[FIC] Anti-D for morganoconner
Gift type: Fanfic
Title: Anti-D
Author: carmexgirl
Recipient: morganoconner
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 8029
Warnings: AU. Mentions of past abuse (non graphic)
Spoilers: None
Summary: On the road to coping with his anxiety and depression, Dean finds he has to attend an 'Anxiety Management Group,' where he meets someone who could change his life.
Author notes: You said you liked hurt/comfort and happy endings, so I really hope you like this!
Trees. Lots of trees. Then a road, leading to a more suburbanized area. Dean stared out of the passenger window counting streetlight; five on the left hand, then five on the right, then back to five on the left. Always five or multiples of five. If there were an odd number, he would get fidgety, agitated, feel like he was incomplete somehow.
“All symptoms of your condition,” the doctor had said. Of course it was; Dean wasn’t an idiot. He had always known the little obsessions he had were part of a much bigger problem, but it wasn’t until he’d holed himself up in his tiny one-bedroom apartment for two weeks, not bothering to get dressed, clean himself or even eat that he realized things were serious. It had taken Sammy coming home from Stanford fraught with worry to make Dean realize that he needed help, that the toll that…that person had taken on him had marked him much longer than any cut, any bruise, any scar.
He checked his watch; they were already late. Not that he wanted to go to any ridiculous ‘Anxiety Management’ course anyway. The cognitive behavioral therapy was enough, but the doctor recommended group therapy too, as way of seeing that he wasn’t alone, that others suffered the anxiety and depression he was currently experiencing, and that maybe they could help each other.
It was ten past ten now, and Dean started to fidget.
“I can’t find the god damn building,” Sam muttered as he turned the steering wheel.
“Red brick, Sammy. She said it was a red brick building on the left hand side.”
“I’ve looked on the left, there’s no red brick building.”
“We’re already ten minutes late.” Dean was getting really agitated now.
“I know!” Sam exclaimed before checking himself. “I called them and they’re fine. Don’t worry. They said tons of people got lost on their way to it.”
Dean shook his head. “Session’s only an hour. Might as well turn back, forget about it.” That would be a great idea. Go home, wait for the next appointment with Pam and tell her the group stuff just wasn’t working out.
“Oh no.” Sam shook his head. “No way. You are doing this, Dean. Doctor’s orders.”
“Doctor can kiss my ass.”
Before Sam could reply, he turned a corner and there, on the left hand side was a red brick building labeled ‘Community Center.’ “Got it. We’re here.” He parked up near the entrance and turned to Dean. “Get your ass in there, talk to people, and get some help, ok?”
Dean muttered under his breath. Stupid therapy. He wanted to get better, of course he did, but he didn’t see why he had to drag his issues out in front of other people. He had never been into hugging strangers, and he wasn’t about to start now. “Whatever. See you in an hour,” he said as he stepped out of the car.
“I love you, Dean,” Sam shouted to him.
“No chick-flick stuff,” Dean said back, smiling slightly as the churning in his stomach eased a little at his brother’s words. At least he knew Sam would always look out for him.
The group was interesting, but for all the wrong reasons. Firstly, Dean had to run the gauntlet of walking in while the group leader was mid flow, interrupting everyone and finally finding a place to sit. Then, he spent the next fifteen minutes gazing around him instead of listening to what the therapist said. The group was probably an even split between men and women, but what got Dean was the span of ages there. There were people in their early twenties; early thirties like him, but then there were those in their late fifties, sixties, someone even pushing seventy. It was horrific to think he could be stuck with this, this problem, for years to come, that it wouldn’t get better, that he might never feel normal for the rest of his life.
“Mr. Winchester,” a voice cut through his thoughts. He looked up to see the therapist looking at him. “Would you care to share your experience with anxiety?”
No, no he wouldn’t. And he certainly wasn’t prepared to say what had caused it, even to a bunch of strangers he’d likely never see again after twelve weeks. “No,” he said. “I don’t think I’m ready.”
That’s how it remained for the next two weeks. The therapist would ask people to share their experiences, and Dean would just shake his head, avoid the conversation, make a joke. He didn’t want to tell all those people about himself, about how he came to be in the state he was. It wasn’t any of their business, really. He was perfectly happy in his own personal bubble, separate from everyone else. He wasn’t sure that him sharing would help the others anyway.
By the third week he had lost all concentration, and had made up his mind that this was his last session, no matter what Sam or Pam said. He ended up staring out of the window, counting trees and fidgeting when he realized there were 14 instead of 15. Behind him, he could hear the door to the room opening, and low voices talking about something. The door closed again, and there was the sound of shuffling before the room settled. He watched as a the wind made the trees shiver, closing his eyes and wishing he could feel the wind on his face instead of the stuffy atmosphere of the room, when the therapist cleared her throat.
Dean turned quickly, sinking down into his chair while she wrote “Symptoms of Anxiety” in lurid green pen on a flipchart. “Now,” she said, turning around, “What symptoms do you have when you experience anxiety?”
There was the usual silence, before someone ventured, “N...nausea?”
“Yes, good one!” The therapist scribbled on the board.
“Panic. Like you need to run away.”
“Yes! The need to get out of the situation. Good.”
“Like um…like you need to go to the bathroom?”
The therapist nodded. “Very good.” Again, she wrote it down. The group continued until the flip chart was nearly full, and Dean stared at it, smiling to himself at the therapist’s inability to spell the word ‘nausea’ correctly.
“Like you’re going to pass out,” someone else said, and the therapist stopped what she was doing.
“Now that’s very interesting, because although you might feel like you’re going to pass out, you don’t. It’s more the body’s reaction to adrenaline.”
“I’ve passed out,” said a voice which made Dean immediately look up. Sitting opposite him was a man, pale, and a little on the thin side. He wore a long trench coat that practically drowned his frame, and he was picking nervously at the skin on the side of his thumbnail. As Dean looked up, he saw a mass of dark, shaggy hair, full lips that were bitten and dry, a pair of deep blue eyes, and the sweetest face he had ever seen.
The therapist stared at the stranger. “You’ve passed out? Are you sure?”
The stranger glanced nervously around the room. “Yes. A few times. I just…I start to panic, and there’s this rushing in my head, and a high pitched wail that gets louder and louder, and then everything goes white and I wake up on the floor with my brother telling me to snap out of it.”
The therapist shook her head. “That’s…unusual. Usually during an adrenaline surge you feel as though you’re going to pass out but you don’t usually. But still, it’s a symptom for you so I’ll write it down.”
She did, and proceeded to talk about the things Dean had already been told by the doctor, mainly that the sickness and needing the toilet were the body’s way of getting rid of excess weight so it can run away easily, that the shivers and extreme tiredness were how the body recovered from the excess adrenaline. The heart palpitations were also the result of the adrenaline, as were the pains in the chest and the choking sensation. Dean knew this, knew that the whole thing was his body’s way of dealing with a perceived threat and yet it still didn’t bring him any closer to understanding how to stop it. The threat to him had long gone, he knew that, but still the fear remained and along with that came the depression. The feeling of hopelessness, of helplessness, the lack of self-worth, of surviving through every day only to be faced with another, and another, and another.
All the while, he couldn’t stop staring at the man opposite him. He must have entered the room while Dean had been staring out of the window. He was listening with rapt attention, but every once in a while his eyes would dart nervously around the room, and he would shuffle in his seat like he couldn’t get comfortable. He would periodically glance at Dean, before tearing his eyes away when he knew he’d been caught looking.
The session ended, and straight away Dean made a beeline for the guy as he packed some papers into a leather satchel. “Hi,” Dean said, nearly making the man jump out of his skin. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” the man said, his voice low. “I’m a little…jittery.”
“We’re in an anxiety management class. Everyone’s jittery,” Dean replied, feeling something happen in his stomach when the guy gave a small smile. “I’m Dean.”
“I’m Castiel,” Castiel said.
“Hi Castiel.” The name sounded funny on Dean’s lips. “So, what brings you here?”
“Oh, well, I…went through a bad time recently. Family problems. Suffice to say, I’m finding it difficult to cope at the moment and this is part of my therapy. If I’m honest, I’m not sure group therapy is the way forward for me, but I suppose I’ll stick it out until the end of the course.”
Dean nodded. “You and me both.”
Castiel smiled again-a small, almost private smile. “Well, my brother will be waiting for me outside, so I’d better go. I’ll see you next week though?”
“Yeah. Next week. Bye Castiel.”
“Goodbye Dean.”
And there, with that small smile and a wave goodbye, Dean found his personal bubble had burst. It looked like he would see the course through after all.
Dean made sure he sat next to Castiel for their next session, hoping to get to know him more. He didn’t really understand why he was drawn to him apart from the obvious physical attraction, just that he felt he’d found a kindred spirit. The therapist was talking about medication, and Rufus who was in his late 50s and always had to sit in the same chair was rattling off a list of medication he had been prescribed over a number of years. The list was long, and depressing in itself with the amount of Xanaxes, Ativans and Valiums he had taken, gradually becoming dependent and finding effort of withdrawing from the medication greater than the actual anxiety he’d suffered.
Dean watched furtively as Castiel stared at Rufus, nodding his head. He was scratching away at the skin near his thumbnail again, making it red and sore until breaking the skin completely. Dean suddenly felt the compulsion to reassure him.
“It’s not like that now,” he whispered to him. “There’s way more stuff out there. Stuff that’s not addictive.”
Castiel nodded. “I know. It’s still…disconcerting though. It might sound terrible, but I look at him and think that could be me in thirty years’ time. Is that really my future? It terrifies me that I could end up like that.”
It was as though he had given voice to Dean’s worries. Dean sat there thinking for a moment. “No,” he said. “No, it won’t. You’ll beat this.”
“I wish I had your faith.”
Dean looked at him, saw Castiel’s wide eyes. “Of course you will,” he said. “You owe it to yourself to get over this.” He thought about it for a while, realizing that it might be sensible to take his own advice for once.
The class moved into individual discussions on medication and side effects. Dean turned in his seat to face Castiel fully. “So, what are they giving you for this?”
“Citalopram.”
“Same here. Do you think it’s working? Cos, I can see that it’s made a difference to me but…I don’t know.” The doctor had said it was the best thing-it wasn’t addictive, and it worked on the brain in a different way to the older, more established medications. Also, it was better than Dean’s trademark coping strategy of trying to muddle through with a bottle of whiskey.
Castiel looked confused. “What don’t you know? Does it make you feel better, or not?”
Dean thought for a moment. He hadn’t really spoken to anyone about his meds, not even Sam. At first he didn’t want to take anything, thinking it was just a bad patch and it’d be fine, nothing a spot of alcohol couldn’t sort out. Part of him thought about what his father would say if he were alive, how disappointed he would be to think life had just gotten too much for his son, that he had to resort to pills just to function. When it was clear he needed something in the short term to help with the panic attacks and mood swings, Sam forced him to go back to the doctor and get something, anything to help.
“It does, in a way. I mean, I’m not as bad as I was, and it’s helping me get through the day but…I used to get these times where I felt great, where nothing could bring me down. That was followed by a crushing low but still, I miss feeling like I’m on top of the world. The meds stop me feeling really low, but they also stop the high. I’m constantly on the same level and I just…I kinda miss it.”
Castiel nodded. “Well, I never really had elevated moods in the first place, but they do stop me hitting the floor. It just means I have the head space to deal with the panic attacks, rather than being stuck in the depression. Once that’s done, I assume the pills will follow. So, do you get side effects?”
Dean nodded. “Yeah, a few. I put on about 15 pounds. That’s the worst thing. I’ve tried to shift it but I can’t. I just feel really out of shape.”
“You look fine to me,” Castiel ventured, and Dean could feel himself smile slightly.
“I also get these really weird-ass dreams, like I’m fighting things I can’t see. I’ll wake up shouting at nothing, and my brother will come running in thinking I’m being attacked.”
Castiel smiled. “I dream I’m flying. It’s so vivid, almost like a movie. It feels like I’m above everything, looking down on all the people going about their daily business. Sometimes I’m soaring over rooftops, trees, looking at everyone down below and feeling like I’m bigger than all of them, bigger then everything. Sometimes I feel like I’m invincible when I dream.” He looked sad for a moment. “It’s a shame it doesn’t last when I wake.”
Right there, Dean wanted to hug him, tell him it would be fine. He’d known this man for effectively two hours out of two weeks, and he wanted to help him, didn’t want to see those beautiful eyes look sad again. It was ironic given that he struggled to help himself, but Castiel seemed to fuel this determination in him, make him want to get better, want to help him.
Dean thought about Castiel for the next few weeks, putting everything he did in the context of Castiel and how he needed to get better to help him. He’d always been good at helping others, to the point of neglecting himself, and Pam was always trying to get him to hold himself in as high esteem as he did his brother, or his father. This change did not go unnoticed by those around him, including Sam who remarked that his change of attitude was refreshing, and that the group sessions must be working.
They were, in their own way. The more he saw Castiel, the more he got to know him. This kind, shy tax accountant who was incredibly good at his job, but not it seemed in his personal life. Dean hadn’t gotten to the bottom of what the main contributing factor to Castiel’s depression was, but he would have bet his bottom dollar it had something to do with his family.
Family. Something that Pam was trying to constantly bring up in their one on one sessions. So far he’d resisted but this time, he felt as though he could share something.
“So my dad was a military man.”
Pam smiled and nodded in that patented non-judgmental way of hers. “Go on.”
“He was pretty indoctrinated with it. I guess he had some strange ways of raising his kids.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Dunno. I mean, it wasn’t just that. When mum died, he sort of instructed me to look after Sammy while he wasn’t around. I did, but I always felt I was a disappointment to him, like I’d never raised Sammy right, like I’d never lived up to his standards.”
“And did he tell you this, that you never lived up to his standards.”
Dean hesitated for a moment. “Well, no.”
“So how do you know?”
“I….dunno. Just a feeling I got. I mean, he never said thank you, or told me I’d done a good job.”
“Did he ever do that with Sam?”
“No, no never.”
“And you say Sam’s studying law at Stanford.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s some achievement. And yet, your father never told him he was proud of him?”
“No. Never.”
Pam tapped her pen on her chin in thought. “So would you say that it didn’t matter what you achieved, he wouldn’t have said ‘well done’ anyway?”
Dean thought for a moment. It was true; he’d never heard his dad say the words ‘well done, son’ in his entire life. He’d constantly been trying to prove himself to his dad when actually, it was an impossible task. “I guess not.”
“There’s your answer, then. It seems you’re searching for an approval that would never be there anyway, regardless of your achievements.”
Dean scrunched his face up in thought. “So you’re saying…don’t bother achieving?”
Pam smiled. “I’m saying, do things for yourself. Achieve things for yourself and when you do, congratulate yourself. Give yourself praise, and take that praise offered to you by others. There’s no point in seeking something that just doesn’t exist, so don’t.”
It was like a light had been switched on in Dean’s head. “I never thought about it that way.”
Pam’s smile got wider. “That’s what I’m here for.”
The next group session was all about coping mechanisms. Dean was pleased to see Castiel had bought him coffee from the shop just around the corner, and was even more surprised when it was exactly to his liking. “How did you know?” He’d asked, and Castiel had mumbled something about it cropping up in conversation the week before. It made Dean smile to think that Castiel had remembered that one small detail about him.
“So, how are things?” He asked tentatively. Castiel was gradually starting to open up to him, but the man was still uneasy. Dean got the impression he only really spoke to people he implicitly trusted, so it was nothing short of a miracle that he’d revealed anything to Dean at all.
“Ok, actually,” Castiel said, sounding upbeat. “I’m definitely noticing an improvement. I haven’t had a full-blown panic attack in a few weeks now. Before, I’d be having multiple attacks a day. I seem to be thinking more positively about things too.”
“That’ll be the therapy,” Dean said.
Castiel nodded. “Yes, I suppose it will. It’s strange how it creeps up on you. I mean, the things that used to freak me out before just seem to pass by without much notice. I don’t even know I’m thinking about things differently, just that they don’t affect me as much as they used to. I feel…stronger somehow.”
“That’s great!” Dean exclaimed, only to have a woman to his right shush him. “Sorry,” he said. “That’s great, Cas, I’m really pleased for you.”
Castiel looked at him, and smiled. “I think you’ve helped. Just being a friend, knowing that I can make a friend in these circumstances, has really helped me.”
Dean’s heart did that flutter again. It had been doing it a lot recently in Castiel’s presence. Of course, Dean knew what it was. He was depressed, not emotionally void. Castiel was easy to talk to, kind, interesting and gorgeous. Dean had suffered some loss of libido as a side effect of the medication he was on, but this thing with Castiel was different. Dean didn’t just want to have sex with him, he wanted to ‘be’ with him; to talk to him, to come home to him after a hard day at work and tell him about his day, to curl up on the couch together and chat about ordinary things, watch ordinary TV and on weekends, go to ordinary places instead of staying in and worrying about what was around the corner.
He smiled, the thoughts whizzing through his head. He wondered if Castiel felt the same way. One quick glance up and the smile Castiel gave him back told Dean that maybe he did. Whatever he felt though, Dean knew he would never pressure him into something. They had to work on themselves first.
They spoke about how they felt at their lowest, and how they felt now. The group leader asked Dean again if he wanted to share his experience, and again Dean didn’t feel as though he was ready. One thing that shocked him was Castiel, who stood up, took a deep breath, and told the group how he came to be there.
Dean could hear the nerves in his voice, but it didn’t matter. Castiel spoke of an absent father, of sibling rivalry that tore his family apart, of how he was stuck in the middle of two warring brothers just trying to do the right thing by everyone. His favorite brother, Gabriel, had practically abandoned the family and Castiel was left on his own, emotionally manipulated, forced into choosing sides when he didn’t want to and looking for guidance when there was none. He got worse, but his family never told anyone how bad he was. Eventually Gabriel returned, but by that point the mental strain and exertion had taken its toll on Castiel, so much so that he was scared to even leave his room, his only sanctuary against all the fighting.
Afterwards, with medication, counseling and help from Gabriel, he was able to leave the confines of Gabriel’s home. He started slowly, walking to the front gate then back, then to the bottom of the road and back, then to the paper shop until eventually, he could go anywhere without being fearful. His gradual recovery was such that he could now come on a course in a room full of strangers and feel merely normal apprehensiveness, rather than the disproportionate reaction he’d had before. It was slow progress, but he was doing it, and getting on well. Gabriel was proud of him and, Castiel revealed, he was starting to feel proud of himself.
His speech finished, Castiel huffed out a shaky “Thank you,” and sat down. Dean’s reaction was immediate. He reached out and took a hold of Castiel’s hand, squeezing it while looking him in the eyes with his own, blighted by unshed tears. “Well done, man,” he said so only Castiel could hear, “Well done.”
They exchanged phone numbers after that session, and began texting each other in earnest. Dean wasn’t much of a texter, but Castiel seemed to revel in it, so beginning a new era of conversation between the two of them that Dean couldn’t help but enjoy despite himself. He found himself checking his phone every evening, waiting patiently for the next message from Castiel and, once received, thinking about his reply with meticulous detail. It was a source of great amusement for Sam, who proclaimed that he never thought he’d see the day when Dean would be embracing the wonders of modern technology, and become all fidgety over a bunch of texts from ‘a boy.’ Dean told him to shut up, to which the bastard just laughed. It was good to be able to joke with Sammy again.
It wasn’t just the texting that Dean reveled in. Each week he saw Castiel, they seemed to get closer. A few touches here and there, a squeeze of the shoulder or thigh for reassurance, stolen glances, small smiles only made for each other. Dean started participating more in the therapy class, the progress Castiel made giving him the strength to try and take hold of his own life. Of course, he still felt it was a waste of time, but he no longer went through the motions. Pam had also noticed a change in attitude, and while he was a little reticent at first, thinking Pam might feel Castiel was a distraction to his progress, Pam actually embraced this new friendship with Castiel, actually saw it as something positive for Dean.
Then, inevitably, this brave new world of Dean’s came crashing down around him. All it took was a single red chair, staring at him like it knew all the secrets of the world.
He was a little late to therapy class; rushing into the room in a fluster, fumbling with his bag and sitting down. It took him a while to scan the room, hoping to see familiar blue eyes smiling at him. Castiel wasn’t there; all Dean saw was an empty red plastic chair. Dean started fidgeting, checking his phone to see if there was a text from Castiel. There wasn’t.
The group class passed tortuously slowly, the therapist trying to give everyone coping strategies such as breathing deeply or saying a mental ‘stop’ to yourself. Dean wasn’t listening. He couldn’t stop checking his phone, checking the clock, then checking his phone again, becoming more agitated as the minutes ticked by. Eventually after what felt like an eternity, the class finished and Dean rushed outside. He stood there, staring at Castiel’s number for a second, his heart beating loudly in his chest as he tried to decide whether to dial Castiel or just leave it, just assume everything was ok.
Another minute passed by. Dean bit his lip, muttered, “Screw it,” and dialed, his heart thumping a frantic rhythm as the rings sounded out. Eventually there was a click, a rushing sound of cotton over a speaker, and Castiel’s frantic voice.
“Dean!”
“Cas! Cas are you ok? You didn’t come to class.”
“Dean I…I can’t find my brother.” Castiel sounded close to tears. “I can’t find Gabriel. He went out last night with some guy he’s been seeing and he never came back. He never phoned, Dean, and he always phones. I don’t know what to do.”
Dean took a deep breath, Castiel’s distress causing him to pull himself together. “What’s your address? I’m coming over and we can sort this out together.”
Dean mentally thanked Sam for letting him drive the Impala again. Castiel’s place wasn’t too far away, in a rather nice area of town with an immaculately cut lawn. It was in stark contrast to Dean’s ratty apartment, he mused as he walked up the driveway. Before he could knock the door swung open and there was Castiel, clothes all rumpled, eyes red from lack of sleep, stubble on his chin and cuts on his lips where he had bitten them, hard.
“Dean.” He said, then slumped forward. Dean caught him, circled his arms around him and drew him close. It was the closest they’d ever been, but Dean didn’t have time to indulge in it, feeling Castiel shiver as he held him. “It’s ok,” he said. “We’ll find him. Don’t worry.”
He guided Castiel inside, and sat him down on the living room couch. Sitting beside him, he held his hand. “Do you have any idea where he could be?” He said softly.
“I don’t know.”
“Does he ever tell you where he is when he’s out?”
Castiel nodded. “Yes. He’ll call me or text the address, just in case. He goes out a lot, but he always lets me know in case anything happens. Except yesterday.”
Dean thought for a moment. “Ok, so you said he was going out to see a guy he’d been seeing. Do you know who that is?”
“No, I’ve never met him.”
“But did Gabriel text you his address, or where they meet, or anything?”
Castiel picked up his cell phone and started scrolling through the messages. “This one,” he said. “Apartment 15, number 75 on Third.”
Dean froze. “15 of 75 on Third?”
Castiel nodded. Suddenly the world started spinning. Dean could feel his heart beating in his chest, louder, faster, threatening to burst its way out. He could see Castiel staring at him; his lips moved but Dean heard nothing but his own heartbeat, faster still. The colors of his vision started to fade away, a ringing in his ears that got louder, and louder, and louder while everything turned white. The last thing he saw was Castiel with his mouth open, shouting his name before everything went black.
15/75 on Third. Alistair.
He woke up to the sensation of Castiel wafting him with his coat. He was on the floor, his legs raised on top of a pillow. “Did I…”
“You passed out,” Castiel said. “I raised your legs to get the blood circulating again. It’s happened to me loads of times.”
Dean sat up, feeling the nausea rise in his stomach. Immediately Castiel handed him a plastic bowl and he threw up, sinking back down again. “Sorry,” he breathed.
“It’s ok, I was prepared. I always throw up when I’ve fainted.”
Dean rose onto his hands, pulling himself up with shaky legs, leaning into Castiel for balance. At any other time, he would have been taking a deep breath full of Castiel’s scent but now, with his over sensitized nose, everything just smelled far too strong.
“Are you ok?” Castiel asked, full of concern.
“Yes. No, not really.” He felt he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t go and face Alistair, not after what he’d done, after what he’d put Dean through.
He stared at Castiel, disheveled, eyes red-rimmed and wide with worry. Castiel was his future, he knew it, desperately wanted it. He had to help him. Had to.
“I know the guy you’re brother’s been seeing. Well, I used to know him. He’s not…” scars, telling him to stop and he just wouldn’t, the breaking down of his confidence, telling him he’s worthless, useless, no good… “he’s not a very nice guy. He’ll act like he is at first, but he’s not.”
Castiel’s eyes widened. “So this person, this Alistair…”
Dean took a deep breath. “We dated, for a year and a half. It ended badly…” Two broken ribs badly. The obliteration of all of Dean’s confidence badly. “Anyway, I eventually left him but…yeah. It affected me. It’s why I have the problems I do. If you’d known me before…I was a completely different person.”
Castiel just stood there in silence. He took Dean’s hand, and gave it a squeeze. “It’s ok. I’ll go. Tell me where and I’ll go. You don’t have to do this.”
Dean looked at him. He felt like he wanted to be sick, wanted to run away but he couldn’t. His desire to protect Castiel and his brother seemed to outweigh his own sense of self-preservation. He could feel his heart beating, and he took a deep breath. “No. I’ll go with you. You can’t go alone.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Dean said with determination. It was as though something in his mind had snapped. It wasn’t about him anymore, it was about Castiel. He had to do this for Cas.
The Impala rumbled along, and Dean thanked whoever for his ability to concentrate on the small task of driving and nothing more. Concentrating on the individual elements of his journey gave him a temporary reprieve from thinking about the bigger task ahead. He hadn’t seen Alistair in nearly a year; he’d even hoped he would never see the man’s face again, and get over the lasting anxiety and depression without Alistair seeing what he had done to Dean.
They turned the corner, and Alistair’s apartment block came into view. He saw it, on the fourth floor, the familiar gray-framed windows. Dean could feel the nausea rise inside him as he parked up. Getting out of the car, he stood on the sidewalk taking deep breaths to calm himself. ‘Stop,’ he told himself, ‘stop it now.’
“You can wait here if you want,” said Castiel, only his voice was tinged with nerves, something he was desperately trying to hide. “No,” Dean replied. “No, I’m coming with you. We’re going to get in there, and get Gabriel out. Together.”
They began walking. “What do you think he’s done to him?” Castiel asked.
“I don’t know,” Dean answered honestly. “Normally it takes him months to break you down, so what he’s doing now I have no idea.”
Dean walked up to the door, his legs shaking. He punched in the entry code and was surprised when the door unlocked. Alistair obviously hadn’t changed to code after he’d left. Silly mistake.
They took the stairs, slowly making their way up to floor 4. Dean’s legs felt like a lead weight under him, his breathing shallow and erratic. Castiel wasn’t faring much better, and if they had been anywhere else Dean would have laughed at the pair of them. As it was, he was concentrating on the task in hand, mentally mapping out Alistair’s apartment and their route inside. Eventually they arrived at the door to apartment 15, the green paint peeling at the edges. Dean stood there, staring, trying to get his breathing under control as he battled with the strong sense of dread, of fear, of wanting to run away. He turned to Castiel, gripping on to his hand. “We’re doing this,” he said, “We’re going to get in there, get Gabriel, and get the hell out of there.”
He pressed the buzzer, knees threatening to give way as he heard footsteps come closer to the door. He took a deep breath, watched as the door opened slowly, and say two familiar eyes staring back at him. They widened in surprise, before the door swung open and he was confronted by Alistair’s sickly, laughing features.
“My, look what the cat dragged in. To what do I owe this pleasure, Dean?” Alistair drawled.
Dean coughed, trying to stop the sensation of his throat closing up around his words. “Gabriel Novak.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Gabriel Novak. He’s here, and we want him.”
Alistair smiled. “I really don’t know what you mean.”
“Give me my brother, now!” Castiel shouted.
“I don’t have your brother you silly little man.” Alistair looked at Castiel with utter contempt, and Dean could feel the anger rise inside him.
“Then you won’t mind us coming in, will you?” Castiel pushed past Alistair while Dean stood there, a little in shock. Alistair grabbed Castiel’s arm, and Dean immediately waded in, gripping onto Alistair and pulling him away. “Let him look,” he said. “If you have nothing to hide, you’ve nothing to be afraid of.”
“Fuck you, Winchester,” Alistair said, his eyes widening. Dean remembered that look; angry, overbearing. He shivered inwardly. He couldn’t break, not now. He thought of Castiel, nothing more. “No,” he said quietly. “No. Fuck you.” He lifted an arm up to Alistair’s neck, pushing him against the wall. Strange, he thought, how small the man actually was, how thin and wiry, how easily Dean could break his neck. He stood there, pressing harder as Alistair gave a small choked sound, when he heard Castiel shout.
“Gabriel!”
Instantly Dean backed off, leaving Alistair to fall in a heap on the floor. Dean ran to the master bedroom, where Castiel stood staring at the form of Gabriel spread on the bed, lifeless. Dean rushed over to Gabriel as Castiel crumpled to the floor, his heart in his mouth as he looked over the prostrate form of Castiel’s brother. Then, he saw it, the slow rise and fall of his chest. Gabriel was alive.
Dean peeled back his eyelids, looking at his dilated pupils. “He’s ok,” Dean said. “He’s just out cold. Looks like he’s been roofied or something”
“Oh thank God!” Castiel staggered to his feet, walking over to the bed to take a look at Gabriel. Suddenly, Alistair appeared in the doorway.
“What the hell did you do to him?”
Alistair smirked. “Oh, we were only playing. It got a little out of hand. But you would know how that goes, wouldn’t you Dean?”
“You never drugged me.”
“Didn’t I? How would you know?”
“Cos you preferred me to be awake.” Dean wanted to throw up at the words. He coughed, trying to keep himself in check.
Alistair smiled, flicking his eyes skyward. “Ah yes, you were always such a good trainee. Always so willing to please. Shame I wore you out, though. You always were my favorite toy.”
“Fuck you.”
“Oh no, Dean. Never that. Don’t you remember?”
Of course he remembered. He remembered every part of it. The slow breaking down of his confidence, the feeling that everything was his fault. The psychological was somehow worse than the physical, because he’d come out of it a broken shell of a man, a weak, bitter person who didn’t even want to leave his apartment. Alistair had played on his insecurities, his lack of self worth, his need to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’d taken all of that and twisted it, turned Dean into a shadow of his former self, something which had taken him months to overcome.
Suddenly, in that instant, something hit Dean. It was as though everything became clear and he realized something. He never, ever wanted to go through that again. More than that, he would never allow anyone to put him through that again.
“Cas, can you carry Gabriel?” Castiel nodded, taking his brother in his arms and lifting him up. “Take him outside to the car.”
Alistair stepped forward. “I don’t think so. He’s staying here.”
Dean gritted his teeth. “Cas, take Gabriel downstairs. I’ll deal with this…parasite.”
Castiel moved, carrying Gabriel as best as he could to the door. Alistair went to block his path, putting a hand over the doorway. Dean walked over to him, breathing deeply, feeling his legs shake and threaten to buckle underneath him. Thankfully the need to run away had passed; he had adrenaline coursing through him and for once, it was doing him good. “Get out of the way,” he said, slowly and deliberately.
“Make me. You never could before. What makes it different now.? You’re still just a knucklehead with no prospects, no future, no hope to escape from the turgid life you lead.”
The words hurt. But then, that was always Alistair’s game, hurting him. He thought back to his therapy, to what Pam said to him about how he handled people. She’d said he could choose to accept what they said, or choose to reject it, pass it off as an untruth that he didn’t agree with and move on. Whereas before he believed every word Alistair said, for some reason now he didn’t. He knew he didn’t have to. He could choose to reject what he said, brush it off as a hurtful lie and nothing more. He had that power now.
He stared at Castiel, holding tightly onto Gabriel, steeling himself to charge the door. There, that was his future, Dean thought. That man, the guy who knew what he was going through, who could help him as much as he could help Castiel. That, hopefully, was his future. The stark realization that he wanted Castiel, wanted a future with him, hell, even wanted a future at all, spurred him into action.
“You don’t hold the power over me anymore, Alistair. I’ve moved on with my life, but you’re still stuck here in the same shitty apartment, going nowhere, having to drug people to get laid. You’re pathetic. Now, let me pass or I’ll call the police and tell them what you’ve been doing here. I’m sure given your track record they’d be very interested.”
“You wouldn’t dare, Winchester.”
Dean went as close to Alistair as he dared, leaning in to feel his breath on his face. To think he’d once kissed those lips, reveled in their words. It made him shiver in disgust. “Try me,” he said, staring straight into his eyes.
Alistair stood, pupils darting from one side to the other as his brain weighed up the options. Eventually, he lowered his arm, standing to the side while Castiel carried Gabriel through the bedroom door, down to the front door and exited the apartment. As soon as he knew Castiel was clear, Dean made to leave.
Alistair grabbed him. “Don’t think you’re getting away that easily. I had you, once. I can have you again.”
Dean turned, punching Alistair squarely in the side of the jaw, knocking him out cold. He watched as the body fell to the floor, feeling utterly numb. This should have been a moment of glory for him, but all Dean felt was sadness. Sadness that he’d given up a part of his life to this man, that he’d let him get under his skin so much it had taken its toll on his mental health.
He exited the apartment and walked down the stairs, slowly making his way to the bottom. As soon as he shut the door to the apartment block, he leaned over and threw up on the pavement. Castiel immediately came by his side, holding him until he finished and pulling him round into a hug. “You’re so brave,” he said into his shoulder. “So brave. Thank you.”
“I didn’t want him to hurt Gabriel, or you. I don’t think I could stand it if he hurt you,” Dean said, shocked at his own honesty.
“Me neither,” Castiel said. They stood there for a few moments, just wrapped in each other’s arms until Dean’s breathing calmed down and he was able to think straight again.
Dean sat in his usual chair, watching as the group leader handed out pieces of chocolate cake. It was the last session of the course, and time to celebrate the group’s achievements over the past twelve weeks. Dean looked around the room, smiling to himself. Yes, they still had a long way to go, but they were all getting there, slowly.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Castiel smiling at him. “Is this seat free?”
Dean nodded, smiling. “Always,” he said, motioning for Castiel to sit down.
Gabriel had recovered from his ordeal. He’d refused to go to the police, saying he was embarrassed more than anything and couldn’t remember much anyway. Either that, or he didn’t want Castiel to know what he’d been through. He was shaken up, but still managed to get some of his less desirable ‘acquaintances’ to pay Alistair a visit. Dean had learned that a few days later, Alistair had mysteriously disappeared. He didn’t really know what to feel about that.
After that, things started to get better. It was as though a chapter in his life had closed for good, and he was glad. He’d initially thought that overcoming his fear would be the end of it; he was wrong, of course, given that Alistair was just one of many issues he had, but now he knew he could cope with them, that they didn’t have to let them take over his life.
There wasn’t much structure to the final group session, with the members talking about where they were at the start, and where they are now. Everyone spoke, including Castiel, who stood up and said: “I was in a pretty dark place for a while, but now I think I’ve come out the other side and I feel like I’m a better person for it. I feel like I’m in control again, like I now have a handle on my life. I feel excited for the future now, like I actually have things to look forward to.”
Castiel looked down at Dean and smiled. Dean couldn’t help but smile back.
“Thanks Castiel,” the group leader said. “And what about you, Dean, do you want to share anything with the group.”
Dean looked at Castiel, who nodded to him as he sat down. Dean stood up, took a deep breath and cleared his throat, mouth already forming the words he had spoken over and over to the doctor, to Sam, and to Pam. “I came out of a relationship that wasn’t…exactly healthy,” he began, staring above the people’s heads and making sure he didn’t look anyone in the eye. “It was, kinda, abusive but in the psychological sense. So I finally got out of that and thought everything was fine, then bam, six months later, I kinda had a breakdown. Like, I didn’t want to leave my apartment, or eat, or take a shower. Sleeping was pretty much off the menu and I just felt like I wanted the world to go away for a while and leave me alone, like everything was too much to handle. I think it was around two weeks before my brother broke in to my apartment. He’d come back from Stanford because he was worried about me. He made me go to the doctors and they gave me pills, sent me to this awesome psychiatrist who’s helping me rethink stuff and, yeah, recommended I come here, so that’s what I did.”
“Well done, Dean,” Castiel whispered.
“So it’s taken a long time, but I kinda feel like my life’s back on track. Like Cas says, I have things I can look forward to, things I’d never even dreamed of a year, hell even six months ago. It’s been hard, and I still have some way to go, but I’m getting there.”
“Thank you, Dean,” the therapist said, smiling. “Thank you.”
The session finished, and everyone said their goodbyes. Dean wandered over to the Impala, unlocking the doors and waiting, staring at the people as they made their separate ways home. Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to see Castiel smiling at him. “I was proud of you today,” he said.
“I was proud of me too,” Dean said. He was only half joking, because inside he felt pretty proud that he could say all of that stuff to a bunch of semi-strangers and not want to run out of there.
“You should be,” Castiel replied, then leaned over to put his arms around Dean. They kissed slowly, and Dean sighed to himself. He would never get tired of Castiel’s scent, of the sensation of having his lips pressed to his own, his arms wrapped around him. Six months ago, the concept of falling in love had been alien to him, something other people did and he was never destined to do. He was glad to think that he had been wrong, that through all the pain of coping with his anxiety and depression, he had found something wonderful.
“So,” he said as they parted. “Do you want to come back to mine this time? Sammy really wants to meet you properly, and he says he’s cooking lasagna which I know is your favorite. There’s apple pie afterwards.”
Castiel laughed. “Sounds divine.”
Dean kissed him again. “You betcha,” he replied.
Title: Anti-D
Author: carmexgirl
Recipient: morganoconner
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 8029
Warnings: AU. Mentions of past abuse (non graphic)
Spoilers: None
Summary: On the road to coping with his anxiety and depression, Dean finds he has to attend an 'Anxiety Management Group,' where he meets someone who could change his life.
Author notes: You said you liked hurt/comfort and happy endings, so I really hope you like this!
Trees. Lots of trees. Then a road, leading to a more suburbanized area. Dean stared out of the passenger window counting streetlight; five on the left hand, then five on the right, then back to five on the left. Always five or multiples of five. If there were an odd number, he would get fidgety, agitated, feel like he was incomplete somehow.
“All symptoms of your condition,” the doctor had said. Of course it was; Dean wasn’t an idiot. He had always known the little obsessions he had were part of a much bigger problem, but it wasn’t until he’d holed himself up in his tiny one-bedroom apartment for two weeks, not bothering to get dressed, clean himself or even eat that he realized things were serious. It had taken Sammy coming home from Stanford fraught with worry to make Dean realize that he needed help, that the toll that…that person had taken on him had marked him much longer than any cut, any bruise, any scar.
He checked his watch; they were already late. Not that he wanted to go to any ridiculous ‘Anxiety Management’ course anyway. The cognitive behavioral therapy was enough, but the doctor recommended group therapy too, as way of seeing that he wasn’t alone, that others suffered the anxiety and depression he was currently experiencing, and that maybe they could help each other.
It was ten past ten now, and Dean started to fidget.
“I can’t find the god damn building,” Sam muttered as he turned the steering wheel.
“Red brick, Sammy. She said it was a red brick building on the left hand side.”
“I’ve looked on the left, there’s no red brick building.”
“We’re already ten minutes late.” Dean was getting really agitated now.
“I know!” Sam exclaimed before checking himself. “I called them and they’re fine. Don’t worry. They said tons of people got lost on their way to it.”
Dean shook his head. “Session’s only an hour. Might as well turn back, forget about it.” That would be a great idea. Go home, wait for the next appointment with Pam and tell her the group stuff just wasn’t working out.
“Oh no.” Sam shook his head. “No way. You are doing this, Dean. Doctor’s orders.”
“Doctor can kiss my ass.”
Before Sam could reply, he turned a corner and there, on the left hand side was a red brick building labeled ‘Community Center.’ “Got it. We’re here.” He parked up near the entrance and turned to Dean. “Get your ass in there, talk to people, and get some help, ok?”
Dean muttered under his breath. Stupid therapy. He wanted to get better, of course he did, but he didn’t see why he had to drag his issues out in front of other people. He had never been into hugging strangers, and he wasn’t about to start now. “Whatever. See you in an hour,” he said as he stepped out of the car.
“I love you, Dean,” Sam shouted to him.
“No chick-flick stuff,” Dean said back, smiling slightly as the churning in his stomach eased a little at his brother’s words. At least he knew Sam would always look out for him.
The group was interesting, but for all the wrong reasons. Firstly, Dean had to run the gauntlet of walking in while the group leader was mid flow, interrupting everyone and finally finding a place to sit. Then, he spent the next fifteen minutes gazing around him instead of listening to what the therapist said. The group was probably an even split between men and women, but what got Dean was the span of ages there. There were people in their early twenties; early thirties like him, but then there were those in their late fifties, sixties, someone even pushing seventy. It was horrific to think he could be stuck with this, this problem, for years to come, that it wouldn’t get better, that he might never feel normal for the rest of his life.
“Mr. Winchester,” a voice cut through his thoughts. He looked up to see the therapist looking at him. “Would you care to share your experience with anxiety?”
No, no he wouldn’t. And he certainly wasn’t prepared to say what had caused it, even to a bunch of strangers he’d likely never see again after twelve weeks. “No,” he said. “I don’t think I’m ready.”
That’s how it remained for the next two weeks. The therapist would ask people to share their experiences, and Dean would just shake his head, avoid the conversation, make a joke. He didn’t want to tell all those people about himself, about how he came to be in the state he was. It wasn’t any of their business, really. He was perfectly happy in his own personal bubble, separate from everyone else. He wasn’t sure that him sharing would help the others anyway.
By the third week he had lost all concentration, and had made up his mind that this was his last session, no matter what Sam or Pam said. He ended up staring out of the window, counting trees and fidgeting when he realized there were 14 instead of 15. Behind him, he could hear the door to the room opening, and low voices talking about something. The door closed again, and there was the sound of shuffling before the room settled. He watched as a the wind made the trees shiver, closing his eyes and wishing he could feel the wind on his face instead of the stuffy atmosphere of the room, when the therapist cleared her throat.
Dean turned quickly, sinking down into his chair while she wrote “Symptoms of Anxiety” in lurid green pen on a flipchart. “Now,” she said, turning around, “What symptoms do you have when you experience anxiety?”
There was the usual silence, before someone ventured, “N...nausea?”
“Yes, good one!” The therapist scribbled on the board.
“Panic. Like you need to run away.”
“Yes! The need to get out of the situation. Good.”
“Like um…like you need to go to the bathroom?”
The therapist nodded. “Very good.” Again, she wrote it down. The group continued until the flip chart was nearly full, and Dean stared at it, smiling to himself at the therapist’s inability to spell the word ‘nausea’ correctly.
“Like you’re going to pass out,” someone else said, and the therapist stopped what she was doing.
“Now that’s very interesting, because although you might feel like you’re going to pass out, you don’t. It’s more the body’s reaction to adrenaline.”
“I’ve passed out,” said a voice which made Dean immediately look up. Sitting opposite him was a man, pale, and a little on the thin side. He wore a long trench coat that practically drowned his frame, and he was picking nervously at the skin on the side of his thumbnail. As Dean looked up, he saw a mass of dark, shaggy hair, full lips that were bitten and dry, a pair of deep blue eyes, and the sweetest face he had ever seen.
The therapist stared at the stranger. “You’ve passed out? Are you sure?”
The stranger glanced nervously around the room. “Yes. A few times. I just…I start to panic, and there’s this rushing in my head, and a high pitched wail that gets louder and louder, and then everything goes white and I wake up on the floor with my brother telling me to snap out of it.”
The therapist shook her head. “That’s…unusual. Usually during an adrenaline surge you feel as though you’re going to pass out but you don’t usually. But still, it’s a symptom for you so I’ll write it down.”
She did, and proceeded to talk about the things Dean had already been told by the doctor, mainly that the sickness and needing the toilet were the body’s way of getting rid of excess weight so it can run away easily, that the shivers and extreme tiredness were how the body recovered from the excess adrenaline. The heart palpitations were also the result of the adrenaline, as were the pains in the chest and the choking sensation. Dean knew this, knew that the whole thing was his body’s way of dealing with a perceived threat and yet it still didn’t bring him any closer to understanding how to stop it. The threat to him had long gone, he knew that, but still the fear remained and along with that came the depression. The feeling of hopelessness, of helplessness, the lack of self-worth, of surviving through every day only to be faced with another, and another, and another.
All the while, he couldn’t stop staring at the man opposite him. He must have entered the room while Dean had been staring out of the window. He was listening with rapt attention, but every once in a while his eyes would dart nervously around the room, and he would shuffle in his seat like he couldn’t get comfortable. He would periodically glance at Dean, before tearing his eyes away when he knew he’d been caught looking.
The session ended, and straight away Dean made a beeline for the guy as he packed some papers into a leather satchel. “Hi,” Dean said, nearly making the man jump out of his skin. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” the man said, his voice low. “I’m a little…jittery.”
“We’re in an anxiety management class. Everyone’s jittery,” Dean replied, feeling something happen in his stomach when the guy gave a small smile. “I’m Dean.”
“I’m Castiel,” Castiel said.
“Hi Castiel.” The name sounded funny on Dean’s lips. “So, what brings you here?”
“Oh, well, I…went through a bad time recently. Family problems. Suffice to say, I’m finding it difficult to cope at the moment and this is part of my therapy. If I’m honest, I’m not sure group therapy is the way forward for me, but I suppose I’ll stick it out until the end of the course.”
Dean nodded. “You and me both.”
Castiel smiled again-a small, almost private smile. “Well, my brother will be waiting for me outside, so I’d better go. I’ll see you next week though?”
“Yeah. Next week. Bye Castiel.”
“Goodbye Dean.”
And there, with that small smile and a wave goodbye, Dean found his personal bubble had burst. It looked like he would see the course through after all.
Dean made sure he sat next to Castiel for their next session, hoping to get to know him more. He didn’t really understand why he was drawn to him apart from the obvious physical attraction, just that he felt he’d found a kindred spirit. The therapist was talking about medication, and Rufus who was in his late 50s and always had to sit in the same chair was rattling off a list of medication he had been prescribed over a number of years. The list was long, and depressing in itself with the amount of Xanaxes, Ativans and Valiums he had taken, gradually becoming dependent and finding effort of withdrawing from the medication greater than the actual anxiety he’d suffered.
Dean watched furtively as Castiel stared at Rufus, nodding his head. He was scratching away at the skin near his thumbnail again, making it red and sore until breaking the skin completely. Dean suddenly felt the compulsion to reassure him.
“It’s not like that now,” he whispered to him. “There’s way more stuff out there. Stuff that’s not addictive.”
Castiel nodded. “I know. It’s still…disconcerting though. It might sound terrible, but I look at him and think that could be me in thirty years’ time. Is that really my future? It terrifies me that I could end up like that.”
It was as though he had given voice to Dean’s worries. Dean sat there thinking for a moment. “No,” he said. “No, it won’t. You’ll beat this.”
“I wish I had your faith.”
Dean looked at him, saw Castiel’s wide eyes. “Of course you will,” he said. “You owe it to yourself to get over this.” He thought about it for a while, realizing that it might be sensible to take his own advice for once.
The class moved into individual discussions on medication and side effects. Dean turned in his seat to face Castiel fully. “So, what are they giving you for this?”
“Citalopram.”
“Same here. Do you think it’s working? Cos, I can see that it’s made a difference to me but…I don’t know.” The doctor had said it was the best thing-it wasn’t addictive, and it worked on the brain in a different way to the older, more established medications. Also, it was better than Dean’s trademark coping strategy of trying to muddle through with a bottle of whiskey.
Castiel looked confused. “What don’t you know? Does it make you feel better, or not?”
Dean thought for a moment. He hadn’t really spoken to anyone about his meds, not even Sam. At first he didn’t want to take anything, thinking it was just a bad patch and it’d be fine, nothing a spot of alcohol couldn’t sort out. Part of him thought about what his father would say if he were alive, how disappointed he would be to think life had just gotten too much for his son, that he had to resort to pills just to function. When it was clear he needed something in the short term to help with the panic attacks and mood swings, Sam forced him to go back to the doctor and get something, anything to help.
“It does, in a way. I mean, I’m not as bad as I was, and it’s helping me get through the day but…I used to get these times where I felt great, where nothing could bring me down. That was followed by a crushing low but still, I miss feeling like I’m on top of the world. The meds stop me feeling really low, but they also stop the high. I’m constantly on the same level and I just…I kinda miss it.”
Castiel nodded. “Well, I never really had elevated moods in the first place, but they do stop me hitting the floor. It just means I have the head space to deal with the panic attacks, rather than being stuck in the depression. Once that’s done, I assume the pills will follow. So, do you get side effects?”
Dean nodded. “Yeah, a few. I put on about 15 pounds. That’s the worst thing. I’ve tried to shift it but I can’t. I just feel really out of shape.”
“You look fine to me,” Castiel ventured, and Dean could feel himself smile slightly.
“I also get these really weird-ass dreams, like I’m fighting things I can’t see. I’ll wake up shouting at nothing, and my brother will come running in thinking I’m being attacked.”
Castiel smiled. “I dream I’m flying. It’s so vivid, almost like a movie. It feels like I’m above everything, looking down on all the people going about their daily business. Sometimes I’m soaring over rooftops, trees, looking at everyone down below and feeling like I’m bigger than all of them, bigger then everything. Sometimes I feel like I’m invincible when I dream.” He looked sad for a moment. “It’s a shame it doesn’t last when I wake.”
Right there, Dean wanted to hug him, tell him it would be fine. He’d known this man for effectively two hours out of two weeks, and he wanted to help him, didn’t want to see those beautiful eyes look sad again. It was ironic given that he struggled to help himself, but Castiel seemed to fuel this determination in him, make him want to get better, want to help him.
Dean thought about Castiel for the next few weeks, putting everything he did in the context of Castiel and how he needed to get better to help him. He’d always been good at helping others, to the point of neglecting himself, and Pam was always trying to get him to hold himself in as high esteem as he did his brother, or his father. This change did not go unnoticed by those around him, including Sam who remarked that his change of attitude was refreshing, and that the group sessions must be working.
They were, in their own way. The more he saw Castiel, the more he got to know him. This kind, shy tax accountant who was incredibly good at his job, but not it seemed in his personal life. Dean hadn’t gotten to the bottom of what the main contributing factor to Castiel’s depression was, but he would have bet his bottom dollar it had something to do with his family.
Family. Something that Pam was trying to constantly bring up in their one on one sessions. So far he’d resisted but this time, he felt as though he could share something.
“So my dad was a military man.”
Pam smiled and nodded in that patented non-judgmental way of hers. “Go on.”
“He was pretty indoctrinated with it. I guess he had some strange ways of raising his kids.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Dunno. I mean, it wasn’t just that. When mum died, he sort of instructed me to look after Sammy while he wasn’t around. I did, but I always felt I was a disappointment to him, like I’d never raised Sammy right, like I’d never lived up to his standards.”
“And did he tell you this, that you never lived up to his standards.”
Dean hesitated for a moment. “Well, no.”
“So how do you know?”
“I….dunno. Just a feeling I got. I mean, he never said thank you, or told me I’d done a good job.”
“Did he ever do that with Sam?”
“No, no never.”
“And you say Sam’s studying law at Stanford.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s some achievement. And yet, your father never told him he was proud of him?”
“No. Never.”
Pam tapped her pen on her chin in thought. “So would you say that it didn’t matter what you achieved, he wouldn’t have said ‘well done’ anyway?”
Dean thought for a moment. It was true; he’d never heard his dad say the words ‘well done, son’ in his entire life. He’d constantly been trying to prove himself to his dad when actually, it was an impossible task. “I guess not.”
“There’s your answer, then. It seems you’re searching for an approval that would never be there anyway, regardless of your achievements.”
Dean scrunched his face up in thought. “So you’re saying…don’t bother achieving?”
Pam smiled. “I’m saying, do things for yourself. Achieve things for yourself and when you do, congratulate yourself. Give yourself praise, and take that praise offered to you by others. There’s no point in seeking something that just doesn’t exist, so don’t.”
It was like a light had been switched on in Dean’s head. “I never thought about it that way.”
Pam’s smile got wider. “That’s what I’m here for.”
The next group session was all about coping mechanisms. Dean was pleased to see Castiel had bought him coffee from the shop just around the corner, and was even more surprised when it was exactly to his liking. “How did you know?” He’d asked, and Castiel had mumbled something about it cropping up in conversation the week before. It made Dean smile to think that Castiel had remembered that one small detail about him.
“So, how are things?” He asked tentatively. Castiel was gradually starting to open up to him, but the man was still uneasy. Dean got the impression he only really spoke to people he implicitly trusted, so it was nothing short of a miracle that he’d revealed anything to Dean at all.
“Ok, actually,” Castiel said, sounding upbeat. “I’m definitely noticing an improvement. I haven’t had a full-blown panic attack in a few weeks now. Before, I’d be having multiple attacks a day. I seem to be thinking more positively about things too.”
“That’ll be the therapy,” Dean said.
Castiel nodded. “Yes, I suppose it will. It’s strange how it creeps up on you. I mean, the things that used to freak me out before just seem to pass by without much notice. I don’t even know I’m thinking about things differently, just that they don’t affect me as much as they used to. I feel…stronger somehow.”
“That’s great!” Dean exclaimed, only to have a woman to his right shush him. “Sorry,” he said. “That’s great, Cas, I’m really pleased for you.”
Castiel looked at him, and smiled. “I think you’ve helped. Just being a friend, knowing that I can make a friend in these circumstances, has really helped me.”
Dean’s heart did that flutter again. It had been doing it a lot recently in Castiel’s presence. Of course, Dean knew what it was. He was depressed, not emotionally void. Castiel was easy to talk to, kind, interesting and gorgeous. Dean had suffered some loss of libido as a side effect of the medication he was on, but this thing with Castiel was different. Dean didn’t just want to have sex with him, he wanted to ‘be’ with him; to talk to him, to come home to him after a hard day at work and tell him about his day, to curl up on the couch together and chat about ordinary things, watch ordinary TV and on weekends, go to ordinary places instead of staying in and worrying about what was around the corner.
He smiled, the thoughts whizzing through his head. He wondered if Castiel felt the same way. One quick glance up and the smile Castiel gave him back told Dean that maybe he did. Whatever he felt though, Dean knew he would never pressure him into something. They had to work on themselves first.
They spoke about how they felt at their lowest, and how they felt now. The group leader asked Dean again if he wanted to share his experience, and again Dean didn’t feel as though he was ready. One thing that shocked him was Castiel, who stood up, took a deep breath, and told the group how he came to be there.
Dean could hear the nerves in his voice, but it didn’t matter. Castiel spoke of an absent father, of sibling rivalry that tore his family apart, of how he was stuck in the middle of two warring brothers just trying to do the right thing by everyone. His favorite brother, Gabriel, had practically abandoned the family and Castiel was left on his own, emotionally manipulated, forced into choosing sides when he didn’t want to and looking for guidance when there was none. He got worse, but his family never told anyone how bad he was. Eventually Gabriel returned, but by that point the mental strain and exertion had taken its toll on Castiel, so much so that he was scared to even leave his room, his only sanctuary against all the fighting.
Afterwards, with medication, counseling and help from Gabriel, he was able to leave the confines of Gabriel’s home. He started slowly, walking to the front gate then back, then to the bottom of the road and back, then to the paper shop until eventually, he could go anywhere without being fearful. His gradual recovery was such that he could now come on a course in a room full of strangers and feel merely normal apprehensiveness, rather than the disproportionate reaction he’d had before. It was slow progress, but he was doing it, and getting on well. Gabriel was proud of him and, Castiel revealed, he was starting to feel proud of himself.
His speech finished, Castiel huffed out a shaky “Thank you,” and sat down. Dean’s reaction was immediate. He reached out and took a hold of Castiel’s hand, squeezing it while looking him in the eyes with his own, blighted by unshed tears. “Well done, man,” he said so only Castiel could hear, “Well done.”
They exchanged phone numbers after that session, and began texting each other in earnest. Dean wasn’t much of a texter, but Castiel seemed to revel in it, so beginning a new era of conversation between the two of them that Dean couldn’t help but enjoy despite himself. He found himself checking his phone every evening, waiting patiently for the next message from Castiel and, once received, thinking about his reply with meticulous detail. It was a source of great amusement for Sam, who proclaimed that he never thought he’d see the day when Dean would be embracing the wonders of modern technology, and become all fidgety over a bunch of texts from ‘a boy.’ Dean told him to shut up, to which the bastard just laughed. It was good to be able to joke with Sammy again.
It wasn’t just the texting that Dean reveled in. Each week he saw Castiel, they seemed to get closer. A few touches here and there, a squeeze of the shoulder or thigh for reassurance, stolen glances, small smiles only made for each other. Dean started participating more in the therapy class, the progress Castiel made giving him the strength to try and take hold of his own life. Of course, he still felt it was a waste of time, but he no longer went through the motions. Pam had also noticed a change in attitude, and while he was a little reticent at first, thinking Pam might feel Castiel was a distraction to his progress, Pam actually embraced this new friendship with Castiel, actually saw it as something positive for Dean.
Then, inevitably, this brave new world of Dean’s came crashing down around him. All it took was a single red chair, staring at him like it knew all the secrets of the world.
He was a little late to therapy class; rushing into the room in a fluster, fumbling with his bag and sitting down. It took him a while to scan the room, hoping to see familiar blue eyes smiling at him. Castiel wasn’t there; all Dean saw was an empty red plastic chair. Dean started fidgeting, checking his phone to see if there was a text from Castiel. There wasn’t.
The group class passed tortuously slowly, the therapist trying to give everyone coping strategies such as breathing deeply or saying a mental ‘stop’ to yourself. Dean wasn’t listening. He couldn’t stop checking his phone, checking the clock, then checking his phone again, becoming more agitated as the minutes ticked by. Eventually after what felt like an eternity, the class finished and Dean rushed outside. He stood there, staring at Castiel’s number for a second, his heart beating loudly in his chest as he tried to decide whether to dial Castiel or just leave it, just assume everything was ok.
Another minute passed by. Dean bit his lip, muttered, “Screw it,” and dialed, his heart thumping a frantic rhythm as the rings sounded out. Eventually there was a click, a rushing sound of cotton over a speaker, and Castiel’s frantic voice.
“Dean!”
“Cas! Cas are you ok? You didn’t come to class.”
“Dean I…I can’t find my brother.” Castiel sounded close to tears. “I can’t find Gabriel. He went out last night with some guy he’s been seeing and he never came back. He never phoned, Dean, and he always phones. I don’t know what to do.”
Dean took a deep breath, Castiel’s distress causing him to pull himself together. “What’s your address? I’m coming over and we can sort this out together.”
Dean mentally thanked Sam for letting him drive the Impala again. Castiel’s place wasn’t too far away, in a rather nice area of town with an immaculately cut lawn. It was in stark contrast to Dean’s ratty apartment, he mused as he walked up the driveway. Before he could knock the door swung open and there was Castiel, clothes all rumpled, eyes red from lack of sleep, stubble on his chin and cuts on his lips where he had bitten them, hard.
“Dean.” He said, then slumped forward. Dean caught him, circled his arms around him and drew him close. It was the closest they’d ever been, but Dean didn’t have time to indulge in it, feeling Castiel shiver as he held him. “It’s ok,” he said. “We’ll find him. Don’t worry.”
He guided Castiel inside, and sat him down on the living room couch. Sitting beside him, he held his hand. “Do you have any idea where he could be?” He said softly.
“I don’t know.”
“Does he ever tell you where he is when he’s out?”
Castiel nodded. “Yes. He’ll call me or text the address, just in case. He goes out a lot, but he always lets me know in case anything happens. Except yesterday.”
Dean thought for a moment. “Ok, so you said he was going out to see a guy he’d been seeing. Do you know who that is?”
“No, I’ve never met him.”
“But did Gabriel text you his address, or where they meet, or anything?”
Castiel picked up his cell phone and started scrolling through the messages. “This one,” he said. “Apartment 15, number 75 on Third.”
Dean froze. “15 of 75 on Third?”
Castiel nodded. Suddenly the world started spinning. Dean could feel his heart beating in his chest, louder, faster, threatening to burst its way out. He could see Castiel staring at him; his lips moved but Dean heard nothing but his own heartbeat, faster still. The colors of his vision started to fade away, a ringing in his ears that got louder, and louder, and louder while everything turned white. The last thing he saw was Castiel with his mouth open, shouting his name before everything went black.
15/75 on Third. Alistair.
He woke up to the sensation of Castiel wafting him with his coat. He was on the floor, his legs raised on top of a pillow. “Did I…”
“You passed out,” Castiel said. “I raised your legs to get the blood circulating again. It’s happened to me loads of times.”
Dean sat up, feeling the nausea rise in his stomach. Immediately Castiel handed him a plastic bowl and he threw up, sinking back down again. “Sorry,” he breathed.
“It’s ok, I was prepared. I always throw up when I’ve fainted.”
Dean rose onto his hands, pulling himself up with shaky legs, leaning into Castiel for balance. At any other time, he would have been taking a deep breath full of Castiel’s scent but now, with his over sensitized nose, everything just smelled far too strong.
“Are you ok?” Castiel asked, full of concern.
“Yes. No, not really.” He felt he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t go and face Alistair, not after what he’d done, after what he’d put Dean through.
He stared at Castiel, disheveled, eyes red-rimmed and wide with worry. Castiel was his future, he knew it, desperately wanted it. He had to help him. Had to.
“I know the guy you’re brother’s been seeing. Well, I used to know him. He’s not…” scars, telling him to stop and he just wouldn’t, the breaking down of his confidence, telling him he’s worthless, useless, no good… “he’s not a very nice guy. He’ll act like he is at first, but he’s not.”
Castiel’s eyes widened. “So this person, this Alistair…”
Dean took a deep breath. “We dated, for a year and a half. It ended badly…” Two broken ribs badly. The obliteration of all of Dean’s confidence badly. “Anyway, I eventually left him but…yeah. It affected me. It’s why I have the problems I do. If you’d known me before…I was a completely different person.”
Castiel just stood there in silence. He took Dean’s hand, and gave it a squeeze. “It’s ok. I’ll go. Tell me where and I’ll go. You don’t have to do this.”
Dean looked at him. He felt like he wanted to be sick, wanted to run away but he couldn’t. His desire to protect Castiel and his brother seemed to outweigh his own sense of self-preservation. He could feel his heart beating, and he took a deep breath. “No. I’ll go with you. You can’t go alone.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Dean said with determination. It was as though something in his mind had snapped. It wasn’t about him anymore, it was about Castiel. He had to do this for Cas.
The Impala rumbled along, and Dean thanked whoever for his ability to concentrate on the small task of driving and nothing more. Concentrating on the individual elements of his journey gave him a temporary reprieve from thinking about the bigger task ahead. He hadn’t seen Alistair in nearly a year; he’d even hoped he would never see the man’s face again, and get over the lasting anxiety and depression without Alistair seeing what he had done to Dean.
They turned the corner, and Alistair’s apartment block came into view. He saw it, on the fourth floor, the familiar gray-framed windows. Dean could feel the nausea rise inside him as he parked up. Getting out of the car, he stood on the sidewalk taking deep breaths to calm himself. ‘Stop,’ he told himself, ‘stop it now.’
“You can wait here if you want,” said Castiel, only his voice was tinged with nerves, something he was desperately trying to hide. “No,” Dean replied. “No, I’m coming with you. We’re going to get in there, and get Gabriel out. Together.”
They began walking. “What do you think he’s done to him?” Castiel asked.
“I don’t know,” Dean answered honestly. “Normally it takes him months to break you down, so what he’s doing now I have no idea.”
Dean walked up to the door, his legs shaking. He punched in the entry code and was surprised when the door unlocked. Alistair obviously hadn’t changed to code after he’d left. Silly mistake.
They took the stairs, slowly making their way up to floor 4. Dean’s legs felt like a lead weight under him, his breathing shallow and erratic. Castiel wasn’t faring much better, and if they had been anywhere else Dean would have laughed at the pair of them. As it was, he was concentrating on the task in hand, mentally mapping out Alistair’s apartment and their route inside. Eventually they arrived at the door to apartment 15, the green paint peeling at the edges. Dean stood there, staring, trying to get his breathing under control as he battled with the strong sense of dread, of fear, of wanting to run away. He turned to Castiel, gripping on to his hand. “We’re doing this,” he said, “We’re going to get in there, get Gabriel, and get the hell out of there.”
He pressed the buzzer, knees threatening to give way as he heard footsteps come closer to the door. He took a deep breath, watched as the door opened slowly, and say two familiar eyes staring back at him. They widened in surprise, before the door swung open and he was confronted by Alistair’s sickly, laughing features.
“My, look what the cat dragged in. To what do I owe this pleasure, Dean?” Alistair drawled.
Dean coughed, trying to stop the sensation of his throat closing up around his words. “Gabriel Novak.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Gabriel Novak. He’s here, and we want him.”
Alistair smiled. “I really don’t know what you mean.”
“Give me my brother, now!” Castiel shouted.
“I don’t have your brother you silly little man.” Alistair looked at Castiel with utter contempt, and Dean could feel the anger rise inside him.
“Then you won’t mind us coming in, will you?” Castiel pushed past Alistair while Dean stood there, a little in shock. Alistair grabbed Castiel’s arm, and Dean immediately waded in, gripping onto Alistair and pulling him away. “Let him look,” he said. “If you have nothing to hide, you’ve nothing to be afraid of.”
“Fuck you, Winchester,” Alistair said, his eyes widening. Dean remembered that look; angry, overbearing. He shivered inwardly. He couldn’t break, not now. He thought of Castiel, nothing more. “No,” he said quietly. “No. Fuck you.” He lifted an arm up to Alistair’s neck, pushing him against the wall. Strange, he thought, how small the man actually was, how thin and wiry, how easily Dean could break his neck. He stood there, pressing harder as Alistair gave a small choked sound, when he heard Castiel shout.
“Gabriel!”
Instantly Dean backed off, leaving Alistair to fall in a heap on the floor. Dean ran to the master bedroom, where Castiel stood staring at the form of Gabriel spread on the bed, lifeless. Dean rushed over to Gabriel as Castiel crumpled to the floor, his heart in his mouth as he looked over the prostrate form of Castiel’s brother. Then, he saw it, the slow rise and fall of his chest. Gabriel was alive.
Dean peeled back his eyelids, looking at his dilated pupils. “He’s ok,” Dean said. “He’s just out cold. Looks like he’s been roofied or something”
“Oh thank God!” Castiel staggered to his feet, walking over to the bed to take a look at Gabriel. Suddenly, Alistair appeared in the doorway.
“What the hell did you do to him?”
Alistair smirked. “Oh, we were only playing. It got a little out of hand. But you would know how that goes, wouldn’t you Dean?”
“You never drugged me.”
“Didn’t I? How would you know?”
“Cos you preferred me to be awake.” Dean wanted to throw up at the words. He coughed, trying to keep himself in check.
Alistair smiled, flicking his eyes skyward. “Ah yes, you were always such a good trainee. Always so willing to please. Shame I wore you out, though. You always were my favorite toy.”
“Fuck you.”
“Oh no, Dean. Never that. Don’t you remember?”
Of course he remembered. He remembered every part of it. The slow breaking down of his confidence, the feeling that everything was his fault. The psychological was somehow worse than the physical, because he’d come out of it a broken shell of a man, a weak, bitter person who didn’t even want to leave his apartment. Alistair had played on his insecurities, his lack of self worth, his need to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’d taken all of that and twisted it, turned Dean into a shadow of his former self, something which had taken him months to overcome.
Suddenly, in that instant, something hit Dean. It was as though everything became clear and he realized something. He never, ever wanted to go through that again. More than that, he would never allow anyone to put him through that again.
“Cas, can you carry Gabriel?” Castiel nodded, taking his brother in his arms and lifting him up. “Take him outside to the car.”
Alistair stepped forward. “I don’t think so. He’s staying here.”
Dean gritted his teeth. “Cas, take Gabriel downstairs. I’ll deal with this…parasite.”
Castiel moved, carrying Gabriel as best as he could to the door. Alistair went to block his path, putting a hand over the doorway. Dean walked over to him, breathing deeply, feeling his legs shake and threaten to buckle underneath him. Thankfully the need to run away had passed; he had adrenaline coursing through him and for once, it was doing him good. “Get out of the way,” he said, slowly and deliberately.
“Make me. You never could before. What makes it different now.? You’re still just a knucklehead with no prospects, no future, no hope to escape from the turgid life you lead.”
The words hurt. But then, that was always Alistair’s game, hurting him. He thought back to his therapy, to what Pam said to him about how he handled people. She’d said he could choose to accept what they said, or choose to reject it, pass it off as an untruth that he didn’t agree with and move on. Whereas before he believed every word Alistair said, for some reason now he didn’t. He knew he didn’t have to. He could choose to reject what he said, brush it off as a hurtful lie and nothing more. He had that power now.
He stared at Castiel, holding tightly onto Gabriel, steeling himself to charge the door. There, that was his future, Dean thought. That man, the guy who knew what he was going through, who could help him as much as he could help Castiel. That, hopefully, was his future. The stark realization that he wanted Castiel, wanted a future with him, hell, even wanted a future at all, spurred him into action.
“You don’t hold the power over me anymore, Alistair. I’ve moved on with my life, but you’re still stuck here in the same shitty apartment, going nowhere, having to drug people to get laid. You’re pathetic. Now, let me pass or I’ll call the police and tell them what you’ve been doing here. I’m sure given your track record they’d be very interested.”
“You wouldn’t dare, Winchester.”
Dean went as close to Alistair as he dared, leaning in to feel his breath on his face. To think he’d once kissed those lips, reveled in their words. It made him shiver in disgust. “Try me,” he said, staring straight into his eyes.
Alistair stood, pupils darting from one side to the other as his brain weighed up the options. Eventually, he lowered his arm, standing to the side while Castiel carried Gabriel through the bedroom door, down to the front door and exited the apartment. As soon as he knew Castiel was clear, Dean made to leave.
Alistair grabbed him. “Don’t think you’re getting away that easily. I had you, once. I can have you again.”
Dean turned, punching Alistair squarely in the side of the jaw, knocking him out cold. He watched as the body fell to the floor, feeling utterly numb. This should have been a moment of glory for him, but all Dean felt was sadness. Sadness that he’d given up a part of his life to this man, that he’d let him get under his skin so much it had taken its toll on his mental health.
He exited the apartment and walked down the stairs, slowly making his way to the bottom. As soon as he shut the door to the apartment block, he leaned over and threw up on the pavement. Castiel immediately came by his side, holding him until he finished and pulling him round into a hug. “You’re so brave,” he said into his shoulder. “So brave. Thank you.”
“I didn’t want him to hurt Gabriel, or you. I don’t think I could stand it if he hurt you,” Dean said, shocked at his own honesty.
“Me neither,” Castiel said. They stood there for a few moments, just wrapped in each other’s arms until Dean’s breathing calmed down and he was able to think straight again.
Dean sat in his usual chair, watching as the group leader handed out pieces of chocolate cake. It was the last session of the course, and time to celebrate the group’s achievements over the past twelve weeks. Dean looked around the room, smiling to himself. Yes, they still had a long way to go, but they were all getting there, slowly.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Castiel smiling at him. “Is this seat free?”
Dean nodded, smiling. “Always,” he said, motioning for Castiel to sit down.
Gabriel had recovered from his ordeal. He’d refused to go to the police, saying he was embarrassed more than anything and couldn’t remember much anyway. Either that, or he didn’t want Castiel to know what he’d been through. He was shaken up, but still managed to get some of his less desirable ‘acquaintances’ to pay Alistair a visit. Dean had learned that a few days later, Alistair had mysteriously disappeared. He didn’t really know what to feel about that.
After that, things started to get better. It was as though a chapter in his life had closed for good, and he was glad. He’d initially thought that overcoming his fear would be the end of it; he was wrong, of course, given that Alistair was just one of many issues he had, but now he knew he could cope with them, that they didn’t have to let them take over his life.
There wasn’t much structure to the final group session, with the members talking about where they were at the start, and where they are now. Everyone spoke, including Castiel, who stood up and said: “I was in a pretty dark place for a while, but now I think I’ve come out the other side and I feel like I’m a better person for it. I feel like I’m in control again, like I now have a handle on my life. I feel excited for the future now, like I actually have things to look forward to.”
Castiel looked down at Dean and smiled. Dean couldn’t help but smile back.
“Thanks Castiel,” the group leader said. “And what about you, Dean, do you want to share anything with the group.”
Dean looked at Castiel, who nodded to him as he sat down. Dean stood up, took a deep breath and cleared his throat, mouth already forming the words he had spoken over and over to the doctor, to Sam, and to Pam. “I came out of a relationship that wasn’t…exactly healthy,” he began, staring above the people’s heads and making sure he didn’t look anyone in the eye. “It was, kinda, abusive but in the psychological sense. So I finally got out of that and thought everything was fine, then bam, six months later, I kinda had a breakdown. Like, I didn’t want to leave my apartment, or eat, or take a shower. Sleeping was pretty much off the menu and I just felt like I wanted the world to go away for a while and leave me alone, like everything was too much to handle. I think it was around two weeks before my brother broke in to my apartment. He’d come back from Stanford because he was worried about me. He made me go to the doctors and they gave me pills, sent me to this awesome psychiatrist who’s helping me rethink stuff and, yeah, recommended I come here, so that’s what I did.”
“Well done, Dean,” Castiel whispered.
“So it’s taken a long time, but I kinda feel like my life’s back on track. Like Cas says, I have things I can look forward to, things I’d never even dreamed of a year, hell even six months ago. It’s been hard, and I still have some way to go, but I’m getting there.”
“Thank you, Dean,” the therapist said, smiling. “Thank you.”
The session finished, and everyone said their goodbyes. Dean wandered over to the Impala, unlocking the doors and waiting, staring at the people as they made their separate ways home. Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to see Castiel smiling at him. “I was proud of you today,” he said.
“I was proud of me too,” Dean said. He was only half joking, because inside he felt pretty proud that he could say all of that stuff to a bunch of semi-strangers and not want to run out of there.
“You should be,” Castiel replied, then leaned over to put his arms around Dean. They kissed slowly, and Dean sighed to himself. He would never get tired of Castiel’s scent, of the sensation of having his lips pressed to his own, his arms wrapped around him. Six months ago, the concept of falling in love had been alien to him, something other people did and he was never destined to do. He was glad to think that he had been wrong, that through all the pain of coping with his anxiety and depression, he had found something wonderful.
“So,” he said as they parted. “Do you want to come back to mine this time? Sammy really wants to meet you properly, and he says he’s cooking lasagna which I know is your favorite. There’s apple pie afterwards.”
Castiel laughed. “Sounds divine.”
Dean kissed him again. “You betcha,” he replied.