Author's note: Double update.


"Only do not forget, if I wake up crying
it's only because in my dream I'm a lost child
hunting through the leaves of the night for your hands,
for your caresses like the wheat,
the flashing rapture of shadow and energy."

- Neruda, Sonnet XXI.


It took three months to finally get to the point of taking Sam and Dean home. They missed Christmas, New Year's Eve and Dean's birthday as well, which proves, once again, how much administration sucks. Jody feels like these were both the longest and shortest months of her life, but she has done it, the boys are sitting in her car now, and they will be on the road as soon as Donna's done saying her Last Minute Tips to Avoid the Apocalypse routine. This is a lovely day. Not even the crispy spring air could chase the smile off her face.

"...and don't touch Sam. That is, until he touches you first. Just don't."

"Got it."

"Oh, and Dean has a butterfly knife somewhere. I don't know how he got it."

"We know, Donna. Calm down. We'll be fine." Jody rolls her eyes and leans in for one last hug.

"Not to be a party pooper, but the kids are gettin' fidgety." Bobby grumbles behind her and gestures back at the car. By the looks of it, Sam is trying to wrestle the last Twinkie out of Dean's hand.

"Alright, we're going. I'll call if something comes up." She smiles and turns to open the passenger side door. As soon as she slides into her seat, the boys sit up and try to pretend nothing out of the ordinary happened back there. Their postures are indeed perfect, but Dean's bulging cheeks and Sam's angry scowl are dead giveaways.

"Something tells me someone has eaten all the Twinkies Donna gave you two." Dean's mouth is so full of food that he can't even protest. Jody is tempted to laugh, but she suppresses it into a grin and rummages around in her bag for the one she put away for herself. "But that someone didn't know about my secret stash."

She twists and holds the cake out for Sam. "This one's yours, sweetheart." Yeah, she's not above buttering them up with sweets. So sue her.

"Thank you!" Sam grins and takes it, shooting his brother a triumphant look.

Dean is in the middle of a glare when Bobby gets in behind the wheel at last. In her twisted position, Jody has a spectacular view of Dean's blood leaving his face and his back going ramrod straight. Interesting. She purses her lips and turns back around to look out the window, giving Donna a wave. Well, Dean is obviously wary of Bobby, which can go one of two ways. He will either be compliant until he realises her husband is all bark and no bite, or he will start acting out to fight an imaginary villain in him. Let's pray for the best.

It's gonna be strange, having them around all the time. They have spent time together on about a dozen occasions since that first meeting at the juvie, but this is going to be different. Jody has been up at the ass crack off down, checking everything over one last time. She can't curb her apprehension, Bobby seems to be doing a valiant job of that for the both of them. What are the boys going to think of their house? Are they gonna like it? She bets Sam will be excited by the library. The place's nothing close to Stepford-esque perfection, but it's theirs and she has tried to make it homey. They are gonna like it, right? Bobby helped her prepare two bedrooms upstairs, even though Donna told them numerous times that the kids are gonna huddle together at night. She is thinking ahead, because she has no doubt that once they have a modicum of stability, they will loosen the leashes around each other and start to occupy a healthier size of space. They gotta need some privacy at one point - Dean has just had his fifteenth birthday, bringing girls home must be an impending issue.

Lulled by the soothing sounds of the radio, she slips into a daydream of their future. How are they going to decorate their rooms, once they understand that they are staying? It's so exciting. Today, all their possessions fit into a pair of duffel bags. That just won't do. Once they are settled, she's gonna make sure they accumulate their own little treasures, books and posters and tacky teenager things she doesn't try to understand anymore.

They are so different, both in looks and personality, if it wasn't for those birth certificates with the unidentifiable smudges and stains, and the familiarity between the boys, she never would have guessed they are related. But they are, and it's gonna be so awesome to see what kind of paths they take. While Sam seems to shape up into one of those quiet, broody types, she can easily picture Dean blasting crass rock hits day and night. God, she can't wait.

"Go to sleep." She hears Dean's whisper from the backseat.

"Don't wanna." Sam whines back.

"You never wanna, but you always do." Dean drawls and Bobby gives her an amused glance. Kids, she imagines him saying.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

"Jerk."

They start to scuffle, so Jody twists to look at them once again. The low-key squabbling stops immediately and is replaced by a contrite expression and one set of puppy eyes. Dean's rather cocky than remorseful. "We've got four more hours to go, you can sleep if you want." She says. "I'll probably drop off too."

"I'm okay." Sam mumbles, but his head is drooping towards Dean's shoulder at a telltale angle. He has two fingers hooked into the hem of Dean's shirt, which Jody finds inexplicably cute.

"Tell me if you need anything." She smiles at Dean, who offers a nod back, then she lets them be. They'll have all the time to talk when they get home.


Two weeks in, they are still settling, more or less getting used to each other. Bobby's having a surprisingly hard time of it, because Dean has taken to following him around when he gets back from school. Jody has witnessed this particular phenomenon last Friday afternoon as she began mopping the porch, and nearly laughed herself sick. Bobby stomped across the salvage yard to fiddle with wathever he was working on and no more than a minute later, Dean was ambling after him, faux-casual. She stared, lips already tugging upwards. Then the moment she caught a glimpse of Sam running after his brother with a book in hand, she burst into giggles. It was like watching a pair of ducklings and their momma. She asked Bobby about it that night - was he teaching Dean or something? But no, it's all awkward and spontaneous, according to him. And the funny thing is, they don't even talk to each other. Dean just sits closeby and watches until Sam starts complaining about the darkness.

Jody's contemplating what to do about it when Bobby trudges into the kitchen, roused from sleep at last. "Morning." She smiles at him and offers a toast. He just grunts and bypasses her in favour of the coffee machine. "Why, aren't you a ray of sunshine today?"

"Those urchins carved sigils into the bedframe."

Jody makes an undignified snort into her coffee. She loves her husband's vocabulary. "Just play it cool, dear. They are still on the defensive."

"Don't I know it?" Bobby grunts. "Dean pulled his knife at me a second ago, after I dared shake his brother awake. Got mighty surprised when I told him to drop that toothpick."

"Bobby… I told you Sam doesn't like that. And you know why."

"I forgot."

She sighs. "Do you think we should confiscate that balisong?" Bobby grunts again. She deems it as a negative reply and stands up. "I'll go check on them."

"You do that."

She gives him a reassuring kiss on the cheek, then moves to go upstairs. Honestly, this man… He's got baseball scores basically imprinted into his hindbrain back to the early eighties, but the tiny snippet about their adoptive son's fear of touch escapes his mind. Well, she needed to speak to the kids anyway. She'll just have to suck it up if Dean's still feeling vindictive about the mishap.

She finds him sitting on the bed, digging his toes into the brand new carpet they bought for the room. Sam's nowhere to be seen. "Hey, Dean." She smiles and sits beside him.

"Hey."

"Did you have a good night?" His skin is pale and clammy, which makes Jody's pulse surge. What if he got sick? She has next to no experience with feverish children, can they take Tylenol?

"It was okay." Dean mumbles and looks up at her with tired eyes.

"Was it?" She gives the rumpled sheets a meaningful glance.

He turns away and picks up a tissue from the bedside table. "I had a nightmare."

"Wanna talk about it?"

Dean shakes his head. "It happens. But I got kinda sweaty, so… Sam's in the shower. I hope you don't mind."

Ah. That's a good sign. He might not have freaked out too badly then. "Not at all. We have an endless supply of hot water since Bobby tinkered with the heater."

Dean bites his bottom lip. "He and I scared each other this morning."

"So I've heard."

"Aren't you angry?"

"No. Why would I be?"

"Because of the knife?"

She gives him a considering look. "Were you going to hurt him?" Dean shakes his head. She knew he wasn't. These are nothing but defence mechanisms, she knows. They require patience. "No harm done, then. But I do hope you will feel safe enough to discard it one of these days."

"Me too." Dean admits quietly. They sit in comfortable silence until the faint sounds of singing drift over to them from the adjoining bathroom. Jody snickers. Yeah, Sam's not freaked out at all.

"Dean. I've wanted to discuss something with you." She begins. With Donna's help, she found the best psychiatrist within fifty miles, a guy who's rumoured to work miracles. It wasn't a piece of cake to get an appointment with him, but they got lucky. Now, all she has to do is convincing the boys to go. How hard is it gonna be to sell this idea?

"Okay."

"Bobby and I… we think it might be good if you had someone to talk to. Outside the family." Dean gives her a guarded look. She braces herself. "A psychologist."

"No."

"Darling -"

"No!" Dean snaps like a trapped animal, fight or flight response activated. "I'm not gonna let some shrink diagnose a bunch of crap, then drug me until I'm a vegetable and stick me into the madhouse for 'my own good'."

"Nothing like that is going to happen. I promise."

"If you try to take Sam away -"

Jody shakes her head. "No, no, no. Don't worry." She attempts a smile. "Please, just think about it. Can you do that?"

"I dunno." Dean mumbles and starts shredding the tissue in his hand. He keeps tearing it apart until the shower stops running. Then he scatters the pieces on the floor and sighs. "Yes. Of course, I can, Jody. I'll think about it."


Child psychiatry is one of the most rewarding, yet challenging jobs Castiel can think of. If he had to compare it to a two-dimensional shape, he would say it's a sine function graph. Endless, periodic ups and downs, with minute changes in amplitudes and vertical shifts. Except for dissociative identity disorder, maybe. That's like… a tangent graph. Or a polynomial function. He hasn't decided yet. Mathematical matters aside, Castiel loves his job and he loves it all the more when he manages to shepherd a little kid back on track. Some say he has celestial abilities (but come on, folks, he's just good at listening), some claim he read a lot (true, by the way). Talent or lack of it notwithstanding, he has days when he finds it difficult to drag himself home from his fancy-ass office. There are stories that suck the light right out of you until normal human behavior is an unfathomable trial to take. Do not choose this profession if you can't bear the weight of tragedy. The case of Sam and Dean Winchester is a textbook example of that, in his opinion.

Regarding their issues, Castiel is reasonably sure that he is faced with a rare one, a so-called folie à deux, a shared psychotic disorder. The disorder in question is the persecutory subtype of delusional disorder, which means they are highly functioning if you don't count the delusions clouding their minds. It's a relief, considering the much more worrying possibility of schizophrenia. Thank heavens, he can rule that out. According to his assessment, Dean is the primary case, the one who developed the disorder in the first place, and Sam's problems are only a side-effect of their proximity. In theory, separation would be the instant solution to the "shared" part of their diagnosis. However, it is virtually impossible without severing the only close bond they have at the moment, so that is a no go. They will have to take the longer path to recovery.

In a way, sessions with Sam are much easier than the ones with Dean. He is a willing participant and a generally chatty patient, but on the other hand, he keeps skirting around the sensitive parts like a trained expert. Dean has no such qualms, but he is emotionally detached and reluctant to be engaged. They don't make it easy for him. Today is the first time with Sam that Cas has felt a leak in his composure and it took him explaining his weirdass name to reach this level of openness with the boy. He is not about to waste the opportunity.

"Let's talk about demons, Sam." He skips straight to business. "How do they look like?"
Sam shrugs. "They look ordinary, because they can possess anyone. They are in the form of black smoke until they find someone they like and take over his body."

Sometimes he wonders if the real cause of psychosis is too much television. "How do you tell when someone's possessed?"

"Sometimes their eyes get really black, but it's the smell, mostly. Like rotten eggs." Sam's nose scrunches. "Mr. Peters smelled like that all the time. He would come home from work and I would have to pinch my nose shut until he took a shower."

So bastard foster parent was a stinking bastard with bad personal hygiene. Great. "Are you sure it was the demon-smell?"

"Yes. He used to say it was 'cause he worked at the factory where our father did, but we saw right through his lies." Sam leans closer and gives him a significant look over the coffee table between them. "Demons always lie or try to trick you. Don't make deals with them."

"I'll keep that in mind." Cas nods back and writes a note about that factory-thing. He's going to fact check it if he can. "He knew your father?"

"Not really. I don't think they talked to each other or anything. He didn't even know what he looked like. But our old case worker placed us with him because he thought it would make him familiar."

"You spent a year living with him and his family. Can you tell me what that was like?"

Sam swallows. "Horrible. It was… Dean called it Purgatory. Because we met a lot of monsters there." He is wringing his hands in his lap. Castiel waits him out - all their previous sessions hinted at something connected to this Alastair guy.

"He - He wanted to touch me sometimes, you know. Mr. Peters." Sam stutters. "That's why I don't like…" He looks away and hugs himself.

"Why you don't like to be touched by people you are not familiar with." He finishes gently for him.

Sam gives him a vulnerable look. "He didn't do anything, I swear."

Oh, how he wishes this wasn't something he heard from every third victim of sexual abuse. "You can tell me if he did. Everything you say stays in this room."

"He, uh, stroked my back, once. That's all." Sam admits quietly. "And walked in on me bathing or dressing up every now and then. I didn't know why, but he scared me, and when I told Dean, he flipped out. He said he was going to make a deal. From then on, he was watching me like a hawk and when Mr. Peters got weird again, he would do something stupid, like, attacking him and things like that. Then Mr. Peters always forgot about me and turned on him instead."

So far, everything fits the case history he put together. The primary case took ninety percent of the abuse. "What did he do to Dean?"

"Took him down to Hell. I'm not sure what happened there, but…" Sam takes in a ragged breath. "Dean was crying for me. I could hear it through the door." His eyes go shiny with tears, but he doesn't let them spill, so desperate for the semblance of control. Castiel feels the first little splinters of the day etch into his heart. "He was crying so loudly… I couldn't let him out, I tried, but I couldn't find the key."

"It's okay, Sam. It wasn't your fault."

"Then one day, I stole a hairpin from Mrs. Peters and Dean picked the lock with that. We ran away to our meetup place. To that playground I've talked about last time. And when our case worker picked us up, Dean showed him some bruises on his sides and we didn't have to go back to that house ever again."

"Thank God." Castiel shouldn't show judgement towards anyone mentioned, but sometimes he can't help it. The patients find it nice, usually, take it as a bit of change. Sure enough, Sam smiles a little and reaches for a tissue to blow his nose. "Maybe we should take a break from monsters and demons, what do you think?"

"Okay." Sam smiles a bit wider.

"How about memories? I'm really interested in your fondest one."

His grin turns bashful. "I don't know…"

"You can say anything you want here. It's between you and me."

"It's weird."

Castiel smiles with genuine humor. "No judgement here. I'm pretty weird myself, Sam."

"I think it happened before our parents died. The picture in my head is kinda blurry, but… I remember that I felt so safe." Sam starts, flashing a pair of dimples. "So safe, like nothing could ever hurt me. I don't think I've felt quite like that since. I was in a park or… or a forest. The wind was swishing through all these green leaves." He raises his hands as if to touch the memory-trees around him. "It was really hot, so I think it was summer. And Dean was holding my hand. We were going somewhere, I don't know where. He had Zach in his other hand."

"Zach?"

"My old stuffed animal. The only one left after the fire. Dean held him in one hand, gripped my fingers with the other. Don't worry, I think that's what he said. His hair was extra blond, because of the sunshine, I guess. And that's kind of everything." Sam shrugs self-consciously, dreamy look still in place. "I know it's weird, 'cause I have much clearer memories that might even be happier, but… This is from before, I think."

"It's a beautiful memory, Sam, thank you for sharing it."

"It's nothing."

"That's not true. It obviously means a lot to you."

Sam nods at his lap. "I have a few more. Mostly impressions, though."

"I'm interested in all your thoughts." Castiel coaxes. It's a strange thing, working on two cases all weaved together into one. Whatever he gets out of one boy, he can connect it to the other. It doesn't mean he would use it, because he is a firm believer of confidentiality, but it's enough that he knows.

"I think Mom had short, brown hair." Sam mumbles, then lets out a frustrated sigh. "I can't, I'm sorry. I don't really talk about the things that were before."

"You can talk to me now."

"I don't know where to begin."

"Why don't you start by telling me why you feel like you can't talk about your loss?"

"It's just… I've been too little to remember much, but Dean can't remember anything." Oh, yes, the amnesia. That's one of the most delicate issues in this can of worms, because how do you solve something that's virtually nonexistent? "When I told him about this one - I was seven, I think - he cried about it when he thought I fell asleep. He thinks I don't know. It hurts him that he can't recall the things that have been taken from us. So I won't talk to him about these."

"What about Jody? Are you afraid of talking to her?"

Sam shrugs. "No, but… these are really lame things. I don't wanna bother her."

"I have a nephew, Jack." Oftentimes, slipping in a personal story on his end does the trick and rolls the therapy forward. Castiel has just the right one for Sam today. "We meet almost every single week and each time when I come to visit, you know what he does?" Sam shakes his head. "He keeps going on and on about a bunch of mundane things they do in kindergarten. I know about every scrape he gets, every sandcastle he botches up and every cucumber sandwich he eats. And you know what? I love it. Because I care about him and I want to hear about the things that are important to him. It would never bother me."

"Do you think Jody cares about us?"

"I know she does, Sam." Castiel sees the impact before Sam is even done thinking about it. This wasn't an easy session, sure, but seeing that sort of hope? Worth every joule of mental energy Cas spent.


The first time Castiel is alone with Dean Winchester, they spend thirty minutes watching each other in silence. Establishing who's the alpha? Cool. Cas is a defending champion in staring matches.

"Christo." Dean hisses out at last, probably bored to death by Castiel's blue eyes. "Fuck, you didn't flinch. I was so sure you would."

"What are you doing, Dean?"

He gets a sizzling, hostile glare. "I'm wondering what kind of creature you are."

Castiel tilts his head to the side. He is going to do something very untraditional and risky here, but he has a gut feeling. He needs Dean to trust him and they need to be on the same page for that. Dean isn't in any state of mind to see Castiel's view, so he has to take it on himself to take a dip in Dean's world of delusions and pull him out from the inside. "What if I say, I'm an angel of the Lord?"

Dean scoffs, but he is definitely interested. "Angels don't exist."

"Why wouldn't they, if demons do? Where would be the balance then?"

"Balance?"

"Good and Bad. Light and Darkness. Sine and Cosine."

That earns him a 'what the hell' look. Alright, Cas has to admit that last simile has been a bit… outstretched. "I don't know." Dean squints at his shoulders. "Where are your wings?"

"I'm keeping them on another plane of existence." He says with his most earnest voice. He almost believes it himself. "They are too big."

His answer seems to get him a check in the box. "If you are real, then why didn't you come when we needed you the most? When those monsters -" Dean growls but cuts himself off before actually saying something substantial. Cas has quite an admiration towards his willpower.

"Angels make mistakes too. Our eyes can't always see through the shadows. But here I am now."

Another minute of excruciating silence follows. Then Dean crosses his arms. "Prove it. Convince me you are an angel."

Cas nods, takes a moment to think his words through, then goes for it. Breakthrough or setback. "I know how much you've done for your brother, Dean. You have given your body for his and that you would have given your life too."

Dean shrugs, but the tension in his limbs is anything but casual. "It was a fair deal."

"Such a deal can never be fair." God knows no one should have to make decisions like that. "I know you've been to hell and what has been done to you there. I'm aware that sometimes you still feel like you are back in that place, getting tortured by demons."

Dean's eyes are going from panicked to hopeful to distrustful, then back, full circle. He licks his lips. "You believe me?"

"I believe you are telling the truth about how you experienced these things. And I know there are times when you send your mind away to keep out the bad memories. I suspect it happens mostly when you are unsure of your brother's safety or location. Is that the reason why you sleep in the same bed with him?"

Dean's eyes snap to his. That's something he must have thought Cas didn't know. "How do you know about that?"

"I know many things Dean." Castiel leans forward and looks him square in the eye. "And I can do more. I will pull you out of the pit for good, if you let me."

Dean is silent for a long, long time, then his aggressively sprawling posture crumples in on itself and something cracks in his expression. He folds over his knees on the couch and Castiel almost sighs when he faces the young, hurt child underneath all that hardness for the first time. "I'm scared."

"It's alright, Dean, I'm here and I'm going to help you."


Dissociative amnesia is always a tricky thing to deal with. When memories get locked away from the conscious psyche, most of the time, the reason is their severity. The conscious can't cope with the extreme stress and the emotions attached to the event, so it chooses to split it off and tuck it deep into the unconscious. Castiel has seen patients without any recollection of their self and other cases struggling with only one hour of blackout. Dean is missing eight years. Five, if they don't count the normal period of childhood amnesia. The problem is, they could work on bringing the memories back, but there was a reason why the conscious rejected them - they are too much. It might be better if they didn't touch them. Faced with their harsh truth, Dean could just as likely develop a new type of psychosis that is much harder to cure or deal with. And Castiel believes that some lions should be left sleeping. Another issue they have to avoid is inducing false memories, especially because Cas is going to try hypnotic age regression to help him tap into whatever event that caused the delusions. Planting memories into a mind in trance is frighteningly easy, so he has to be careful how much he nudges Dean in the right direction. They are going to build an affect bridge to reach the Initial Sensitising Event, the one that started the malfunctioning thoughts. Although it will be up to Dean to bring up the feeling associated with it, Castiel can already guess that it's going to be fear, which is one of the hardest to witness without meddling too much. All in all, he knows this is going to be a hard session, and they have barely even started.

"As an angel, I have certain special powers." He says and Dean's eyes light up.

"What kind of powers? Can you heal wounds?" He asks excitedly.

Momentarily thrown, Cas replies. "Some kinds."

Dean nods, his usual determination on his face. He stands up, and to Castiel's horror, takes his shirt off and turns his back. "Can you heal these?"

The lines are thin criss-crosses over that smooth, pale expanse, marks never to be erased. Castiel knew they were there. He knew they got there from the hand of Dean's own father, his case worker cleared that up fast. But that doesn't change the fact that Dean shouldn't be half-naked in his office. He sighs and shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Dean. Please, put your shirt back on."

"It's alright." Dean complies, resigned. He plops back down on the couch and bows his head. "You're doing your best. I'm just too fucked up."

Many people would be surprised how little self-esteem this kid's hiding under his bravado. They are trying to boost it up, but Castiel's yet to get any results on that front. "You are not." The comment earns him the usual sceptical look. He decides to ignore it this time - they should start on the hypnosis soon. "Listen, Dean. One of my powers can help you go back in time for a short while."

"Really?"

"Yes."

He perks right back up. "How far back? Can I go to the Wild West? 'Cause man, I love cowboys and shit. Do I get to wear cool clothes too?"

Castiel fights down a smile. Kids can be the most adorable when you expect it the least. "That's not what I had in mind. I can send you back to the years before your parents died."

Dean goes very, very quiet. Eerily. He frowns at his fingers, picking at the seam of his jeans for almost an entire minute before he comes to a decision and glances up. "Can I see my mom again?"

"I believe I can do that."

He exhales hard enough that the leaves of Castiel's indoor plant ruffle. "Let's do it, then. Whatever you have to do, just go ahead, Cas."

God, this is going to be gruelling. He feels so much empathy for this child that he would give up the case if he knew there was anyone else who could deal with it. "It's not going to be easy. You will have to go through some of the worst moments you have experienced in your life. Maybe even hell. But don't worry, I promise I will bring you back unharmed."

Dean doesn't bat an eye. "Okay."

"It's going to feel like a dream. You will walk through time and space and I will be there with you all along the way. You won't be alone."

"Alright, Cas. Let's get to it." He smirks. Brave little brat.

"Close your eyes." Castiel leans back in his chair and makes his voice smooth and monotone. "Can you imagine making a fist so tight you couldn't possibly squeeze any tighter?"

"Yes."

"And can you imagine the opposite, relaxing your hand so much that you couldn't possibly relax it any more?"

"Yes."

"That's the quality of relaxation I want you to get. In a moment, I'm going to ask you to relax the muscles around your eyes so much, that as long as you hold onto that relaxation, your eye muscles won't work. Anytime, you could choose to be in control, and let go of that relaxation, and open your eyes, but you do that every day. I want you to stay in control by relaxing those muscles and not opening them."

"Okay."

"Now, I'm going to raise your hands and I want you to keep them where I leave them." He pulls Dean's hands forward and up to chest height. "Imagine that there are magnets on each of your palms, pulling your hands together. I want you to hold against that pull for a moment and when you feel like you can't possibly hold any longer, let your hands touch. Feel those magnets in your palms, pulling and tugging, tugging and pulling."

Dean seems to be pretty receptive, he's already giving up the control. "Your hands are moving closer. It's alright, Dean, let them come together." Cas waits until they are almost touching, then grabs them in his own grip and touches Dean's forehead. "Sleep."

The surprise and the firm command do it every time. Like the majority of his patients, Dean goes limp and slumps into his seat, falling into trance. Only a few steps now.

"In a moment, I'm going to lift your hand by the thumb, just a couple of inches, and drop it. I want you to let me do all the lifting and keep your arm relaxed. When I drop your hand, it will fall like a wet cloth." He lifts the hand without any resistance and it falls the same way. The hypnosis is working. "Now, I want you to count back from a hundred like this: 100… deeper relaxed. 99… deeper relaxed. With each number, you fall deeper into sleep. Your mental relaxation doubles every time. After just a few numbers, you will have relaxed your mind so much, that there won't be any more numbers left to say. You will have relaxed them right out of your mind. Begin now."

"100… deeper relaxed. 99… deeper relaxed." Dean recites obediently. He sounds so loose and defenseless, Cas is tempted to stroke his hair.

"That's right. Push them out of your mind. Let them fade away."

"98… deeper relaxed. 97… deeper relaxed. 9...96… deeper relaxed."

"All gone?"

Dean nods. The Elman induction is finished. They have reached somnambulism, the deepest level of hypnosis. And here comes the hard part. "And now your attention goes to the feeling of the shoes upon your feet. A wave of relaxation washes over you. Now to your pants touching your legs." He works his way up to the top of Dean's head, then starts building the affect bridge. "And now your attention goes to the feeling inside of you that you don't like, that has everything to do with why you have come here to see me today."

Dean finds it fast - it must have been on the surface. Cas sees it in his eyebrows, in the blanching skin, in his very being. Fear, bone-crushing fear. "I can see that you have become aware of the feeling, because your breathing has become faster and your face is turning white. And now as I count from 1 up to 5, that feeling grows inside of you, like a fountain flowing up from inside of you."

Cas hates to see this part, but it's necessary. He can't reach Dean's locked up memories otherwise and the traumatizing event is there. They have to go through this. "Now, I want you to imagine that this feeling is a bridge to the very first time you felt this way. In a moment, I will count from 1 up to 5 and when I say now, you will go back to an earlier time when you felt this way." He counts, then mentally crosses his fingers. "Now."

Dean's face tenses and relaxes, then tenses up again, worry lining his brows. He went back. But to which point? "How old are you, Dean?"

"Fourteen."

Cas frowns. They are only a year back, at most. That means they definitely have to dig further. "Where are you?"

"In the park. Our meetup place."

"Are there other people with you?"

"Sam." Dean almost sighs. "Sam is with me."

"What's happening?"

"It's raining. He is sitting in a swing. He is crying into my stomach. His head is bleeding. I can't stop it, my hands are shaking. His foster parents did this to him. They are trying to take him away from me."

Damn, he will have to prod about this too on their next session. Dean was so good at pretending to be casual about it, that Castiel foolishly dismissed the event last time. Amateur mistake. "He is going to be alright, Dean." He says to placate him. "They won't take him away. Now, I want you to focus on that feeling inside you. I will count from 1 up to 5 and when I say now, you will go back to an earlier time when you felt this way." He counts. "Now."

Dean's face does another series of contortions, then he lets out a whimper. "How old are you, Dean?"

"Ten."

"Where are you?"

"In Hell."

Cas closes his eyes for a moment. He suspected this was coming. "Where is hell?"

"In Alastair's cellar."

"Are there other people with you?" Dean shakes his head, expression numb. "Where is Sam?"

"On the other side of the door. Alastair is talking to him."

"What is he saying?"

"That he is going to strap him too if he lets me out. That I deserved it for disobedience. He will shut me into the dog kennel next time. I don't wanna go to the dogs. They are hellhounds with big teeth. It's so dark in here. I'm cold. My back hurts. I taste blood."

Castiel tightens his jaw. "Focus on my voice, Dean. I'm here with you and we are going to leave this place. Now, I want you to concentrate on that feeling inside you. Let it spread in you and show the bridge to the very first time you felt it. In a moment, I will count from 1 up to 5 and when I say now, you will go back to an earlier time when you felt this way." He counts. "Now."

Dean goes whiter than a sheet. His eyes are moving back and forth behind his eyelids. "How old are you, Dean?" No answer comes. Castiel resists the urge to wake him up that very moment. "I'm here. Focus on my voice. How old are you?"

"Eight." He answers in a voice so quiet and high it's barely recognisable.

"Where are you?"

"Home."

"Are there other people with you?"

"Mom. Baby." A pause. "Dad."

"Who's Baby?"

"My brother."

"What's happening?"

"Dad is home. He smells funny. He is angry. Mom is crying. Baby's crying. Dad hates noise when he is angry. Baby's too small, he doesn't understand. He is too loud. I have to protect my brother. I have to protect my brother. No!" Dean cries out and Cas has to bite back a yelp. "No! I'm here! I'm louder!"

Jesus, this is deteriorating fast. "Listen to my voice, Dean. He can't hurt you. He can't hurt your brother either. He can't touch you. You are safe." As much as he wants this whole thing done, Cas still has to check if this is the ISE or not. "Now, I want you to concentrate on that feeling inside you. In a moment, I will count from 1 up to 5 and when I say now, you will go back to an earlier time when you felt this way." He counts. "Now."

Dean's face remains the same. "How old are you, Dean?"

"Eight."

"Where are you?"

"Home. With Mom and Baby. Dad is back from work."

"What is he doing?" Oh, how he hates this question.

"He punishes me for being loud. He says I'm annoying. I have to take my shirt off. I'm scared. But Baby's safe. Dad has a belt. He takes it off. It has a metal buckle. It hurts. He says I'm bad. My back feels wet."

Wet from the blood. Christ. "You're doing so well, Dean. Just a little bit more. Focus on my voice. Where is your mother?"

"Mom is with Baby. She is afraid. Dad is angry. His eyes…" Dean's voice breaks and he starts convulsing every other second. He's reliving it. "His eyes are black, his eyes are black, he smells like… a demon, he is a… a demon… monster… a de- a demon…"

"Listen to my voice, Dean. I'm here. Look at his eyes again. They are angry, they are bloodshot, but they aren't black." This is the key, Castiel thinks. If he can twist these delusions into reality again, they will affect all the others, even if they remain unconscious.

"They aren't black." Dean repeats, crying and flinching rhythmically. "He smells like demon."

"What does a demon smell like?"

"Rotten eggs."

"I want you to take a deep breath of this smell. That's the smell of the factory your father works at. Remember that smell, Dean."

Dean whimpers again. "My back hurts. It hurts."

"It's alright. I want you to look at your Mom, Dean. When you look at her, there is a feeling inside you, a good feeling. I want you to focus on that feeling. Let it wash over you. Let it chase away the bad feelings and build a new bridge. In a moment, I will count from 1 up to 5 and when I say now, you will go back to an earlier time when you felt that good feeling." He counts. "Now."

Like magic, the crying stops. The blood flows back to Dean's face and his expression turns serene. "How old are you, Dean?"

"Seven."

"Where are you?"

"Home. In my bed."

"Are there other people with you?"

"Mom."

"Where is your brother?"

"In Mom's tummy." Castiel raises his eyebrows. He's not sure he understands. They are so deep in trance, how is it possible that the memories are all jumbled up like this? Sam was three at the time, she couldn't have been pregnant. Or… Did she have a miscarriage?

"What is she doing?"

"She is telling me about Baby. That he is going to be with me forever. That I'm his big brother and big brothers take care of little brothers. She asks me if I'm going to keep him safe." Dean smiles. "I promise, Mom."

"What does your Mom look like?"

"She has golden hair. She looks like a princess. Her eyes are green, like mine. She says she loves me. She lets me talk to her tummy. She says Baby hears it."

Cas really needs to stop this now, he is drained of his emotional supplies. "I want you to hold onto this feeling, Dean. In a moment, I'm going to count from 1 up to 5 and when I say wake up and touch your forehead, I want you to open your eyes and leave this dream. You will be completely relaxed and full of energy. You will only remember this last dream. You will remember your Mom and Baby in her tummy. You will not remember your father. I'm going to count now." He counts, then touches Dean's forehead. "Wake up."

Dean blinks into full consciousness within three seconds. "Did it work?" He starts, eyes wide. "Cas, I can - She had blonde hair, didn't she?" He breathes and smiles with all his teeth, the last of his tears spilling from his eyes. "Cas, I can remember her face! She - She was talking to me and kissed my cheek." He wipes at his face, then frowns at his damp fingertips. "Did I cry?"

Cas forces out a curl of lips. "Time travel can do that to you. But everything is okay. It went very well. You were great."

Dean grins all the wider at the praise. "Thank you. Thank you so much." He's one big ball of happy excitement, but Castiel has run out of strength to play along. He lets Dean leave ten minutes early, then collapses onto his own couch, rubbing his eyes. He will have to cancel his dinner with Balthazar (again). Stupid sine function graphs.


On a Thursday night in April, Jody finishes her nightcap and decides to head up to sleep. She stops by the boys' room for a moment, intending to leave as soon as she checked on them, but the end of a whisper reaches her and makes her pause. She knows she's eavesdropping, but she wants to know so much, she can't stop herself from lingering around the doorway.

"- should try sleeping in separate beds."

"I know. We should." She doesn't hear Sam's answering mumble, but Dean's deeper speech is audible. "Yeah. Me neither. This way I know you are still here."

That seems to make Sam raise his voice. "We have a forever family now, Dean. They won't take me away." Now it's Dean's answer she doesn't hear, from her foolish heart pounding in her ears. "They aren't. But we can still love them, right?"

Jody takes a step back and smiles to herself, warmth blossoming in her chest. I hope you will, Sam, she thinks and takes a step away, only to stop dead in her tracks once more.

"Cas helped me remember Mom today." Dean murmurs and Jody's stomach backflips, she is so glad to hear that. It must mean the world to finally see the face you've wanted to recall for almost as long as you knew it. "She… she had blonde hair. Kinda curly. And green eyes, like mine, you know? She was pregnant. We were talking in my bed and she kissed my cheek." Jody hears sniffing and shaky breaths, then a watery laugh. "Her nose was all girly, like yours."

"I don't have a girly nose!" Sam squawks and the bedframe creaks and groans under shifting weights for a few seconds, then it goes quiet again. "Do you think next time he would take me back too?"

Dean hums. "Time travel is dangerous. I could see it took a toll on Cas too, he was beat. You can't go, I'm sorry. But I'll tell you every detail I find out, okay?"

"Promise?"

Jody sighs and does what she should have done minutes ago, goes to the master bedroom and lies down next to her custom snore machine. She didn't need to hear Dean's answer to know what he said.