BREATHE CHAPTER 14

"Alright, you've taken a very important step towards regaining control of your life: you've made a choice. Life is no longer controlling you; you are now in charge of it. How does that feel?"

"Like I'm wasting my time here, and need to get back out there, hunting things," John growled, and for the first time Caroline felt the danger emanating off of the man.

"Understood, but we're not quite done yet. We still need to identify the things that you would like to change in how you've been interacting with your sons-and the things that you want to keep the same."

"Fine. Let's get it done."

Caroline inhaled deeply, held it, then released it slowly, carrying her new fear of this man away with it. "Two sons, two very different approaches to them. Roughly we need to make certain that you don't drive Sam away, but, more importantly, we need to make absolutely certain that you never brutalize Dean again. Or Sam, for that matter."

"I told you: I've never hit Sam."

She cocked her head in an inquisitive motion that bizarrely reminded John of a small bird. "Why is that, do you suppose?"

He rolled his eyes. I am so ready to be done with this. "He's Sam. We protect him, we don't hurt him."

"Why Sam, though? Why does that not apply to Dean?"

"Because Sam's the baby. Dean and I both protect him."

"John, I've never met Sam, but Bobby's told me about him. He's seventeen years old and, what, six feet tall?"

John shrugged.

"He's been hunting with you for at least five years, correct?"

"Yeah."

"So he's hardly a baby."

John shifted uncomfortably, making the wooden chair creak.

"This is another common reaction to experiencing random violence: you're locked into the pattern that was established during that incident: you and Dean, protecting Sam."

John sighed, expelling irritation.

"I realize that this is starting to sound like a broken record, but there are things that your mind does, John. They are subconscious reactions that are meant to protect you in the short-term, but in a perfect world, the conscious mind analyzes and adapts for a sustainable long-term solution. When we sublimate rather than cope, that integration between subconscious and conscious doesn't occur, and we get trapped in a defensive phase that was never meant to continue."

John shifted again. Startin' to feel like a kid in the principal's office. "Alright, so what do I have to do?"

Caroline shook her head. "There's no short-term solution that I know of. Cognitive behavioral therapy, group therapy, those are the traditional methods of assisting people who are suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. Eye movement desensitization and reprocessing is a newer, controversial therapy that may work more quickly, but I don't know of anyone who is practicing it at this time. I can look into it if you're interested."

"I ain't sitting around with...I won't do group therapy."

"Understood."

"And I ain't interested in being a guinea pig for something controversial. How long's this cognitive behavioral thing take?"

"It varies. I typically start with twice weekly therapy sessions. With civilians that can continue for months before both the client and I are comfortable decreasing to once weekly, then twice monthly sessions. From hunters I take what I can get when I can get it."

John smiled grimly. "Sounds like Dean."

Caroline looked startled, then laughed. "Well...yes, I suppose that could be a double entendre."

"So obviously I fall into the 'hunter' category. How we gonna play this?"

"I still want to have a list of specific behaviors or interactions with each son that you would like to change, and a plan for how to do that. Then I'll give you some tools for helping to manage your anger and recognize the signs that indicate that an incident may be imminent. Finally, I'm going to assign you some reading and writing exercises."

John groaned. "Did I tell you I hated school? Particularly English classes?"

Caroline smiled, patting his hand. "Consider it retribution."

Level eyes met hers. "Fair enough."

Meridiana cupped her daughter's chin in her hand, forcing the younger succubus to meet her gaze. "You need to collect him."

Zellynnexia shot to her feet. "Mother, I can't! He's too...I won't be able to control it! I'll either drain him, or lose myself!"

"Shush, child," Meridiana soothed. "Just sit, and listen to me. There is something coming, something bad. An apocalypse of some sort. We can't fight it alone-we are too few, and reproduction has been forbidden us. If my father discovers that anyone has created a true cambion, it would bring death to all involved."

She paused, assessing the beautiful, intelligent, strong being before her. "But Dean Winchester...genetics from two powerful lines of humans...if we collect him, add just a bit of 'Cubi, then implant that seed into carefully chosen humans - hunters - the offspring won't be cambion. They will be humans. Enhanced humans, stronger, able to heal more quickly, harder to kill...and with an increased seductive ability that ensures the continuation of what we have wrought."

"The symbiosis you tried to tell Grandfather about?"

"Precisely. We feed on human sexual energy without draining them, and in return we heal them and create a stronger line of humans that are better prepared to stand beside us in the coming storm."

"And we increase their attractiveness as well as their sexual cravings."

Meridiana smiled lasciviously. "Well, it is intended to be a mutually advantageous interaction, after all."

Lynne lowered her head. "I am afraid."

Meridiana stroked her daughter's hair. "Of what, my child?"

"Grandfather… but also Dean. I... I've never felt what I did with him. I don't know if I can control it. What if I can't stop in time?"

"I'll be with you, child. I can remove you should the need arise."

"And Grandfather? What if he finds out?"

"We will just have to be certain that he doesn't."

"How, Mother? He's practically a god-"

"Practically. Not actually. He is not omnipotent."

"But he must be watching you, watching Dean…"

"His powers of observation are very limited, Zellynnexia. When he struck me, sundered me in two, he severed our telepathic connection. I am cut off from all but those I have chosen to physically bond with. He can only observe me as a human would."

"And Dean?"

"The same. Irdulili's only connection to the child was through me. In expelling me, he freed us all."

Lynne sighed, resignation softening her spine.

"What of the other man? Dean's uncle? I'm certain he won't leave his nephew's bedside, and it will take my full concentration to remain in control while I...collect him."

"He has an uncle? Show me."

The telepathic connection was made, and a very warm smile graced Meridiana's elegant features. "Bobby Singer."

"You know him? Another hunter? Did you…."

Meridiana's gaze softened, lost in memory. "I used to feed on him, long ago, before he was married. Before he became a hunter. Beautiful man. Strong mind." She brushed a strand of hair from her daughter's cheek. "It will be a pleasure to distract him for you."

Lynne shook her head, smiling. "Just don't become distracted yourself, Mother. I'm serious about my fear of Dean Winchester."

Meridiana laughed, a hearty, beautiful sound. "I've had centuries to practice my self-control. You'll be fine."

"Ya shouldn'ta pulled the damn catheter out, ya idjit," Bobby admonished, gruff tone doing nothing to disguise his concern from the young man he'd practically raised.

Dean had pushed his food tray to the side with a decidedly nauseous expression, leaving even the pudding untouched. "'S not pain, Bobby, I jus' feel like I'm gonna hurl. Probably from too many pain meds."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "I call 'bullshit' on that one, Winchester."

"I concur," the physician at Dean's bedside offered. He held Dean's chart in his hands. "Your heart rate and blood pressure have been increasing steadily throughout the afternoon. You know," he added pointedly, "since you pulled your IV catheter out and we were no longer able to administer intravenous pain medications." He paused as the nurse removed the blood pressure cuff from his patient's arm and rattled off some numbers, none of which meant a thing to the patient they were discussing. "And now they are higher still. Your respiratory rate is increased as well." To the nurse he added in an undertone, "I knew they should've plated his ribs."

The nurse shrugged, a silent, "I agree, but whattaya gonna do?".

The doctor sighed. "We can either replace the IV catheter or give you intramuscular injections. I'm not confident that you'll be able to keep oral medications down long enough for them to do any good. What's your preference? I don't want to waste time inserting a catheter if you're just going to pull it out again as soon as we leave the room."

Dean swallowed convulsively. His chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths, and the tension was clearly visible in the lines of his face. "How long?" His eyes were closed, voice pain-roughened.

"How long for what?"

"How long am I gonna-" he broke off, swallowing hard, hand rising to cover his mouth.

The nurse bent forward quickly, holding an emesis basin under his patient's lips, ready to help the man turn onto his side should he lose the battle against his nausea.

Dean's jaw clenched and he held his breath, sweat beading along his hairline.

Bobby took hold of the arm that Dean had wrapped around his convulsing abdomen, pressing his thumb firmly into a pressure point on the young hunter's wrist. "'S'posed to help with nausea," he offered to his audience of medical personnel. "Eastern medicine, acupressure stuff. I lived in Japan for a while."

Dean's chest began to move again, and he slowly relaxed. "How long am I gonna feel this way?"

"Given the extent of damage, I expect the nausea to be fairly severe for three or four days, and persist for at least a week. Pain is harder to predict; everyone's a bit different. At least two weeks, I would think. Maybe longer. You should be able to switch to oral medications in two or three days."

The lines in the young man's face deepened. "Son of a bitch." He licked his lips. "IV," he conceded, and the physician patted his shin through the blankets.

"Good choice."

"I'll give you one more day, Doc," John conceded.

Caroline nodded. "Alright. As I said, I'll take what I can get. One more day, and then you can go." She sighed. I hope for Dean's sake that his father is ready.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

For information on the impact of violent death on surviving family members, type "Survivors Of Violent Loss" into your search engine (svlp dot org/meetingtheneeds).

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Fair warning: the next chapter will be about SMUT...well, it'll be tasteful smut. I mean, I'll think it's tasteful, but I suppose that's a matter of opinion! Gotta keep it in the 'M' rating range, so it won't be too graphic. Anyway, if that's not your thing, feel free to skip it, and I'll recap the important, non-smut components at the beginning of Chapter 16. Fair enough?

Thanks, ya'all! ~ Chuck (no, not that Chuck!)