A/N: Originally written because I was having a crappy week and just wanted to indulge myself, though I hope other people may derive entertainment from this. Posted initially on Tumblr and AO3, and due to a good response, now posted here. Set around early season 10, post 10x03.

Disclaimer: This is the only site I do these on purely for the sake of tradition. I don't own Supernatural.

The Physician

Dean's knuckles rap sharply on the plain white door; the sound unnaturally loud in the disconcerting stillness. His eyes flicker around shiftily, glancing back down the stairwell and then scowling at the elevator with red tape tied across the grill. It had taken him to the 36th floor, but an unspecified fault had left him to take the remaining three on his own, leading him to the single loft at the very top of the building.

The ensuing silence drags out long enough for another wave of anxiety to perturb him. Should he have come? Did Sam buy his excuse? Not for the first time, the thought crosses his mind, feeling the familiar guilt at lying to his brother. Should I just have gone to Cas? Maybe I don't have to… There isn't quite enough time for him to fully consider walking away before he hears a voice from the other side: cold, female, British. Now he's committed.

"Who is it?"

The voice is harsh, demanding, and already Dean knows he's being scrutinized through the peephole. Mouth dry, he clears his throat before answering, "I, uh…I'm looking for Dr Carter."

"Not what I asked." The response is blunt, and he blinks. If he hadn't known what to expect before, he's even less certain now.

"My name's Dean Winchester."

Whether it was a good idea to tell the truth or not, it gets results. He hears the sound of a deadbolt being drawn back, and then the door opens a crack. Through the gap, Dean can see a woman eyeing him suspiciously, sharp eyes the color of steel. "What do you want with Dr Carter?"

From what he can see in the dim light, he'd guess she's in her early forties. Pale skin. Black hair drastically mismatched on either side of her face, like an undercut sloppily growing out. Sharp jawline. Freckles. The arm holding the door open has multiple puncture marks on the inside elbow, blossoming into a purplish-come-yellow bruise. All things considered, he really doesn't know what to make of that.

"Uh…" Dean licks his lips. "Medical advice."

There's a pause, and then she asks, "Can you pay?"

His only response is to reach into his jacket and take out the wad of bills to wave at her, which seems to satisfy. "Alright." She opens the door wider and stands aside, a sharp jerk of her head telling him to go in.

Nervously, he does, stepping past the threshold to view the apartment beyond. It's uninvitingly minimalist, to say the least. Grey carpet, two worn black leather couches in the central space surrounding a glass coffee table, and not much else. He expects there's more in the other rooms, although from what he can tell, the loft isn't divided into rooms so much as just partitions. Two floor-to-ceiling dividers break up the space he's standing in, enough to for him to see there are gaps instead of doorways, although he can't see enough to tell what's on the other side. Opposite the entrance, a huge window leading onto a narrow balcony takes up most of the wall. This is far from the tallest building in the city, but he could be on the twelfth floor or the eightieth for all Dean can see, the floors of neighbouring skyscrapers in both directions soon becoming lost to the fog. It doesn't seem to him that the interior of the apartment is much warmer than the outside, and he shivers.

"Alright, what can I help you with?" the woman asks as she shuts the door and bolts it, her tone cold and not sounding at all helpful. She strides past him to sit down on the couch facing away from the window, fixing him with a stare as if expecting him to sit opposite.

He blinks again. "You're Dr Carter?"

"No, I'm the fucking maid," she snaps back, and he actually feels a little cowed. Coming here is starting to seem more and more like a bad idea.

She seems to notice his discomfort and sighs, rolling her eyes before her expression softens just slightly. "Yes, I'm Dr Carter. Please, take a seat and tell me how I can help you."

The forced friendliness doesn't exactly put Dean at ease, but awkwardly, he crosses to the couch and sits down. "Right. I, uh… I know you're a doctor. For demons."

"Which you aren't," she states bluntly, one eyebrow raised as she casts a cool glance over him. It only makes him more nervous, and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, trying to avoid eye contact.

"No, but I was. I know you helps demons with damaged vessels, so I was wondering…"

"There's a cure for being a demon now?" she suddenly interjects, and he stumbles over his words. This should not be so unnerving.

"Uh…yeah. We found a ritual that does it. My brother cured me by injecting me with purified blood, but…the whole thing wasn't exactly smooth sailing. I'm worried there's been some lasting damage."

That's when he dares try to look her in the eye again, and feels another shiver runs down his spine as he sees her leaning forward in her seat with cold eyes boring into him. "Interesting," she remarks. "What kind of damage?"

"I don't know, but…I think my heart. I keep getting palpitations. Sometimes bad dreams, and I'll wake up with my heart pounding so hard it hurts." As if on cue, he can feel his pulse picking up, the Mark on his arm giving a twinge. He doesn't know yet if it's a good idea to mention that or not.

Now she leans back in her seat, a thoughtful expression on her face, and he isn't sure if that's better or worse than what she was doing before. "And you think I could do something to help you?"

He swallows. "Yes."

"Hmm. Well, I can't say I've ever dealt with a cured demon before, but you've intrigued me. I can certainly take a look at you, if that's what you want? Then we'll see about any treatments."

He knows that's what he came for. That's exactly what he came for, but now that he's here facing her, he's more nervous than ever. "Yeah, that's what I was hoping."

With no further preamble, she stands up. "Alright. This way."

Taken aback by just how quickly things are moving, but also with a strange feeling like she's just given an order that he has to obey, Dean gets up and follows.