therapy | destiel

Chapter Two

Dean's POV

"Your mother—she passed suddenly?" Mia asks Jack, who looks to me before nodding in affirmation. Good.

She nods thoughtfully. "Most of the people I see are in the same boat. No warning, no goodbye, no closure."

Gesturing to the sofas and chairs, we all take a seat. I'm on edge, and Sam's burning glare isn't helping matters.

"Right, yeah," I say. I don't have a fucking clue why Sam pulled this shit, but now I have no choice but to play along. "Pretty much the same for us. Um... So how does this usually work? You know, with your patients?" It's no secret that I want this torment over as soon as possible.

"Usually, they just start talking about the person they've lost."

She says it like it's so obvious. How the hell am I supposed to know this crap?

"All right, well, Cas was great, now she's dead. What's the deal with catharsis?"

"I'm sorry?" Mia asks, stunned at the complete 180 the conversation has turned. Sam is facepalming internally, I can tell. But I'm going to get this done fast. Just rip the band-aid right off.

Sam tries to save it, but Mia is still looking at us, namely me, like we're insane. "Uh, we—we were wondering what that is. Um, a patient of yours, Gloria Simon, she referred us. She's a family friend."

And the questioning expression has turned to suspicion. Fan-freaking-tastic. Great work, Sammy.

"I don't talk about my patients," she says slowly, as if she's trying to make sense of all this, "and Gloria wasn't supposed to talk about me."

Sam nods, and quickly steers the discussion away from Gloria. "Sure, um... got it. But your process—"

He trails off, and Mia gladly accepts the olive branch, launching into a well-rehearsed line. "My program is a range of things. Talk therapy, meditation. You ever journal?"

"Our dad did," Sam says, even though that's not the question. He's just trying to make us sound normal.

"Dean? You journal?"

Aw, shit. I thought she had forgotten about me. No such luck.

"Ever since I was a little girl," I quip, smiling a sarcastic smile. She's not impressed.

"You think this shrink stuff is a load of crap. Am I right?"

Well, it is.

"How'd you guess?"

"Then why are you here?"

To kill you, duh.

"Because, uh, we all agreed we'd give it a shot, right?" Sam jumps in, and I hate him for it. I hate being here, and I hate having to talk to this dumb medium therapist person.

With a look from Sam, Jack nods. Next, Sam looks pointedly at me. "Right?"

Damn you, Sam.

I smile. Everyone knows it's fake as hell.

"My brother, he's not, uh, he's not processing his grief. He refuses to admit anything's wrong, and it's not healthy."

Yes, thank you Sam, for your input.

Mia nods, and looks at me again with that look. That pitying, sympathetic look. I hate it.

"Really? No, I'm..." I laugh, and it's forced. "No, I'm good, actually. With death, closure, whole freakin' bottle of Jack."

I'm so fucking uncomfortable.

Sam just keeps prying. At this point, he's doing more work than the therapist. "Are you?" he asks.

I look at him, knowing exactly the right thing to say to make him shut up. "Yeah. Because I know that Cas is dead, and I know that she's not coming back."

He sighs. "Okay, I hear what you're saying, I just wish..."

Mia cuts him off. "You wish he'd be more open to therapy?" she asks.

Nodding, Sam agrees, "Sure. Exactly."

I don't have to take this anymore. "All right, this is a safe place, right, Doc?" I ask, patronizing. I don't care. She's a big girl; she can take it. "Okay. My brother's delusional..."

"Dean—"

"You said you wanted to give this a shot, right?" I ask, and he goes silent. "Here we go. He won't even admit that Cas is dead. Won't even admit it."

"Stop," Sam whispers.

I don't.

"Because if he admits it, then it's real. If it's real, then he has to deal with it, and he can't handle that!"

Sam finally snaps. "Right, because this is so easy for you, huh?" he yells at me, rising to his feet to tower over me. All 6'4" of him. "You loved Cas! You still do!"

"No, it's not easy," I say, my voice rising as I do. I'm not quite as tall, so it's less impressive.

"Yeah, but you had a relationship! Do you know how hard I prayed for you to find someone? Someone to make you feel like you were worth something? Like you deserved to be saved?"

I can't breathe.

"You had something with Cas I never had! And I was so damn happy for you! And now I'm just supposed to let it go? Pretend like that whole chapter of our lives never happened?"

The room is filled with red-hot anger. For a moment, we just stare at each other, inches apart, taught as a bowstring.

Finally Sam takes a step back. "I need some air," he says, and flees the room.