spoke.

“I understand your reservations Dean,” I set my pad aside trying to put him at ease. “But as long as we’re here, why don’t we get to know each other?” I smiled at him and gestured to the door, “After all I doubt Bobby’s letting either of us out of here.”

His eyes narrowed, and I could feel his scrutiny like a physical presence. His gaze was harsh, and I knew that my next words would determine his cooperation for the rest of our time together.

“I swear no super shrinky questions, and you can ask me things too. Just a conversation, a slightly coerced conversation but a real one.” His glare dropped and was back to smirking, I could see the mischief beginning to brew behind his eyes.

“Well sweetheart, you really wanna get to know me?”

I nodded blissfully unaware of the playboy exterior Dean was determined to project.

“Well, I’m an aquarius, I like long walks on the beach, cheap beer and cheaper women.” He winked at me and I could feel my blood pressure rising. At this point I had two options, completely lose my cool and any chance of Dean ever being honest with me or… Play along.

Gritting my teeth I forced some semblance of a coy smile, “That’s not quite what I meant but it’s duly noted.” I let out a soft chuckle, “Do you believe in astrology Dean?” He licked across his bottom lip, something I clocked as a potential nervous tic.

“Honestly, I don’t believe in much.” His smirk stayed cemented in place but that felt undeniably true. I tried to keep my next question casual, not exactly my forte.

“Oh?” I smiled softly at him, “You’ve met an Angel before but you struggle to believe in things?”

He tensed (fuck), “If I don’t see it or hunt it, it probably isn’t real Sweetheart.” His jaw ticked and I pushed on.

“But you can’t see love, or when people are telling the truth you just have to have faith.” He let out a deep, bitter laugh and I knew what came next was going to be telling.

“Whatever you say Sweetheart, but take it from someone who's been around. It ain’t all some big fairytail, you live a while then ya die.”

“Everyone has faith in something Dean, maybe one day you’ll find what you believe in.” At the time I didn’t know that he already knew, and as he sighed I took it as a sign that he was closing up. “Is there anything you want to know about me?”

He sat up straighter, his keys jingling in my near silent office. “What do you believe in, Sweetheart?” My eyes widened but turnabout is fair play.

“I believe in knowledge, my mother, and in honesty.” In that moment I felt like some doe-eyed undergrad, naive and soft next to this cynical, weathered young man.

He chuckled and looked up at me. Something vulnerable flashed in his eye before his glare became guarded once again. “Wow, that’s a lot to believe in Doc.” His tone was teasing, as if checking to see if would rise to the bait.

“And there’s a lot you won’t tell me, like why Bobby called me four nights ago.” I saw him shift as if he was ready to bolt. “But, I’m willing to trust you’ll tell me when you're ready. Right Dean?” He nodded, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

“Sure thing Sweetheart.”

I stood and walked him to the door, “I assume I’ll be seeing you again?” I asked expecting some quip about me missing him already. What I got instead was, “He’ll be here tomorrow doc, if that’s alright.”

I smiled at the older man, “Got it Bobby, same Bat-Time, same Bat-Channel.” Dean glanced between us in unabashed confusion as we talked about general pleasantries, like my cats or Bobby’s new succulent (my idea).

“Hate to cut the bonding short but it’s like midnight. And this office is not exactly homey.” He exclaimed and I glanced down at my watch and bid both men a goodnight, heading to my car to note down Dean’s session. Feeling as though I had learned nothing in almost an hour, I sighed deeply and began to brainstorm ways to make Dean open up. And I would get Dean Winchester to open up, after all no patient is a lost cause.

Chapter Text

My office was trashed, I couldn’t blame the patient for what happened. Having a focus on abnormal psychology I was bound to have some clients who were more… intense than others, when Steve started engaging with his hallucinations I should have called in my RN. But I didn’t and my bookshelf was toppled in his conflict with the unseen man. It’s hard to deal with situations like that when the patient in question has a hundred pounds and at least five inches on me, by the time I deescalated him, his voice was hoarse from screaming at his invisible assailant.

I was lost in thought, mentally chastising myself for not noticing that Steve was skipping his meds. My body was just going through the motions, I had since lifted my bookshelf back into place and was sorting the books into piles when the door to my office slammed open.

“Holy fuck!”

I threw myself backwards staring up at the smug visage of Dean Winchester. He chuckled looking around the chaos of the small room, papers scattered, books spilling carelessly across the floor and in piles. His eyes landed on me scrutinizing my disheveled appearance and his jaw clenched.

“Something happen?”

The words were clipped and gruff but felt like progress nonetheless. I stood brushing my slacks off and adjusting my hair into what I hoped was less of a frazzled mess (it wasn’t).

“Just some issues earlier, nothing an evening of tidying can’t fix. But please have a seat and I’ll grab my notes.” I gestured to the sofa which was clear of debris and he looked from me to the small couch.

“Alright Sweetheart, if you say so.” He shrugged and splayed himself across the seat as I turned back to face him. I smiled tightly at him, still not thrilled with his choice of endearment.

“So, Dean,” I settled into my seat and held my pen over my pad. “ Today is going to be a little more ‘shrinky’. I'm going to ask you some questions and if you’re comfortable you’ll answer them, as honestly as possible. Sound good?”

I crossed his arms and set his ankle on his opposite knee, “Doesn’t seem like I have much choice.” He jerked his chin toward the door and Bobby beyond it. I smiled gently, reminding myself how impressive it was that he was even entertaining this, he wanted to get better and by god I was going to help him.

“True, but as I said you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to. You ask to skip something and I will, I promise.” He nodded slowly and an easygoing smile spread across his face.

“Let’s see whatcha got Sweetheart.”

I looked down at the questionnaire in front of me. “Please rate your answers with a scale of zero to three; with zero being not at all, one being several days, two being more than half of the days, and three being nearly every day. In the past two weeks how often have you experienced having little to no interest or pleasure doing things?”

His brow furrowed and he was nearly silent for several minutes, just the faint sound of our breathing filled the room. Just as I was about to offer to skip he cleared his throat, “Three.” He wouldn’t make eye contact with me, he had uncrossed his legs and was staring intently at the floor.

“Alright,” I noted that down along with his distant behavior. “And how often have you felt; down, depressed or hopeless, in that same time?” He stayed focused on the ground and I watched him gather himself once again.

“Three,” It seemed as though the rest of his sentence got caught in his throat and his mouth snapped shut. I let out a small sigh and continued.

“Got it, and in that same period of time how often did you struggle with; falling asleep, staying asleep or sleeping too much?” This one seemed easier for him, he lifted his head and answered almost immediately.

“One, when I want to sleep I sleep.”

I was thrilled at the progress and figured the next question would have a similar reaction. “Alright, the next question is kind of related. How often in the past two weeks have you felt tired or like you have no energy?”

His brow furrowed, “One.” His response was clipped and his voice had dropped, I wondered why that one seemed to trigger a memory but I pressed on.

“Okay Dean, how often over the last two weeks have you had a low appetite or felt like you were over eating?” He chuckled and I cracked a smile.

“Zero.” He was starting to lean back, abandoning his view of the floor.

“And in the past two weeks, how often have you felt bad about yourself, or that you’re a failure or have let yourself or your family down?” His face changed in an instant, an impassive mask of stone, his eyes were cold and harsh.

“The fuck is that supposed ta mean?”

“If you’re uncomfortable you don’t have to answer. Dean, we can move on.” He grit his teeth and looked just about ready to bolt, “What’s the next question?” Well at least he was still engaging.

“Well, have you had any trouble concentrating on things, such as reading the newspaper or watching television?” I watched his shoulders drop and wondered if the tension he carried was a hazard of the job or something else entirely.

“Zero, I don’t really read much and the ‘TV’ I watch has my full attention.” He ended that with a wink and I cringed internally at the thought , but at least he answered.

“Alright then and have you had any instances of moving or speaking so slowly that other people have noticed or the opposite, being fidgety, restless or moving around more than usual?” He bit down on his bottom lip, seemingly lost in thought.

“Maybe, one? I dunno for sure.”

“That’s alright, we’ve only got one left on this list,” I gave what I hoped was an encouraging smile. “Have you had any thoughts that you would be better off dead, or of hurting yourself in some way?” His eyes widened and I worried that he would shut down again but instead he surprised me.

“Two, I guess.”

I nodded, trying to approach him gently. “Do you feel okay elaborating on that?” He swallowed and shook his head, “Not really Sweetheart.” And that was that. I wouldn’t push, not this time.

“Alright then Dean there are two more tests to run. Would you like to do them today, or tommorow?” I asked, tallying up the score, moderate depression when not factoring in question six although I worried about his apparent self worth issues hiding beneath the overly confident jackass exterior.

“Let’s get this shit over with.” The resignation thickening his voice gave me pause but as long as he was participating I was going to make the most of it.

“Okay, this one’s on the same scale, in the past two weeks how often have you felt ; nervous, anxious or on edge. With zero being not at all, one being several days, two being more than half of the days and three being nearly every day?” I flipped the page on my notes hoping the passive nature of this round of questions would keep the ever fraying peace.

“Probly’ like two.” I nodded, how can you be anything but on edge in his profession.

“And in the past two weeks how often have you been unable to stop or control worrying?” I noted down his posture, he was blocked off again but making consistent eye contact, almost to the point of being unnerving.

“Two,” I watched as he worked his jaw as if chewing on his words. “What’s with these fuckn’ questions anyway doc?” I was taken aback by the sudden questioning but he was engaging, irritably but engaging nonetheless.

“Honestly Dean, it’s just procedure. Everyone I treat takes these two.” He looked almost perplexed.

“You said there were two more though?”

“That’s correct, the third test is only taken by patients who have experienced serious trauma. And while you haven’t shared anything with me yet, I can tell you’ve seen things Dean.” He nodded, seeming content with my answer. “Are you ready for the next question?”

“Bring it Sweetheart.”

“Alright, how often in the past two weeks have you noticed yourself worrying too much about different things.”

“Three.” He scoffed, but his eyes and the set of his mouth suggested a deep sadness behind that answer. The weight of the world on his flannel clad shoulders.

“And how often have you had trouble relaxing?”

“Two.”

“Alright, and how often have you felt so restless that it’s hard to sit still?” I knew I had to ask but seeing him in my office, under duress and barely a twitch. I had an inkling.

“One, I guess.” He had taken a pause looking away from me as if trying to remember.

“Okay, and how often in the past two weeks have you become easily annoyed or irritated?”

He chuckled almost darkly, “Three.”

“Okie Dokie, only one left. How often in the past two weeks have you felt afraid as if something awful might happen?”

He frowned (well really more of a pout.) “Two.”

“Sorry, I kinda lied there is another question but it’s not on that scale. How difficult have these problems made it for you in your daily life?”

He smiled, but for the first time it looked strained. “I get by.”

I nodded, tallying his score… Severe anxiety, probably another case of what I’ve dubbed ‘Hunter Anxiety Disorder’ it’s a lot like GAD but they have real monsters.

“Okay, are you sure you want to do the last test tonight?”

“Come on already Sweetheart, I swear I won’t bite, unless you want me to.” He winked but it was so artificial, just another wall he was putting up.

“Okay then, these questions are yes or no, if you have a hard time answering you can nod or shake your head or we can skip it, sound good?” He nodded with a smirk, “Okay, in the past month have you had a nightmare about a traumatic event or thought about said event when you didn’t want to?”

He looked lost in thought, his shoulders had lost their tension and between his brows a small crease had formed. “Dean?”

“Oh, um, yeah.”

That was odd but not totally unexpected when bringing up past traumas. “And in the past month have you tried hard not to think about said event, or gone out of your way to avoid things that remind you of it?” He ran his hand down his face.

“Yeah,” He cleared his throat. “Yeah I have.”

I nodded and gave an encouraging smile before continuing (momentum and all). “In the past month have you been constantly on guard, watchful, or easily startled?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Okay and in the past month have you felt numb or detached from people, activities or your surroundings?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

I doubted he knew what dissociating meant so I decided to stay on task and tackle that one another time. “Alrighty, in the past month have you felt guilty, or unable to stop blaming yourself or others for said events or any problems the events could have caused?”

He looked haunted, as if my words had somehow gutted him. The blood drained from his face and he nodded, jaw clenched and hands balled into fists.

“Okay, well that’s where we stop for tonight.” I set my pad down after circling his positive result for PTSD. “Are you doing okay?” That seemed to snap him out of it, as if my concern for his well being was foreign and unwelcome.

“I’m fine Sweetheart, see ya tomorrow.” He crossed to my office door before I could even stand and was gone before the words goodnight ever left my lips.

I understood another piece of the puzzle that is Dean Winchester, but the full picture alluded me. A single glance down at my notes provided me with a plan. I needed to hear about Sam, the younger brother Dean practically raised according to Bobby was a way in.

Chapter Text

   When I arrived the next morning my office was spotless, the books and papers I had left scattered were returned to the shelves and stacked on my desk. (Granted nothing was where it should be) I walked toward my desk, there was a note set on top of my keyboard. 

   ‘Noticed you left before things were picked up, glad to be of service Sweetheart.’ I scoffed, he may be an asshole but this was pretty sweet.

   As I settled into my office I pondered the best way to broach the topic of Sam Winchester later that night. Would  it be best to ask outright or try to coax it out of him? After spending my whole prep hour musing about the younger Winchester my first patient knocked and my day began. 

   Hours later and down a box of Kleenex I closed my laptop and removed my glasses. As I rubbed the heels of my hands deep into my eyes I sighed gruffly. My breath smelling of chai and the lingering herbs from the gyro I had at lunch. “Fuuuuck…” I groaned, reaching for a tin of Altoids in the bottom of one of my desk drawers. 

   “Okay, what do I need to get done?” I muttered (like a weirdo) to myself around my mint. The papers and books from this morning had been sorted over lunch so responding to asinine emails seemed to be the way to go.

   I worked for hours, answering questions, ordering testing and sending referrals. Before I knew it my office was dim, lit only by the glow of my monitor and the lamp near the patient couch. I looked down at my watch and began to question where Dean could possibly be… 

   My hand hovered over my phone, would it be overstepping to call Bobby? Surely not, after all I was concerned about my patient… And yet I stopped myself, after all it’s not like he had an appointment, maybe they got called away on a case?

   The minutes became hours and before I knew it midnight had come and gone with no call from either man. All I could hear, aside from the ringing in my ears, were his echoing words from the night before, “I’m fine Sweetheart, see ya tomorrow.” He said he’d be here, I grabbed the phone off my desk and dialed. My worst fear was confirmed when there was no answer. Bobby had told me time and time again that no time was too unusual for him to answer the phone. Something was wrong and it was bad enough to warrant both men getting involved. 

   Grabbing my things I got ready to leave after all there were only four hours left until I had to wake up for work the next morning. I left my office and locked the door behind me, stepping out into the parking lot. A chill hit the back of my neck and I knew something was wrong. I was barely halfway to my car when I was pulled back by the collar of my jacket and thrown against the side of a van.   

   As I laid slumped against the rear tire dark spots danced in my vision, my hairline grew sticky and warm before the cool night air chilled the blood sliding down my face. I looked up as the figure turned toward me, the blood began to reach my eyes and stained my blurred world red. The figure stalked toward me slowly, almost tauntingly, as I used what little control I had over my limbs to scramble backwards, my back pressing against the wheel well behind me.

   “What do we have here? Dontcha know it’s dangerous to walk alone in the dark Little Mouse?” I cringed both at the use of the odd endearment and at the sour scent or iron and sweat wafting off him.

   “W-who, the fuck are you.” I stammered slightly, refusing to cow to the man as he crouched in front of me. He just chuckled and swept my blood drenched hair away from my face. As he pulled back his hand, crimson and wet with my blood I nearly retched as I watched him lick the remnants from his fingers. My eyes widened when I noticed his second set of teeth, I knew vampires were real (obviously) but I always pictured the typical Hollywood canine bullshit. 

    He grinned at me and leaned forward, his breath warm and acrid caressing my neck. When suddenly he was gone, the slight warmth from the windbreak was gone and I began to shiver.

    “Fucker!” I knew that voice, I lifted my gaze from the pavement just as blood splattered across my slumped figure and the stark white van door behind me. Once my vision had cleared I saw him, my patient shaking with something akin to rage (or bloodlust) his right arm was tensed and trembling. The machete in his grasp glinted in the low light from the streetlamps. 

   “Dean!” A gruff unfamiliar voice shouted, running toward us. I cowered, pressing my body into the van, and holding my legs to my chest. 

   “Dean, we got ‘em all put it down.” The taller man came into view and had I not been slipping into shock I may have recognized him as the man who had shadowed my thoughts for half the day. As it stood, Sam Winchester was talking down his brother for reasons unknown by me at the time.

   As it finally dawned on me that the danger had passed I pulled myself up on shaking legs, drawing the younger Winchester’s attention for the first time. Seeing his brother’s focus shift Dean turned to face me, still wielding his machete, dripping with blood. 

   Sam started walking towards me, his hands raised as if to placate me but my eyes remained fixed on the gorey blade in his brother’s hand. In a flash the hollow look in Dean’s eyes dropped and his machete clattered against the pavement. “Doc…” He seemed distressed and Sam was standing right in front of me with a critical eye.

   “She’s hurt, Dean.” He called over his shoulder as I slowly settled back into my body, the fuzziness fading and my circumstances becoming clearer by the minute. However the first words my shock-addled brain produced were not words of gratitude but, “You must be Sam.”

   The man in front of me chuckled, “Yeah, I am. C'mon let’s get you cleaned up.” He swung my arm across his shoulders and stooped to help me stumble my way to a black car parked at the entrance to the clinic. 

  “Here, have a seat, I’m going to grab the kit real quick.” He opened the door to the back seat and I sat with my feet on the asphalt staring at the approaching figure of my patient, despite my mind’s slowed reaction time I found myself ruminating on the way he acted after the vampire went down. I’d almost call it bloodthirsty as if the adrenaline of the kill had left him craving more. 

  “I’m back!” Sam startled me out of my reverie and grinned at me (though it was obviously strained) as he held up a rather large first aid kit. I smiled back as well as I could and he set the kit on the roof of what I was beginning to realize was a classic car. “This is going to sting.” He warned me, his hesitance was palpable. When he pressed the gauze soaked in what I assume was alcohol to my hairline I winced, ‘Sorry’ he mouthed wiping away what blood he could while avoiding my eye. 

  “What were you doing here so late anyway?” At this point he was sticking butterfly sutures to my forehead and looking down at me. 

  “I lost track of time while waiting for your brother and- Wait! Where’s Bobby?!” I tried to stand but swayed from the sudden movement. “He’s okay, we split up after we took out the nest. This one was just a straggler.” He nodded his head toward the decapitated body his brother was now wrapping in a tarp, and handed me a wet wipe.

   “Oh, okay…”  I trailed off because how could I really respond to any of that? As I cleaned the dried blood from my face, both my own and that which belonged to my assailant Sam joined Dean in clean up. The ease with which the men navigated a corpse made my stomach turn and had I eaten dinner it would have painted the pavement beneath me.

   “Hey doc, do ya need a ride home?” Dean stood in front of me much more like the man I knew, if not more reserved. “Yeah, I shouldn’t drive.” I said feeling the day catch up to me, as the witching hour came and went. “Alright hop in. Where’re we headed?” He and Sam both slid into the front seat as I gave Dean my address. 

    As I watched my neighborhood blurring through the windows my evening started to catch up with me, an ache settled in my joints and it hurt to keep my eyes open. In trying to stave off the pain, I fell asleep.

   “Hey doc, we’re here.” Blinking back sleep I was greeted with the younger man’s face ducked to face mine. I smiled blearily and moved to exit the car, “Oh, Dean I’m calling in sick. So I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.”  He grunted in response as I climbed out and leaned against the door. “Thanks for the ride… And for the rescue.” 

   “No problem, have a good night.”  Sam, there was something I needed that had to do with him… But the powers of sleep deprivation and head injury conspired against me. “Night.”

Chapter Text

   The next morning I had all but forgotten the events of that night, until the ache settled in my bones and behind my eyes. I rolled myself to the edge of my bed and slowly sat up, the ringing in my ears and waves of nausea confirming my fear of concussion. 

   Standing on weakened legs I made my way to the bathroom. My limbs felt heavy,  as though I had spent hours under water. I propped myself against the porcelain counter and looked up at my reflection. Once my eyes adjusted to the sudden abundance of light, my mouth began to taste of bile. The gash at my hairline, though smaller than the amount of blood would have had me believe (common with head wounds) was very ugly and very visible. The thought of my patients or the other staff seeing me like that turned my stomach.

   Still grimacing at the sight of my newly acquired wound, I decided to take stock of the rest of my injuries. With stiff fingers I worked open the buttons of my shirt, I slipped it  down my arms and turned. The bruises that littered my back were a deep purplish blue, and suddenly my painful breaths made sense.

   Wincing, I walked back into my bedroom and lowered myself slowly onto my bed. “Fuck…” I had forgotten to call in, I reached for the phone and cringed as I waited, “Please, be Jody. Please, be Jody.”

   “Doctor! Thank God! Are you okay?” (Fuck, it’s Cindy.) 

   “Yes, Cindy I’m okay. I got mugged last night.” I heard her breathe in sharply, “I’m fine, but I won’t be in today. I’m sorry I forgot to call.”

   “Oh, no, no, don't be sorry. You get some rest sweetheart. Do you need me to come check in on you later?”

   “No, Cindy. I’ll be okay, I’m not concussed anymore. I’ll see you later, thank you.”

   I realized that I still hadn’t eaten or had anything to drink so I decided to make my way out of my bedroom. “God! This would be so much easier with a roommate.” Using the walls of my apartment as leverage I slowly made my way to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I grabbed a water bottle and Lunchable (Because sometimes I don’t have time for meal planning, okay?). After a few feet of unassisted stumbling I finally flopped onto the couch, a poor decision in hindsight as my back was suddenly the source of agonizing pain. 

   “Christ on a cracker!” I waited for the spots to leave my vision and reached for the aspirin on my side table. 

   The rest of the day passed in a similar fashion, struggling to walk without pain and watching the clock waiting on my next dose. As the sun began to set there was a knock at my door. My headache had begun to fade but it still hurt to breathe. I made my way to the door slowly with the ceramic elephant from my coffee table clutched in my hand.

   I opened the door slowly, “Bobby? What are you doing here? How do you know where I live?” I gestured for him to come in, and he cast a glance at the pachyderm still in my hand.

   “Sorry for just dropping in like this Doc, I just wanted to check up on you after last  night.” He continued to look around, and I started to lead him further into my room gesturing to the couch. 

   He watched my limp and wincing. “I’m doing pretty okay, obviously injured but I’ll heal.” As we sat, he nodded but looked unconvinced. “After two monster attacks you’d think I’d be better at this.” I chuckled a little but it fell flat, he put his hand on mine, obviously more than a little uncomfortable. 

   “You’re a lot braver than most people doc,” I shook my head, about to respond. “I mean it, you listen to all our shit and you’ve survived two violent attacks. That’s pretty damn impressive, don’t sell yourself short.” I nodded, and smiled at him. 

   “Thanks Bobby, that means a lot.” I squeezed his hand, and smiled at him. Before I could respond further another knock sounded at the door. “Oh fuck! The food.” I started to get up but he pulled me back, “I’ll get it,” he grumbled under his breath. “Idjit.” I watched as Bobby interacted with the delivery boy, gruff but polite. Part of me wanted to be embarrassed watching him take the enormous amount of bags and parcels from the boy. 

   “Comfort food doc?” 

   “Joke all you want, old man, but at least there’s enough to share.” He smiled at me and sat back down. Slowly unpacking each bag, he revealed box after box of soul food. “Thank God, I’m starving!” I exclaimed, reaching for the containers of collard greens and mac n’ cheese. 

   Bobby chuckled gruffly and perused his options before settling on the brisket and some mashed potatoes. “I only ordered the one drink, I wasn't exactly expecting company.” I snarked before taking (a frankly concerningly large) drink of iced tea. Bobby just shook his head and made his way to the kitchen. Once he returned with a bottle of water we sat together in relative silence, eating and just enjoying each other's company. 

   Standing in my office feeling refreshed but sore as hell, as Cindy flitted back and forth worrying over me. “Cindy! Honey, I’m fine I promise. Let’s get ready for the day, okay?” She nodded and walked to the door looking dejected and glanced back at me. 

   “If you need to rest, Jake has some openings and can take some appointments.” Before I could respond she was gone. I took a seat at my desk and shuffled through my inbox, nothing too important. Mostly just the new appointments that yesterday's clients had made.

   The day passed slowly, hours barely creeping by. At times I’d sigh too deeply after an appointment and my ribs would ache, my head felt as though it was stuffed with cotton by the time lunch rolled around. 

   The rest of the day was excruciating and by the time the sun had set and I had convinced Cindy to go home I felt as though I had been hit by a truck. The knock that came at a quarter to nine was expected but terrifying nonetheless. 

   “Hey, doc… how ya feelin’?” 

   I smiled at the older man standing in my doorway, “I’m doing okay Bobby, is Dean here?” Bobby nodded and gestured behind him. 

   Looking at the dejected form of who I only knew as an overly confident, if troubled man was disturbing. His head was hung and his shoulders were acting as a shield from mine and Bobby’s gaze. I widened my eyes and looked to Bobby (trying to silently convey a “what’s his deal?”) But he just shook his head.

   “Alright then Dean, are you ready?” He entered my office without a word and Bobby just shook his head and left. This already felt darker than our usual encounter, there was a pall settled in the air between us. 

   “Dean, are you feeling alright?” He grunted and still refused to meet my eye, “Is there something you’d like to talk about?” At this his anger seemed to boil over, he jumped up from the couch and gestured wildly.

   “How are you being so goddamn calm!? We almost got ya killed for christ’s sake and you’re actin’ like things are completely fine!” I raised an eyebrow at this, but waited until he settled back into his seat. “Dean, I was attacked before I met you and would have run into that vampire last night whether I knew you or not. Do you often struggle with these misplaced feelings of guilt?”

   He looked stunned. And his silence spoke volumes.

   “Dean, how long have you been carrying guilt that isn’t yours to carry?” His brow furrowed, in obvious disbelief. Carefully picking his words.

   “What do you mean?” How could I explain that, how could I ask about his obvious feelings of inaccuracy without him shutting down on me again? The truth was I probably couldn’t, but I could try.

   “Well, you’re blaming yourself for my injuries as though you’re trying to beat me to the punch. As if you expect me to be mad at you, so you’ve decided to be mad at yourself before I can. What are you protecting yourself from?” I could see the guilt and anger swirling with confusion behind his eyes. 

   “I-”

Chapter Text

    The tension in the air was palpable. I was beginning to wonder if I had finally pushed too far, if I was never going to be let in. As my mind swirled with the worst case scenarios, Dean’s arm began to shake. He gripped it tightly, and grit his teeth. 

    “Dean!” His head snapped up, his eyes blazing. It was as if I had accidentally activated his sympathetic nervous system response, and in that moment I was unsure which response he favored. That may sound ridiculous, a guy like Dean you jump to fight. But he had yet to make a move toward me. Until he did, with his jaw set and his fists clenched, Dean advanced on me. My mind was spinning, what went wrong? His behavior was odd, sure I pushed him but I had done it before and he seemed to try to make me forget him by becoming silent and closed off. So why was he becoming aggressive now? 

    “Dean, I need you to say something. If you don’t I’ll have to call Bobby in.” I almost added ‘for my safety and yours’ but we’d both know that was a lie. I posed no threat to him and at the moment neither did he.

    He held blistering eye contact with me, but stopped moving. “Sweetheart, you’re gonna wanna call him.” At that he all but charged me. 

    I dove out of the way, my ribs protesting the sudden movement. “BOBBY!” I knew he was right outside but looking at the man standing mere feet away from me, I wondered if that was going to be enough. 

    Dean’s eyes had an unfamiliar glint in them as he stood over me, I’d almost call  it bloodlust. The door swung open and crashed into the wall. “Fuck!” Bobby ran towards us and caught Dean’s arm as he raised it, almost taunting me with the pain he was about to inflict. Bobby grappled with the younger man and called out a name I had only ever heard in passing before. “Cass, get your ass down here!” I may not know much about fighting but it was evident that Bobby was massively out matched. Almost abnormally so. Dean seemed too strong, too intense. It was terrifying.

    The sound of wings flapping and the scent of ozone lingering in the air alerted me to the new presence. A man in the trench coat moved toward the two men tussling in the center of my office. I watched as the stranger pressed his fingers to Dean’s forehead, the light emitted was blinding. By the time the afterimage faded Dean was on the ground. 

    “What. The. Fuck?”

    The stranger turned towards me, his brows were furrowed in confusion upon seeing me struggling to stand from the floor. “Who is this woman?” He looked at Bobby, on first impressions he seemed rather socially inept. 

    Bobby introduced me as I picked my notes from where I had thrown them in my panic. “And Doc, this is Cass.” He gestured to the other man who held out his hand to me. “Castiel, Angel of the Lord.” (of fucking course, an angel. Why not?) 

    My vision began to swim, dark spots creeping into the corners. I think I must’ve gone a little green, after all Bobby leapt to catch me before I could feel myself begin to fall. That evening ended with Dean and I laid out on the carpet of my office with his guardian angel and the closest thing he had to a father whispering their concerns above our heads. 

    When I awoke the pain in my side and the throbbing in my head were gone. I looked over and saw that I was laying in my bed, still in my clothes from the day before. I rolled over to check the time, and my heart nearly stopped when I was faced with a strange man staring at me. “Good morning Doctor.” Cass addressed me as I threw myself back onto my bed. 

    “Oh! It’s you!” I looked at him curiously, “Can I ask why you’re watching me sleep?” 

    “Bobby wished to be sure you were fully recovered from your injuries before you see Dean. And you are, recovered that is.” He broke eye contact and looked around my room, “I’ll be going now, everyone is in the living room waiting.” And in a flash he was gone. 

    “That was fucking weird.” I muttered, throwing off my comforter. “And who the hell is everyone?” I pulled on an old college sweatshirt and pajama bottoms, before brushing my teeth as quickly as possible. When I reached my bedroom door, I hesitated. There was a group of people out there that I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to see at that moment. (Then again I’d have to leave my room eventually) “ Fuck it.”

    As soon as the door creaked open I could hear the hushed argument occurring down the hall. My approaching footsteps were noticed by all but one party, the man who had started the argument in the first place. I stopped at the end of the hall to listen to him, watching the rest of the room over his shoulder. 

    “You should’ve never brought me here!” 

    “Dean, come on.”

    “No, Sammy! There was no reason to put a civilian in danger.”

    “If you had been honest with her she wouldn’t have been in danger in the first place, ya moron. Why in the hell haven’t you told her about the mark?” Bobby’s face was practically red as he stared at Dean from across my living room. Then he caught my eye. “Might as well join the party doc.” He gestured for me to sit in the armchair they had left empty. 

    “Soooo… What are you all doing in my house?” I looked from face to face, there was only one man I didn’t recognize. He exuded power despite his poor posture, it was as if he radiated pure energy. He reminded me of the angel in the room, but he seemed less electric and more like a magnesium fire. 

    Bobby seemed to notice where my eyes had stopped and that the stranger and I were locked in an unofficial staring contest. “Doc, we’re all here so you can finally get the truth. The real truth.” He looked to the man in the black suit. “And this is Crowley, with any luck you’ll never see him again after this.” 

    At that Dean muttered, “If she was lucky she’d never see any of us again.” 

    Before anyone could respond Crowley was in front of me and had grabbed my hand, “Forgive the lackluster introduction love. Crowley, King of Hell.” He kissed my hand and was pulled away by the taller Winchester. My mind was racing, my living room was currently holding an angel, two of my patients, and the devil? 

    “Why are you here?” I asked him, he was back in his seat and looking overly smug. “Because my dear, I set this game up. We are playing on my board.”

    I probably should’ve been more impressed or at least slightly intimidated. “That’s probably cooler to someone who knows what the fuck is happening.” I pursed my lips and a barking laugh sounded from the younger Winchester at the stricken look on the King of Hell’s face. 

    “Well then darling, let me explain.”

    After the longest and most confusing explanation of my life the men in the room all stared at me, presumably waiting for me to lose it. “So, Dean has a biblical curse with no cure that makes him have uncontrollable bouts of violent rage. Which was necessary to save the world but is now more trouble than it’s worth. And everyone knew about this but me, his therapist. Does that sum up this whole clusterfuck?” Bobby chuckled at me. “Yes doc I think it does.”

    “Great!” I stood and brushed my hands against my pants, “While I should’ve been told, it doesn’t really affect his treatment. I’m here to care for his emotions, and I take it these mood swings are why he’s seeing me in the first place?” Sam and Bobby nodded, but when I looked to see Dean’s reaction his eyes were trained on the floor and he looked far away, as though my words weren’t reaching him.

    “Dean, none of that is your fault. You know that, don’t you?” He looked me in the eye for the first time and his eyes were glossy and red. I could see the self loathing and guilt brewing behind the hunter green of his irises. 

    “I attacked you doc, you can’t say that’s not my fault.” His voice was firm, the anger I saw the night before was gone and beneath that and the confident, collected man I knew there was an insecure, broken boy looking at me. He was waiting for my anger, my aggression. But there was none.

    “You are not the first patient to attack me, nor will you be the last. It is my job to help people find tools to make their lives manageable. Let me help you, please.” 

    The room was still, and Dean was silent. As I waited for him to respond, the angel, Castiel approached him. “Dean, she is right. You agreed to talk to her for a reason.” His gruff voice seemed to jar Dean but not nearly as much as his hand on Dean’s shoulder, Dean looked between Castiel and myself as though he was ready to argue but eventually sighed in resignation. 

    “Fine, you wanna know the truth? You’ll get the truth.” He sat down, and looked anxious but at least semi accepting.

    “Okay then, everyone else has to leave.” Sam and Bobby clamored to argue, expressing concerns for my safety, Crowley disappeared with an, “Until next time, darling.” And Castiel remained beside Dean, unmoving and silent. 

    “I can’t have a session with an audience, Dean needs to know that everything he tells me stays between us. This may not be my office but Dean is my patient and will be treated as such. You can wait in the car or leave, but you will not be in the room while we talk. “I looked between the men gathered in my living room, prepared to continue to fight them on this, but Bobby nodded. And Sam, through clenched teeth, grit out, “Fine.” Castiel offered no comment but with a gust of wind and the scent of ozone he was gone. 

   I walked Sam and Bobby to the door, “I’ll take care of him, and if anything happens I’ll call.” They looked at eachother and back at me. “We’ll be in the car, be careful doc.” 

   I closed the door behind them and turned back to Dean, “Let’s start at the beginning, tell me about your parents.”

Chapter Text

      “Let’s start at the beginning, tell me about your parents.” The question itself was innocuous, a simple request. After all I needed to know where he was coming from, who was he? But I could see by the way he reeled back that there was so much more to that question for him. 

      “What’s there to say? My mom died when I was young, my dad raised me and Sammy in the life and then he died too.” He shrugged, glancing around the room. I rolled my eyes as I sat back in my armchair. 

      “Don’t insult my intelligence, Winchester. You ooze military father and unresolved guilt. So stop the bullshit and get real. Or give up and leave.” He frowned, brows furrowing and teeth clenching. He seemed at odds with himself, but when the internal battle ended he looked back to me. 

      “If you want the whole story, I’m gonna need a drink.” 

      I got up, frustrated but underneath all that I suppose I understood. “This is a one time thing, Winchester.” I left the living room, and as I gathered the drinks I could hear  Dean, obviously overwhelmed, pacing and grumbling.

      When I came back holding a decanter and tumbler in one hand and a can of Pepsi and two water bottles in the other, he sat quickly. Looking up at me like a dog caught eating something he shouldn’t. “I hope you like whiskey, ‘cause it’s all I’ve got.” Setting the drinks between us on the coffee table, I watched as Dean poured his glass. Well surpassing two fingers, then three. The only sound in the room being the crisp crack from my can. 

      “Alright, you have your drink. Tell me the story of Dean Winchester.”

      He threw back his shot, and sighed. As he poured a second glass his eyes found mine. They were so open, defeated. I could see myself reflected in the deep green pools, which burned their way into my soul.

      “Well doc, I guess it all started when I was four. That was when my mom died and my dad became someone else. Sammy was a baby, and a demon was in his nursery. When my mom found him, he killed her. All I really remember from that night was how hot it was and how hard I tried to not fall with Sammy in my arms.” He looked away from me. “I waited on that lawn, coughing and holding tight to my baby brother while I waited for my dad to save mom, but he didn’t, couldn’t” 

      “And this all happened when you were four?” I leaned forward, horrified. “Yeah. After that dad was different, he was obsessed with finding the thing that killed mom. I was about five or six when I found out the whole story, Sammy was about eight when he found dad’s journal and finally understood why we were different.” 

      “What do you mean different?” 

      “We were always on the move, livin’ outta motel rooms. And dad was gone, a lot. I think I was seven or eight the first time he left us on our own for a hunt. After that it was just the way it was, ya know?” He shrugged and glanced down into his glass, he seemed lost. 

      “What did you do for school, what with all the moving?”When our eyes connected he gave me a sad smile.

      “When a case was gonna take a while, he’d enroll us wherever we happened to be for a week or two. Sammy always really liked going to school, he was always so much smarter than me,” He said with a proud grin. “But ya know, it’s hard being the new kid all the time and he wasn’t always a freakin’ giant. He had a rough time, sometimes. But he made it. I dropped out so I could hunt more, got my GED around twenty.”

      “So your dad was gone a lot, but what was it like when he was there?” We’d circle back to his feelings of inferiority surrounding his brother later. I needed to know more about the mysterious Mr. Winchester. 

      His eyes darkened and a frown pulled at his lips. “He was a Marine, ya know how they can be. I mean when mom was around he was a mechanic and let me watch him work.” I watched him drain his glass again. “After she was gone though, he got mean. I mean he had a good reason but, he started drinkin’, sometimes when I’d fuck something up or Sammy’d piss him off… He’d hit us.” 

      He looked off into the middle distance, it was as though he was living those moments all over again. “Dean, was that the only way your father disciplined you?” His eyes snapped back to me and I passed him one of the water bottles.

      “No, he’d yell a lot. He always got madder at me than Sammy. One time he left me in a boys home, I’d gotten caught shopliftin’ food for me n’ Sammy. He said it’d teach me accountability.” He laughed, not a real laugh but somewhere between bitter and sad. 

      “Right before Sam left he was gettin’ worse, always snapping. Even if the hunt went well we’d get a lecture if we were lucky or a backhand if we weren’t. The night Sammy left,” He shook his head and looked down. “I’d never seen him so mad, or so quiet.” 

      “When Sam left, did you think about going with him?” He looked up at me and chuckled. 

      “I’d’ve just held him back. He was gonna be a lawyer, had a fiance when I brought him back in.”

      “Dean, do you blame yourself for where Sam is now?” He just nodded, defeated. “Well, I won’t try to explain why that’s wrong because you don’t need that. But I will tell you that being soldiers more than children had an impact on both of you. You said earlier when Crowley was catching me up that you tried the simple life too, and it didn’t work.”

      “Yeah, but that’s different. Sammy had goals, he never wanted to be a hunter, not really. It’s all I’m good at.” I frowned at that, not only was that incredibly unhealthy thinking but from what I had heard from Bobby it was untrue.

      “What do you mean? Bobby says you’re a great mechanic and a decent field medic. You may not have the same skills as Sam but you are skilled.” He looked at me, self loathing and hope shining in his eyes. “He said that?” His voice was quiet as though he was only asking himself, I answered anyway. “Yes he did, he thinks highly of the both of you. You’re his boys.” I was aware that I was toeing the line of confidentiality, these things were told to me outside of sessions, and this was far from a conventional situation. But still I had an obligation to protect Bobby’s privacy.

      “Dean, what can you tell me about your feelings towards your father? Not the facts, how you feel about him?” I attempted to redirect and dig further into what I assumed was the root of most of Dean’s issues. He looked at me, his cheeks flushed and eyes blurry, tipsy but not yet drunk. He seemed sad. 

      “I- I dunno… He tried his best. I guess that just wasn’t good ‘nough.” The eye contact had begun to unnerve me as he blinked slowly. “I don’t think I ever loved him, how fuck up is that? I’d follow him to the ends of the earth but I don’t love ‘im.” He laughed bitterly, and I leaned forward, pulling the water bottle back to me and cracking it open. 

      “It’s not, Dean… Your father was abusive, he hurt you. I know you cared about him but your feelings are valid.” I passed him the open bottle. When his hand closed around the bottle I saw the mark on his arm for the first time. It looked almost like a brand, as if he had been burned by the first sin when he accepted the responsibility. I blinked, forcing myself to look away and saw that he had nearly drained the bottle of water in a single drink.

      “If you could describe your father as simply as possible, what words would you use?” He looked down, not quite closed off but seeming almost lost. When he finally looked up his green eyes were rimmed in red. 

      “I guess righteous? He was a man with a mission. Nothing else mattered. And he could be cold, once he told me that I might have ta kill Sammy, it was like he didn’t even care.” His voice broke at that and I could picture the conflict that must’ve caused, the golden child and loyal brother at odds with each other. “He was- He was a great hunter, a strong man… but I think,” He finished the bottle in his hand. “I think he was a bad dad…” At that his hands flew to his hair and began to pull at it. “Fuck! He brought me back from the fucking dead, why the Hell am I so damn ungrateful! So we didn’t have family Christmases or Birthdays. He kept us safe, clothed and fed!” He was yelling and shaking in anger, the guilt was tearing him apart. His grip in his hair tightened and I worried that I wouldn’t be able to de-escalate this on my own.

      “Dean… Hun, will you take some breaths with me?” His eyes locked on mine and I could see the anguish swirling within them. “In for four, hold for six, out for eight okay?” He nodded as I placed my hand against my stomach and began breathing, his shoulders rose and fell with mine and his hands loosened from his hair.

      His breath rasped as he sat back against the cushions, sweat beaded his forehead and his right arm was still twitching. But the most shocking part of his disheveled appearance were the tear tracks covering his blotchy cheeks, he looked almost like a child. In that moment I could see him as a little boy crying on his front lawn, holding his baby brother. “Fuck! ‘M sorry doc, ya didn’t need ta see that.” He rubbed at his eye’s with the heels of his palms, he looked so small…

      “Don’t apologize for how you feel Dean.” I looked down at the now empty bottles of water and pondered my next statement for a moment, it would be unprofessional. But I had never been this close to a group of patients, I felt this innate need to help Dean, to protect him. “You can call me Athena, I think we’re a little past formalities here.” He chuckled a bit and nodded. 

      “Athena… Is there anything else you need to know?” I looked at him, and knew that I was finally actually seeing him. The real him instead of the facade I had  been introduced to.

      “No Dean, not today.” I smiled at him, he reminded me of my older sister. Too much responsibility too young, a loyalty to a parent who just couldn’t love them right. “Let’s get Bobby and Sam back up here, it’s about lunch time anyway.”

      He looked more relaxed at the mention of his brother and perked right up when I offered food. Normally I’d never cook for a patient, especially a group of strange men (but if I was going to stress eat I wasn’t gonna do it alone dammit). 

      “Sounds good, I’ll go get ‘em.” He wasn’t smiling again yet but he seemed more at ease, freed from the weight of suffering in silence.

Chapter Text

    It had been weeks since I had seen or heard from any of the hunters I had grown so attached to, I tried to push my worries for them to the back of my mind. Focus on the patients in front of me. The ones I could help.

   One evening as I was going over the notes from my last session and basking in the twilight air streaming in through my window, and the sharp trill of my phone cut through the quiet. The caller ID read ‘UNKNOWN CALLER’ and I felt my heart rise to my throat. After nearly a month of radio silence a call from an unknown number felt like a death knell.

   “Hello?” The voice on the other side of the phone was rough and deep, but I couldn’t place it. It wasn’t Bobby or Dean, and that left me even more apprehensive than before.

   “Hello, this is Doctor Athena Chloros. May I ask who’s calling?” The brief silence that followed was eerie, like the calm before a storm when you can feel the air grow heavy and buzz with electricity.

   “Oh right, sorry Doc. It’s Sam Winchester.” His deep sigh crackled from my speaker and I sat up straight in my seat. “I have some news… You remember the whole angel war thing that Crowley explained?” I hummed in response, that isn’t exactly something that one forgets. “Well, it’s pretty much over. Um, Dean didn’t make it though.”

   “Oh Sam, I'm so sorry for your loss.” I could feel my eyes sting and the guilt that came from every failed patient settling in my gut. But this felt different. I had allowed myself to get attached and I was paying the price.

   “Thanks Doc, but that’s not why I’m calling.” I could hear the strain in Sam’s voice, he sounded so tired. So hurt. “He’s- He’s still around… The Mark. It changed him, he came back... He’s a demon Doc.” He took a deep breath and I could hear what sounded like a chair creaking. “I want you to be careful. He’s dangerous. And he remembers. Everything.”

   Fuck.

   The world around me started spinning and I could feel the clammy sweat beading on the back of my neck, I had maybe a minute before I passed out. “Okay.” I steadied myself with a hand on my desk and my legs planted beside my chair. “Stay safe Sam, I gotta go.” My words were breathless and weak, and I almost missed the end call button before my phone dropped from my weakened grip. 

   And then, nothing.

   When I came to, my heart was thrumming and my stomach felt almost hollow. Unable to tell how long I had been slumped in my office due to the unchanging darkness outside I reached for my phone. It had only been a matter of minutes since my conversation with Sam and yet it felt like days had passed.

   Almost a month had gone by since I had learned of the passing of Dean Winchester when I finally started leaving my office while the sun was still up. It felt like admitting defeat. As though I was severing the tie between the hunters and myself. And maybe I was, I had poured over my notes from Dean searching for anything that might’ve helped Sam help his brother. Before finally accepting the truth. There was nothing I could do.

   I started taking joy in small things again, my appointments felt like they meant something again. I was fulfilling my oath and it felt good, I felt good.

   That’s not to say I didn’t grieve Dean. In fact I was grieving both him and Bobby, I knew that somewhere in Sioux Falls there was a man drinking himself into an early grave over the loss of his son. Part of me wanted to go find him, force him to face the issue for once instead of drowning it out with cheap whiskey and other people’s problems.

   But I knew that he needed to focus on Dean and whatever else had gone to shit in the war that had been waged and won in silence. I found myself looking for pieces of the friends(?) I had lost in the world around me. 

   I found Bobby in the public library, his kind, gruff tone reverberating in the tomes of folklore and local history. I researched anything and everything to pass the time. And when that wasn’t enough to fill my days I began to make frequent visits to a local rescue. That was where I felt closest to Sam. I met a Great Dane named Grayson who was filled with love blanketed in melancholy. 

   But I could never find Dean, I searched for things that reminded me of him, I called my father and worked on his old car, the one that he’d had since I was a child. But all I found was a piece of myself, buried deep beneath the grease. I even started baking again, but while my apartment smelled of cherry, apples, and pecan the acceptance and closeness I craved alluded me.

   It happened the night I had finally started to move on. I was out for drinks with a couple of friends, nursing a Long Island Iced-Tea while the group did shots and ranted about their recent escapades. I felt at peace (no that’s not right) happy, truly, intensely happy.

   The bar was warm, almost uncomfortably so. And the air was sticky, and heavy (and smelt of sweat and cheap liquor). My friends and I were sitting at a table near the door and as they scoped out potential partners for the evening I giggled along, throwing in my two cents. 

   “She has a carabiner and a septum, I’d put money on her being gay Sarah.” The group made several drunken sounds of agreement until Sarah eventually walked up to the bar. I scanned the room, looking around in tipsy amusement as my friends paired off for the night when my eyes met forest green. I shook my head but when I looked back he was still there, a wild grin spread across his face.

   All I could think was that I needed to get him out of the crowded bar. He was slowly pushing his way past the crowd of people that stood between us. “This has been so fun! But I’m gonna head out,” I hugged the girls left sitting at our table quickly as I watched Dean slowly push his way through the throngs of sweating bodies, his smile looked predatory, like he knew I could never truly outrun him. “Make good choices!” I spun on my heel ignoring the calls to stay for ‘Just one more drink.’

   I rushed out of the bar, blinking in the sudden darkness of the parking lot. I couldn’t look back, that would make it too real. I just had to get out of there and then everything would be okay, I’d be okay. 

   “Hey there Sweetheart.” 

   Suddenly I was on my ass, looking up at a man I had once considered a friend. His green eyes turned black as he smirked down at me. “Dean…” I said while attempting to catch my breath. “What’re you doing?” 

   “Can’t letcha tell Sammy where I am Doc.” He winked at me as he pulled me to my feet by the strap of my bag. I stumbled and glared at him. 

   “Why? Is the big, bad demon afraid of his baby brother?” I hissed through my teeth, burying my grief and guilt as I faced the man I had failed. 

   He looked me up and down analyzing me, “Damn Sweetheart, where’d the hostility come from? I’m still the same guy ya drank with, Hell ya watched me cry.” His grin stayed unflinching as he tore my bag off my shoulder. “I’m just a lot more fun.” I watched him root around for my cell phone throwing things to the ground, until he found it and crushed it in his hand. The sound of the plastic shattering crashing through the silence of the empty parking lot.

   He threw the bag back at me and glared, “Stay out of things Sweetheart, this has nothing to do with you.” I broke.

   “Why?”

   He glared with those black eyes, “Why what?”

   “Why leave? You love Sam more than anything, he could’ve helped you but you left. Why?” 

   “Doncha get it yet Doc? I’m free!” He laughed, an ugly barking noise that caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand at attention. “For once in my godforsaken life my voice is the only one in my head! No dad. No Sammy. No Jiminy fuckin’ Cricket. Just me. And all that voice is telling me is to have a good time!”

   “Are you?”

   “Am I what?”

   “Having a good time? You were in that bar filled with young, drunk coeds, but  you were alone… Do you even know what would make you finally happy? Make you truely free?” We stared at each other, emotions bare across our faces. Mine was streaked with fear and frustration, while Dean’s cracked, and I could see beneath the bravado it seemed even Death hadn’t been able to kill. Pure, unadulterated self loathing. 

   “Dean.” I stepped toward him with my hand outstretched before thinking better of it. “You can tell me ya know, I can’t tell anybody. You’re still my patient.” 

   His green eyes flashed black, but the sadistic grin didn’t return. Instead he looked… pensive. 

   “I’m a fuckin’ freak. Sammy always thought it was him but it was me all along.” 

   “Dean, The Mark made you a demon that’s not your fault.” 

   “No!! Not this,” He gestured vaguely to himself. “FUCK!!” He looked angry, but not like he should… He looked angry at himself. “I’m a fucking fag okay!? Is that what you wanna hear Doc? Ya gonna get all Freudian on me now or some shit?”

   I froze. Not the brightest move on my part but I digress, I was watching internalized homophobia play out right in front of me and had no clue how to de-escalate a demon. “Dean!” He tore his hands from where they had been buried in his hair. “Where is this shame coming from, Dean or John?” (and fuck if that wasn’t the wrong thing to say)

   His black eyes found mine blazing, and I watched as his anger at himself turned on me. “Ya know what Sweetheart? I’m gonna leave ya here with a message f’ Sammy. Tell ‘im ta stop lookin’ f’ me. Or else.”I heard his fist connect with my face before I felt it, and the world went black.

   “Doc! Doc!” I blinked heavily at Sam as he leaned over me. “Oh, thank fuck!” He helped me sit up with a stupid grin, my head felt like it was full of bees. 

   “Sam? What’re you doing here?”

   His grin dropped, “Dean called. He told me where to find you. You should’ve called me.” That made me angry, I had done everything right. The blood rushing in my ears made the world go swimmy. 

   “I fucking tried Sam!” I hit the ground like a kid throwing a tantrum and I’m sure that’s how I looked to him. “I ran and I tried to call you but he broke my phone. And he fucking hit me!” I was screaming in an empty bar parking lot. 

  Sam looked abashed, almost shamed. “Sorry doc, I’m sure he’s a piece of work right now. I shouldn’t have said that.” He helped me to my feet and caught me when I crumpled.

   “I think I got a concussion.” I provided helpfully as Sam half carried me to his car.

Chapter Text

   “Hey, Doc! Come on, ya gotta stay with me.”

   As I came to I felt a rough hand tapping against my cheek, soft but insistent. My concussion addled mind distorting the world around me. All I could make out through the pain from the lights that seemed to shine from every direction was the pinched look of concern Sam was giving me. “You can’t fall asleep yet Doc, you know that. Come on.” 

   He sat me up in the backseat of the impala, thankfully my feet wound up hanging over the seat and out the door as I bent forward and retched. “Holy shit!” Sam jumped back as my stomach emptied and all I remember thinking was ‘That’s not good.’ Before I lost consciousness again.

   I wish I could say I handled what happened next with grace but… You try waking up alone in an underground bunker that looks like a fucking sanitarium from the fifties and then you can judge. 

   I woke in a cool, dark room under scratchy sheets wearing my jeans and bloodied shirt, sticky with cold, clammy sweat. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and my stomach ached, as I ran a hand down my face a brush of my nose confirmed it was broken, my heart started pounding as I took in my odd surroundings, the smell of stale air and mildew was pervasive as it seemed to cling to me.

   I stumbled my way out from under the thin sheet and wobbled toward the door, it was unlocked and swung open easily which helped ease my growing panic. The cold concrete beneath my socked feet caused me to notice the absence of my shoes for the first time, distantly I remembered how a lack of shoes can be used to prevent captives from running as I stumbled down the blank hall filled with doors identical to the one I had come through. 

   The lights on the wall flickered as they threw off a sickly yellow tinted glow. I felt trapped, a rat in a maze, worse I suppose as I had no instincts to guide me through the cramped halls.

   When I finally found myself in an open space, it was almost worse. What I know now to be a poorly looked after infirmary looked like some horrible combination of a torture chamber and a morgue. 

    It’s almost embarrassing how long it took for me to recall the night before, I sank to the floor, leaning against the tiled wall and wracked my brain. Slowly the night came rushing back to me. Dean, alive. Sam, a liar. I shook my head, that wasn’t true. Sam never owed me any information on Dean, thus he couldn’t lie by omission. But, where was I and why was I alone?

   After pulling myself together I stood, “Let’s do this…”  I mumbled through clenched teeth. The hum of the flickering lights was my only response. (The story of me finding the war room from there is long and boring, so I’ll spare you the details) But the cold concrete floor and hard tile walls and I became very well acquainted. 

   The large circular room opened up in front of me, the sudden glow off the map table shocked my eyes after hours in the dingy tunnels. It smelled of books and mildew which was almost comforting, like the libraries of my childhood and my favorite psych professor. As I scanned the area I came to the realization that I was once again all alone. “Sam!” My voice echoed throughout the chamber, but as my voice faded to silence the panic came back. 

   I waited there for hours, sitting with my back to a wall staring at the balcony up above. When at last the door opened I had finally dozed off, drool dripping down my face and sleep collecting in the corners of my eyes. The sound of the heavy metal door reverberated through my body, shaking me to wakefulness. “Doctor Chloros? Why are you on the ground?” Sam looked down at me from the door, his head at a forty five degree angle. 

   “Where the fuck were you?” I shouted as I struggled to my feet. (Any intimidation factor I had disappeared when I fell flat on my ass) He looked down at me in a mix of amusement and pity holding up bags of Styrofoam containers. “Food.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

   Sam and I sat eating in silence for what felt like an eternity. The sounds of chewing and the occasional squeak of Styrofoam filling the space between us. “So,” he  let the word hang in the air hoping that I would take the initiative to answer his unanswered questions. But I couldn’t, how could I? What is there to say in a moment like that one? ‘Sorry I let your demon brother get away.’ or ‘Pass the fries’? I settled for, “So?” He looked at me critically like he was assessing whether or not I’d freak out.

   “What happened back there Doc?” we had both stopped eating, he leaned forward, elbows resting against the table as he moved further into my space. “I- I- was out with friends and he was just there, I didn’t know what to do just that I had to get out. So I ran, but he was so fast he just appeared out of nowhere. Like a ghost.” I was struggling to find the words to describe my encounter with the eldest Winchester as his behemoth brother stared me down like I owed him money. 

    “It was like he wanted me to see him, like he was looking for me. I don’t know it kind of felt like a trap like he wanted to use me to tell you to back off. He knows you’re looking for him and you’ve gotta be close for him to be so concerned.” Sam’s brows stitched together, reminding me of a worried puppy. It felt so unfair for him to be dealing with so much, he won a war but lost the only thing he had left in this world, I knew I’d never convince him to leave Dean, so I’d have to do the next best thing. “I think I know how to find him though.”