"The weary one, orphan
of the masses, the self,
the crushed one, the one made of concrete,
the one without a country in crowded restaurants,
he who wanted to go far away, always farther away,
didn't know what to do there, whether he wanted
or didn't want to leave or remain on the island."
- Neruda, The weary one
Termination. Sounds cold, doesn't it? When you are on the brink of ending a meaningful relationship in your life, you don't think of it as terminating a contract or an indoor insect invasion, do you? You think of saying goodbye or reaching closure, accomplishing something warmer and far less clinical than that term. Still, that is the accurate jargon for the process Castiel is going through with Dean, therefore he has to handle it as such. Termination, the mutual ending of services between a client and a therapist. It's not a simple goodbye, and certainly not a see you later. In all probability they will never see each other again after their last sessions are over. Because, as much as the parties would like it, a therapist can't be their patient's actual friend, only their "professional" one. The unequal balance of power in such a dual relationship would have the potential to be harmful.
Countertransference. Another dry word. Developing positive or negative feelings toward a client. How could that even begin to cover how you feel about a boy you pulled out of his personal hell by jumping after him? Most of the time, Cas is glad to see his patients go, because it usually means they are faring better or at least moving on with their lives. But with Dean, he has been in trouble for a long, long time now. He doesn't have an apposite explanation for it. He knows only that rediscovering a forgotten childhood together constructed a bond he is inadvertently taking home with himself at the end of each workday.
Forsaking their tie isn't easy on Dean either. They went through this once before. Two years ago, after Dean declared he didn't want to keep trying to put together the fragmented mass of memories they recovered from his pre-traumatic history. The termination wasn't successful that time - Dean came back a year later, looking quite the worse for wear, with new issues in tow. In theory, they could keep working together despite his impending nineteenth birthday. However, Castiel isn't qualified to treat adults in that capacity and it would benefit Dean more to find someone else.
It doesn't help that they can't make much progress regarding "the Sam-thing" either. Dean clams up as soon as Castiel prods at that can of worms and since he seems to have reached a conclusion about his other problem (what to do after graduation), there's not much else to talk about. As it often is these months, Cas finds himself facing a mute and resistant partner, who wants to open up but is too afraid to do so. An oddly nostalgic picture.
"How are you?" He asks after five silent minutes of examining Dean's muddy boots.
"Fine." Dean sighs, rubs the circles under his eyes. "Tired."
Castiel sends him a soft smile, but it goes unnoticed. "What about your brother?"
There's only the shortest of pauses before Dean fakes a cheery answer. "He's doing well. So freakin' smart, Cas. I swear he could graduate now if he wanted and he's just a freshman. Still has that girlfriend of his. Such a poster couple." He smiles without humor. "He's happy."
Let's dig deeper, then. "Have you told him about your plans?"
He has been concocting them ever since last May. Going on a road trip, leaving Sam behind. Giving him an out of the unhealthy obsession he has for Dean. It's not the best course of action and neither is it the wisest. But once his mind was set, Cas couldn't talk him out of it, and in the clinical sense, it's not an unfounded idea. Separation, if maintained long enough, could help with limerence and Castiel has a strong suspicion that Sam has limerent feelings that have branched off his childish hero-worship. Dean's attraction, on the other hand, is a twisted manifestation of anxiety - excessive need for the attachment figure's closeness without sexual intent. Kissing, even though Dean believes otherwise, does not necessarily involve more than that platonic want. To treat Dean's problem well and without pain, Dean should be willing to do the separation step by step, not jumping right in with his usual all-or-nothing attitude. Alas, Castiel is not a magician. He won't be the one to convince him.
As expected, Dean shakes his head. "It's not exactly a joyride. I don't wanna upset him."
"It'll be worse if you leave it to the last minute."
"I know, just…" Dean shrugs and looks away, swallowing his lips. The seconds tick by and he takes in deep breath after deep breath until there are tears welling up in his eyes and spilling over his eyelashes in two perfect lines. His shoulders start shaking in suppressed trembles, his control visibly slipping away and taking Castiel's right along with it. In general, he shouldn't touch his patients besides handshakes or the taps during hypnosis. But seeing Dean so distraught affects him in a way he can't ignore, countertransference issues notwithstanding.
"Oh Dean…" He sighs, sits next to him on the couch and strokes a comforting hand over his shoulders. "You don't have to do it."
"It's for the best." Dean blinks into the harsh light of the overhead lamp to ward off his tears. "You know how I… you know I have to. Just 'cause you love someone doesn't mean you should stick around and screw up their life."*
Castiel's heart does an extrasystole. "Dean, do you trust me when I say there are other ways to handle this?" Another shake of the head. "Please do. You aren't sick. You aren't the first person I've met who felt a similar attraction."
Dean lets out a disbelieving chuckle. "So it's completely normal then that I want to kiss my own brother?"
"No." Cas gives him a firm look. "But it doesn't make you a bad person and it's not something you can't change." He squeezes Dean's shoulder. "I can help you find an adult psychologist or you could attend the psychodrama group I've told you about."
For the first time since the beginning of this session, Cas sees a flash of green directed at him. "Your brother's group?"
"Yes. Gabriel is very apt in treating familial problems."
"You're a bunch of geniuses, aren't you?" Dean's eyes start swimming again, despite his genuine smile.
"We try our best." Cas smiles back and when Dean raises his arms to initiate a tentative hug, he recites the principles of beneficence and nonmaleficence and lets it happen. He can't be Dean's friend when his therapy ends, but damn if he isn't going to be one until it goes on.
Sam can't believe this is happening. He can't believe Dean has waited until the very last day to tell him that he is going away. For an indeterminate period of time. Fucking coward. Sam's not an idiot, he can put two and two together. Dean is leaving, because his little brother is a freak of nature and he does not bear the sight of him anymore. It's fine. All fine, sure. It's not like he's gonna die. No, he will just… shrivel away a little, stop breathing, maybe? Honestly. How the fuck is he supposed to go on now that the only person who stuck by his side through all the shit life has thrown his way is leaving too? How is he gonna get up with this deep an ache in his chest?
"Sammy, darling. Don't you want to come eat with us?" Jody coaxes, whispering in his ear and carding her fingers through his hair. It's all fine. Sam has spent the whole day (the last one, the very last) curled up in his bed, staring at the wall and clutching his ugly, old toy to his chest. Zach understands, he is sure. He doesn't want to eat. He doesn't want to want. He doesn't even care that Jody called him by that (stupid, stupid, precious) nickname. "I made your favourite."
It has been going so well for a while after their fight last year. Sam threw himself headfirst into his relationship with Jess, then high school came along, and soccer and lacrosse and Math Club, and it seemed like they were going to survive Sam's infatuation like everything else before. He got a working phone (finally) and a customary awkward birds-and-bees talk from Bobby, met Jessica's parents, introduced Jody as his Mom and did not feel the slightest bit weird about it at all. Then Dean goes and pulls something like this shit. "I want to see what I'm good for in the real world." Bullshit. "Everyone takes a gap year, why can't I?" Utter crap. Dean does not want to go to uni at all. He is leaving and he isn't going to come back again.
The worst thing is that Sam truly thought that they were over it. Dean started working at Bobby's garage and horsed around with him like they did when there was no tension behind too-long looks or straying touches. That twinge of want was barely there at all. Sam was happy, and now it's shot to shit. They even found the remains of a crashed Chevy Impala in the salvage yard and put it back together - well, Sam did the finding, Dean the repair - and now the bastard is leaving in that beautiful, sleek black car they have dreamt of for an eternity of moving around.
"You have to eat something." Jody insists, rubbing the back of his neck. Sam rarely ever lets anyone touch him there, that's the point where Alastair used to grab him when he wanted to threaten his brother. But it feels good now, and he trusts Jody almost as much as he imagines he would trust his biological Mom.
"I'm not hungry." He croaks out and curls up tighter. "My head hurts." It does not. He just wants to be alone.
"Alright, sweetheart." Jody sighs and leans down to kiss his temple before standing up. "I'll bring you a painkiller."
"Thank you."
He waits until her footsteps retreat, then fishes his earbuds out of his bedside table, plugs them into his phone and pretends he is listening to music, so that he doesn't have to talk to anyone who comes up next. It's not a long wait until he hears his bedroom door creak and his mattress dips under a much heavier body than before.
"Hey, kiddo." Dean starts, voice laced with remorse already. "I've brought your medicine."
Sam doesn't answer. He keeps his eyes resolutely closed and wills himself not to flinch when Dean places the cup of water and the pill on the bedside table and lies down behind him. His heart seems to be plenty interested in this turn of events, because it tries to climb up Sam's throat, but he swallows it back down along with treacherous saltwater that attempts to spill out of his body. Dean doesn't deserve to see that. He doesn't deserve anything, not one drop.
"I know you are angry." Dean whispers and pulls one of his earbuds away. He doesn't comment on the lack of music - he most likely knew it anyway. "But I promise I'll call and write and send you postcards, anything you want. You'll barely notice it and I'll be back again, harassing you while you're trying to do your homework."
Sam can't stifle a wavering smile and gingerly, he turns around until they are face to face. "I want pictures of the most ridiculous things you can find."
Dean grins, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Done. Anything else, your highness?"
Sam shakes his head, because no news, what he wants is what he can't have and he is tired of reaching for it in vain. He closes his eyes and curses his allergy, because it blocks his airways and it ruins what might be the last time for a while that he gets to smell his brother. He burrows close enough to get a whiff that even his stuffed nose processes and tries to let go. Dean roots around and comes up with Sam's phone, unlocks it and finds Sam's playlists. Maybe it's instinct, or maybe it's a secret mind-reading talent he hasn't fessed up about, but he chooses the one with the songs Sam used to listen to when they first started sleeping apart. The list of light guitar hits and calming tunes that always helped him drift off when the distance was too much, and despite himself, despite how much he fights, Sam falls asleep within minutes to Dean's hand on his back and his scent clouding his mind.
He wakes up to an empty bed and a silent house that almost makes him hurl the moment his brain catches up. He takes a pained breath and rushes into Dean's room (empty, so empty), throws himself into the bed and imagines it's not cold sheets around him, but warm limbs with the same smell. He watches the clean spot in the dust on the nightstand where their photo used to be and prays that his parents won't make him go to school because he isn't sure he can walk today.
Cassie always thought of herself as a wonderer. She's the type of girl who asks questions, even if she does not voice them to every person she encounters. That's why she thought journalism would be a fitting major - she is curious, confident and has a knack for literacy. When she met Dean Winchester, in his black muscle car and disarming smile, her limbs tingled with the excitement of adventure. She knew he wasn't a keeper. He fell into bed easily and fell out of it just as fast, leaving women behind with all but a waft of the spicy tea they wanted to drink. Cassie - well, she took it as a challenge. She tricked him into thinking he was wooing her when it was the other way around, distracted him with the sway of her hips until it ended in the most intense affair she has ever had in her young life. They fucked and kissed and devoured each other till it felt like there were hardly any secrets left that their bodies didn't give away. But she hasn't seen his back. In their two months of a heatwave, not once. And now, with him on the edge of sleep next to her, she begins wondering again.
How many stories do our bodies hold? Do they remember every touch, every movement, every stroke of the sun? Do these white lines her nails draw around the peak of a nipple remain there, hidden only to human eyes? If she could see better, read bare skin and muscles better, would she know an entire life? Could she explore it like a book?
"What are you thinkin' about?" Dean's chest rumbles. A drop of sweat cascades into his belly button. Her fingertips follow and settle in the valley of his stomach, over millions of other touches, a new line in his book.
"Your body." Cassie presses the indent of her lips into his shoulder.
He chuckles. "Yeah? What about it?"
Muscles tighten, grooves sink deeper, pelvis rolls up. Cassie lets her hand slide lower, but not to the place he wants her to cover with invisible imprints. "How did you get this?"
"Fought a dragon, once." Dean smirks and shifts, the stretched scar tissue on his hip shying away from her. It does look like a burn. He moves on top of her, leaves entire pages on her inner thighs, on her neck, between her breasts, but she wants to stop writing and start reading the story for once. She wants to know him for more than just the marks sex paints on his skin.
"Fire-jumping?" She prods, pushing him away. "Drunken dare?"
Dean sighs and leaves the grip of her legs again, lies back beside her. "It's just a tiny spot. Could have gotten it anywhere."
"Cigarette burn? No, it's not round enough…"
"Okay, okay. I'll tell you, but you have to promise you'll keep my secret." She nods, eyes wide. Will he open up? Is it going to be this easy? Oblivious to her thoughts, he lowers his voice in exaggerated secrecy. "I'm a superhero by night."
Her sigh of disappointment ruffles the ends of his short hair. "You always do that."
"What?" He frowns.
"Whenever we get close, anywhere in the neighbourhood of emotional vulnerability, you back off. Or make some joke. Or find any way to shut the door on me."**
There's a seemingly endless silence after that. She lies back and plays him like a fiddle, pretends to be over it and finding him boring for his reticence. He appears baffled by that - he must have expected insistence or straight up fawning over his mystery. He goes for a kiss and she lets him, but doesn't reciprocate and it's visible how he begins giving up, because he wants to win her over that much.
"You know that I was adopted." He starts, faltering as if he has never told this story before. She nods. "My parents - my biological parents died in a house fire when I was eight. So, uh, I guess I got it there. I don't know how."
She raises her eyebrows. "You don't?"
He looks like a fish out of water, sweating and rubbing his neck. "My old memories are all scrambled up. I sort of remember holding something - my brother, maybe - and looking up at the fire, but… It feels like fishing in the dark. I don't even realise there's something on the hook. Just…" He flaps a hand around. "absolute darkness."
She arrives to a dawning realisation. "You have amnesia."
Dean hums in affirmation. "Told you, Cassie. I'm really messed up." He closes his eyes and drops back into the pillows. "Now let's sleep or go back to what we are actually good at."
That makes her smile. "Do you always go for sex when you are insecure?"
"I'm not insecure." He glares and finally, he has something to prove.
She goes for it without hesitation. "Can I see your back then?"
"You won't stop nagging me, will you?" Dean shakes his head, looking annoyed. "You heard my little sob story. Isn't that enough?"
"I'm going to be a journalist, Dean. I have to be able to reach the bottom."
He gives her a long look, then sets his jaw, scowling. "Yeah, well. That is rock bottom, Cassie." He warns, then turns over and buries his face in the crook of his arm.
For a second, she has flashes of the possibilities she made up in her mind ever since she touched him there, tattoo job gone wrong, band fighting, car accident and yes, even fire, but she didn't think of thin lines that she can't imagine as anything else but signs of abuse. There's a cigarette burn or two on his right flank, but the majority of them are stripes, some barely visible, one raised and running down from his shoulder blade to his buttock. That must have been a knife. It takes severe force or truly dreadful tools to leave a person with marks like these. She's unsure of what to say. Does he expect a sorry? Not, if she knows him right. What about anger? She has never thought she possessed motherly instincts, but they must have been dormant only, because at the moment, she could rip the culprits into shreds. But he must have seen that reaction plenty of times before. Maybe, all he needs is a bit of casual sympathy, for her to treat those scars as if they weren't so far out of the normal range of experience - because for him, they are not.
"Not gonna ask?" He breaks the silence, words muffled.
"No." She shakes her head and leans over to kiss some of those marks, then wraps her arms around his stomach and rests her head between his shoulder blades. She's curious, but she doubts that would prompt Dean to open up. He shudders.
"My… my father and one of my fosters… they..." His nervous laugh rumbles in his chest. "This is uh, a first for me."
"You don't have to tell me."
"I kinda want to now."
She smiles into his skin. "Okay."
"They were always sort of violent. Kicking up chairs, breaking glasses, the usual stuff. A few slaps to us here and there. Nothing too terrible. Then for one reason or another, they went after my brother. It's always easier to go for the weaker, the little one, you know? I had to step in." He says it with such terrifying conviction that Cassie shivers. How much do you have to love someone to take all this? Would everyone do this for their sibling? Being an only child, it's very hard to imagine. "They used belts and straps. Mostly. And… sometimes other stuff. Alastair got creative after a while. Most of the marks are from him. He cut away my clothes once, 'cause I refused to take them off. That's the, uh, the long one."
She slides off his back and worms her way under his folded arm until she is breathing in the same air, resting on the same pillow. "Don't be ashamed of them."
"I'm not. Just don't wanna explain it over and over again. People wouldn't understand that I asked for it."
"Being forced into an impossible choice isn't asking."
"My therapist used to say the same thing." Dean smiles listlessly. "That's just the way it is. Nobody hurts my brother while I'm still breathing on my own."
"You're a good brother." She murmurs, trying to cheer him up.
Dean just purses his lips and drops his arm to her bare waist, eyes distant. "I left him behind in Sioux Falls."
"Why don't you go back and visit him?" He doesn't answer and she can sense that this thing called openness tires him out, so she just kisses his brow and settles in for sleeping. "I know you have secrets. Everyone does. But if you are going to leave in a week or two anyway, why not tell them?"
"Maybe I don't want to leave." He replies. Half an hour before, that would have made her heart speed up. But now she sees the thing she couldn't figure out before, what made Dean so irresistible to all the girls in town - the longing he radiates. They wanted to be the one to fill that place for him, but never realised it's already filled, somewhere far away.
"I know you will." She tells him gently. "There's something else out there, calling for you."
"I could do it. I could stay if you asked me to."
"I won't. You either do or don't, it's your choice. I won't put pressure on either. But you know, Dean..." She closes her eyes and tangles their fingers together. "Usually, things get worked out. When you really want them to."**
…
Notes: You're the first who noticed that detail, Angels falling! Thanks for the lovely reviews.
* quote from 6.21 "Let It Bleed"
** quotes from 1.13 "Route 666"
