AN: I know I know I know...so many stories, but this one was just bothering me. This will be a series of sessions involving the Wichester brothers. Sam will have his own sessions (Sam fans don't hurt me, I won't make him out to be the bad guy, I just have to get Dean set up first...you'll find out why when Sam comes in.) Takes place early in S7 post "Hello Cruel World" But before "How to Win Friends and Influence Monsters."
Dean Winchester stood by my window, strong arms crossed in a manner that showed his bicep muscles clearly under the long sleeve shirt he had rolled up to his elbows. He was facing the window, I was unable to see his face, only his tense posture, and slightly bow legs.
"You don't have to stand." I finally said getting comfortable on the chair I used for my daytime therapy sessions that had more to do with divorces and neurotic housewives than anything of substance.
"I ain't lying down on your couch doc. I'm only here because of a favor."
"Bobby Singer. He wanted you to come and see me."
"Yeah. I'm fine. I keep telling the old bastard I'm fine, but all he can manage to tell me is that I'm full of bull shit."
"I don't see a gun to your head." I ventured. Bobby Singer had told me a little bit about Dean Winchester, and honestly, the little he told me made me wonder why the young man was still standing, much less able to say that he's fine.
Dean chuffed and blessed me with a look, his green eyes holding so much weight that they were almost oppressive to look at. "I thought you knew Bobby Singer."
I smiled. It was true, it was very difficult to tell Bobby Singer no, about anything. "Touché."
Dean gave a small smile and turned back to the window, readjusted his arms in their defensive posture. "I promised him that I'd stay for the hour, but I didn't promise that I'd talk."
"It would stand to reason that he didn't send you here simply to partake of the view."
"Yeah, well, he can want me to talk all he wants. It ain't like I'm wasting his money or anything." It was true, I helped Hunters in my off hours for free. Back in the day I had been saved by Bobby Singer from a rather vengeful ghost. And when someone is saved by one of the men or women who hunted the things in the dark, you wanted to repay them, and often times it was damn near impossible to pay them no matter how strapped they were for cash. But you could barter. So, I bartered my services with Bobby Singer, and from time to time he sent me someone who really needed the help, and he'd been telling me about Dean and Sam for years, and this was the first time he had finally been able to get one of them to come, and it looked as if it had been more of a threat than a simple request.
"You bend a lot to the will of the ones you care for don't you?" Dean was silent, but the silence was thick and heavy.
"I respect the people I care for." He said guardedly.
"So, that's why you came today. Because you respect what Bobby says."
Dean turned, eyes narrowed. "Next, you're going to say that if I respect Bobby so much then I should talk to you, because that's what Bobby meant for me to do." I didn't say anything, I just simply watched him, men like Dean Winchester needed to be handled carefully, you couldn't push too hard, couldn't come at too fast. They reacted like a scared wild animal, their fight or flight response immediately activated, and neither reaction ended well. Dean threw his hands up and took a couple of measured steps towards me. It took all of my will power to sit still and not look as if his sudden movement startled me. I couldn't let him sense any weakness on my part, or he would never trust me.
Dean sighed. "I don't know what the hell he expected. He just said 'boy you ain't fine, you are going to go see Dr. Baily.'" Dean said in his best Bobby impression, and I had to admit it was pretty accurate. I smiled. Dean's face fell from one of amusement to one of thoughtful reflection and then said, "Bobby doesn't give many orders."
"Does that make a difference?" I asked cautiously. Dean shrugged and stepped back to the window and looked back out into the night. "What significance does an order have for you?" I waited patiently for a response. I was about to give up this line of questioning, try a different tact when he said:
"My dad gave orders." His voice was low and sad.
I paused and waited for more of an answer, and when one didn't come I followed up with, "Did you follow them? The orders?"
"I did." Dead end. This was going to be like trying to crack a coconut with a potato peeler.
"Tell me about your dad." I said, I had a feeling that his dad was the key to this.
He laughed. "Why should I tell you about my dad? I know I have daddy issues. Enough fugly bastards have said it to my face." He shook his head. "Why should I tell you about my dad? So you can say I'm screwed up because of my dad? Hell yeah I'm screwed up because of my dad! But me telling you about it won't fix it! It won't bring him back! It won't make this…" he reached and struggled for the words and finally rested on "disaster that is my life any better!"
He was looking at me now, eyes searching my face, my eyes for something. "It won't change your circumstances Dean. It won't change the events that have happened in your life, nor will it change what is currently going on in your life…"
"Then what's the point?" Dean asked hotly.
"It might change how you look at things. It might help ease some of the burden on your shoulders, make your load lighter."
"What a load of crap." He said after a few minutes of silence. He turned to face me. "That I a load of horse shit and you know it."
"Oh please. Don't go all reverse psychology on me. I may not have some fancy degree from…" He looked at my degrees hanging above my desk, "University of South Dakota, but I'm not stupid. I know when I'm being played."
"I'm not playing you Dean."
"Whatever." He reached for his coat and started for the door.
"We still have 20 minutes. You promised Bobby you'd stay for an hour." That stopped Dean in his tracks, hand just hovering above the door knob. He was thinking, he wanted to leave, but a promise made to a friend trumped his personal needs and wants. That was an interesting fact to discover.
He turned back to me, a fearsome expression in his eyes, he threw down his coat, he went back to his spot in front of the window, folded his arms once more.
"Giving your word to someone means something to you." I stated hoping that would open a new line of communication.
"Doesn't it to you?"
"Yes. But I don't think I'd stay somewhere that made me as uncomfortable and uneasy as this place does for you."
"Bobby's more than my friend. He's like family."
"And when a family member asks something of you, you do it?"
"Yeah. Doesn't everyone?"
"No." I said more quickly than I had wanted. Dean sensed the speed had weight behind it and he turned.
"Don't like your family?" He asked.
"I love my family." I smiled sadly. "They just don't like me much." Dean came closer rested his elbows on the chair in front of him.
"Oh, lots of reasons."
"My brother thought that we quit loving him when he up and left us."
"What do you mean?"
Dean shrugged. "He left for college, created a big to do in our family, and we didn't speak for four years. He told me a couple of years back, that he didn't call because he didn't think we loved him anymore." Dean looked down at his watch and then back at me. "Times about up." he put his coat on. "Think about that Doc." He popped the collar on his coat. "Can I go?" Startled I looked down at my own timer.
"Yeah, yeah. Your time is up." I put my professional mask back into place, sucked in a breath and asked, "Will you come back next week?" Dean shrugged and left closing the door softly behind him.