Castiel is still in hospital and Dean had left a few hours ago.
And as the doctor told them: a counselor comes to see him...and talk.
What good will that do to him? Will he be able to open for help...what is it Cas really wants?
We also see Sam in his first conversation with Cas. I love the chemestry between them .
And above all there is the question that comes up in every therapy: What do you really want for yourself.
Seems easy to answer...but for depressive people it isn't. Selfcare can be a bitch...and to gank that bitch there is hard work to be done.
Sorry it took me so long. For this story I have to be in the mood and I was sketching and painting a lot in the last days.
I hope you like it...I hope it is enough comfort in this chapter. There will be more, but I don't want to become unrealistic fast in the recovery.
I want to work a bit on the relationsships and how to get more abilities of self care.
I am still very needy for feedback on this story. As well in context as in language itself. I really want to improve and hope my english doesn't suck completly. I give my best...but find mistakes after every reading.
Castiel knew he would not need to sleep any more. As damaged as his shell was, after he had passed out, and obviously was put together by the human surgeons, his grace was about to keep him awake.
He didn't let it speed up the healing process though. He didn't want to give this to himself. The pain remained him he still was there.
Not that this was a good thing really. He would have loved to pass out once again because every wake moment only waited with more torturous thoughts of his terrible existence.
While he tried to distract himself looking out of his window he heard a gentle knock on the door.
There had only a few hours past since Dean had left the hospital. The nurses already had been coming to look for him and explaining everything that was going to happen with him in the next days. The human doctor had been there too and Castiel didn't expect anybody else to visit him this day.
Hopefully some demons had found him and were about to burst through that door to kill him. But that was too much to ask for.
The door opened slowly and the head of a young woman peeked into the room cautiously. When she saw Castiel being awake she came in and closed the door behind her. She smiled a shy smile and walked towards the bed.
"Good Morning, Mister Winchester, I am Mrs. Winker," she offered him her hand to shake it. Castiel looked at her suspiciously, but took the hand.
"You're not a nurse, are you?" he asked.
"Well, no. I'm the hospital counselor. I'm actually here to talk to you a bit. Know you better and if you are willing to: talk about what brought you here."
Her glare was mild and open. She seemed to be a friendly person. Somehow Castiel didn't bring himself to just shout her out of the room to let him the hell alone. It wasn't her fault that she was sent to talk to him. The doctor had explained to him, that this would happen and the outcome of their conversations would be an important part of the decision what'd happen to him next.
Not that the humans would be able to hold him here any longer, if he didn't want to. But actually he was too tired of running away and he had no place to go to anyway. So…he could as well stay and talk to the nice lady for a while. What bad could that bring to him?
He laid back in the bed and rested his head against the oversized pillow.
"So. What do you want to talk about first, Mrs. Winker?"
She grabbed herself a chair and set down beside the bed. She took out a note-pad and a pen and placed both items on her lap.
"Will you write down what we talk about, so the doctor can read it?"
She looked at him and he couldn't quite guess what she was thinking about his question. She tilted her head a little.
"Would you not like the doctor to hear, what we're talking about?"
Would he?
"Well, I don't think so. But you didn't answer my question yet."
"No. If I take notes they are just for me to read. To remind me what we talked about. And to note me some details I surely would forget for I'm terrible at remembering numbers and names and such. So…do you mind, if I take notes?"
"No."
"Do you mind, if I call you Castiel?"
"No. I'd actually prefer that anyway." He didn't know what the Winchesters had have in mind when they registered him with their name. It hurt to hear it…and to read it…and to think about why they probably did it. His throat felt like being constricted by an invisible force and he began to feel hot from the inside out. His breathing began to quicken and he lost track of time somehow.
All of a sudden he felt a warm hand on his arm and a soothing voice beside his face: "Castiel. Come back here. You're safe here. Everything will be alright."
He snapped back into the room. How long had he been gone?
"Do you want to tell me where you've been?"
"I was here in this room with you."
"Ok."
"You seem disappointed about my answer. Did I upset you?"
"No. Why do you think, you'd upset me?"
Castiel sighed and looked out of the window again, then back to her: "I just have a talent to do so."
"Why would you think that?"
Could he really tell her? Of course not! She wouldn't understand. She was just a human girl. Merely a child. She couldn't be older than 32. How could any human ever understand his pain? His loss? His failure? His crimes? How utterly useless he was?
"I made mistakes." He simply told her. More he could not say.
"Hhm…I see. So did I. So did everyone. Mistakes are necessary for the process of development, don't you think?"
"Mine didn't help develop anything. Believe me!"
"But they changed something within you, didn't they?"
She had no idea.
"Pretty much so."
"And not for the better?"
"I wouldn't say that."
"Why?"
He began to feel annoyed by her questions. Was she just being stupid, or did she want to anger him?
"I destroyed things. Things you cannot imagine. I devastated everything I knew for something I didn't understand. Something I wasn't capable of. And then I made choices again…for the first time in my life…and they all hurt someone. Me included."
"You think you never made choices before?"
How could she understand that? She never could!
Mrs. Winker began to write down some short notes on her pad. He couldn't read what she was writing about. How could she forget something about such a short conversation?
"Yes. I never did."
"So…this is something quite difficult to learn… and you managed to make choices though?"
"That killed people!" He felt anger. He was so angry with her. Why kept she asking these things? Why wouldn't she stop it?
And obviously she wasn't done: "As I see it: you developed something quite difficult to accomplish: free choice is difficult."
"I did the wrong ones!" His stomach began to turn. He felt hot anger growing more and more. He wished to hurt her somehow. But he wouldn't do it. He wanted to get rid of her. Get rid of that feeling too.
Two hands laid down on his and only at that moment he recognized that he had begun to scratch his wrist heavily. Bloody stripes showed and there was blood under his nails. She held his hands still to stop him from hurting himself and looked him in the eyes. There was no anger on her side. No fear…no misunderstanding. She wasn't sending any of this. She just looked in his eyes as if to make sure he did understand, that she was here for him. To take what he was about to give.
"To learn about choice is not the same as doing things that come out right. It takes bravery to make choices. To move out of the comfort zone and walk new lands. That is something very difficult. And of course it is accompanied with struggle in the outcome. But nevertheless it is a great step in a personal development and you can allow yourself to be proud on that. And you can allow yourself to forgive yourself your mistakes. It is way more easy to punch yourself and call you a looser, than to do the opposite. But you can learn it, if you'd like to."
"I doubt that."
"Do you want to be unhappy, Castiel?"
"I want,…I…I want this feeling to stop. I just….I…want it…stop…" tears welled up in his eyes and she squeezed his hands gently. A nice smile appeared on her face.
"Do you want to die, Castiel?"
"I want it to stop."
"And if there was a way to stop it without running away? Without taking your life to silence it? Would you try that way?"
Castiel looked in her eyes. Did he want to die? Or did he only want to stop that terrible feeling inside of him that was eating him alive? That was making him feel like the shadow on a wall…and if ever light was close to him…he would disappear into nothingness?
Did he really want to die?
Another way.
"I…I don't think…"
"I don't ask you if you believe it will work on you…I just want to know if you're willing to try."
"Will I became useful again?"
She raised, grabbed her pad and looked at him wisely: "That it not the point. This is not about making you useful again, Castiel. This is just about you. What YOU need for yourself. What your own feelings are about…and when you finally will be able to take good care of yourself…then, if you, and only you decide it, you can help others as well. And better even so, if that is really important to you."
"But that will not protect me or others from the wrong decisions I will surely make."
"No. But you will able to accept them as a part of you without feeling like you do now. The hardest part in therapy is to accept, that the coping mechanism, that lead you in the present, failed and begin break you apart. The second hardest is to search for the reason why the mechanisms were invented in the first place and how that triggers your present life. The third is to learn about your own needs and take good care of them. The most people fail at that at some point in their life. But to do that is nothing others can give you. You cannot force other to be nice…or the world to be a better place…but you can brace yourself to be strong enough to bear it and stay in one piece.
To learn that I can offer you."
He didn't want to die.
"I don't want to die."
"I am very happy to hear that. This was a very good first step. A good talk and it is nice to meet you. I will come back tomorrow."
"Ok."
She left with a happy smile. He had been harsh at some points but she hadn't answered his bad feelings. She just had kept track on what she was willing to show him.
It was better than talking to Dean. He had always to look out for Dean's feelings. Because he hurt him with what he said. Because of that he had never really talked to one of the brothers about how bad he was feeling. He knew they would have been worried and he couldn't bear that.
But talking to someone he didn't have to care for…perhaps that could work somehow.
He felt tired. Very tired. How long had the counselor been in his room? He couldn't tell. But it felt as if they had spoken for hours. He felt an exhaustion that was completely new to him.
It was deep inside his head. As if his soul…or in his case his grace was somehow sore. Sore from all the scratching and touching and poking. But he somehow had the impression that he needed to feel that way. No destination could be reached without effort. And his will to just run away was still somehow strong deep inside his head. So he guessed that the effort to keep that at bay and to walk against it should be pretty immense too.
He had been strong once. Perhaps he could try to remember how to be strong. How to walk forward.
But after a short rest. He really felt heavy. Perhaps he would pass out.
He'd like that.
Sam stood in front of Castiel's door. It was the second day after they had brought him here. It was his first real visit. Last time Cas had been asleep. Dean had decided that it probably would be better if only one brother would visit each day. They didn't want Cas to overstrain himself with too much emotional challenge from too many directions.
A short 'Come in' was the answer to his knocking on the door.
"Hello, Sam." Castiel said. He was sitting upright in his bed. Patiently waiting for Sam to come closer.
"Uhm…I didn't know if you need some distraction and so I brought you some books from the library. I thought of bringing you a computer too but didn't think this would be a good idea somehow."
"Books are fine. Thank you, Sam."
"So…may I take a seat?"
"You may."
"Cool." Castiel always had been a man of short answers to stupid questions, but this time Sam felt not very comfortable with it. He really was totally unsure of what to say and what not to say.
"So…my brother was being a jerk again so that you had to throw him out yesterday?"
"Maybe I overreacted. I didn't mean to be harsh. I apologize for that."
"You don't have to. I know how he can be when he worries. He can be…I don't know…I feel the urge to punch him right in the face sometimes."
Castiel looked at Sam surprised. He didn't know that Sam was feeling like that. But he did know exactly what the younger brother was talking about.
"You know…I worry about you too, but…I don't want you to think about it. I just want you to know that I care what happens to you. I really do."
"Why, Sam? Why would you? After all I did to you?"
"Well,…we're family. And family cares for each other. No matter how much of a Jerk any member might be sometimes."
"You don't have to feel obligated because of anything."
Sam looked at him baffled and straightened his back. Then he told him very clearly: "I don't feel obligated. I like you as a friend. And maybe more."
"More?"
"Like a brother. Like family. Like someone I really don't want to see stabbing himself in a field. That way." Sam's voiced had risen a little, but he calmed down as fast as he could muster.
"Cas…I am sorry. I'm not angry at you. I am angry at myself for not noticing how bad you were feeling. And that I never asked about you. For that I apologize."
Castiel stayed quiet for some seconds. He tried to make out what he was feeling. Tried to figure out what he wanted others to feel about him. What could be a place he would feel safe at. Talking to Sam was much different to every conversation with his brother. Sam was more conscious about his words…about the reactions of his opponent speaker…and he gave away more from himself. That was comforting somehow, because he made himself a lot more vulnerable and so gave others the chance to trust him.
He actually liked talking to Sam most of the time. It often reminded him of his conversations with Balthazar. A short pain shot through his system.
Balthazar…what good had it done to the other angel to be friends with him? He had killed him. When his friend had tried to warn him, he had killed him. And the other had been right. Balthazar had known. He had known his friend too well. Had known that Cas had made the wrong decision. If he only had listened to him!...
"Cas! Stop that!"
His wrist was bleeding again. He couldn't remember he did that. Had he scratched again? The pain was somehow soothing. Should it feel that way?
"I will call for a nurse to patch that up."
"No, Sam it's just..:"
"Don't 'Sam' me. We will get this fixed."
Cas only watched Sam pushing the button to call the nurse.
"Are you seeing the counselor today?"
"She said she would come, yes."
"But will you talk to her?"
"I'll try."
"Man, if you don't talk to her, how will you…I mean…what? You will?" Sam had began to speak eagerly and maybe a bit angry again and obviously had not really heard what Castiel had said.
"Yes. I will try." The angel repeated quietly but firm.
Sam was totally calm now and smiling very fondly. He really seemed to be happy.
"That was easier than I thought it would be. I never got Dean to see a therapist at all. Like never. Not after hell…or me in hell…or you know…ever."
"Your brother can be quit stubborn when it comes to his feelings."
"Yeah. That nailed it right on the point. He's a dork with feelings. With his own…and as well with the feelings of others."
"I got aware of that."
A short chuckling noise escaped Sam's throat. "I bet you do."
"So…will you promise me to try not to do something…inconsiderate again…not to harm yourself?"
Castiel searched for his injured wrist and looked down sadly.
"As I said…I'll try. But I will not promise anything I might not be able to hold."
"Trying is enough for me. If it is enough for you, ok? I just want you to know, that we need you back in the bunker…"
"You need me…" Cas' gaze was empty from one second to the next. Sam got aware of that immediately. And at this second he was again way smarter than his brother.
"Cas…we need you to be happy again. Or be actually happy for the first time in your life, maybe. We…I really need to see that you get up at some point, ok? It pains me to see you like that."
" I don't know if I ever can be useful again, Sam."
"That is not the point."
Cas blinked at Sam. What did he just say?
"That was never the point."
The door was opened by a nurse and Sam gave the surprised Cas a last short hug before he left the room.
"I thought we wanted to rotate with the visits?"
"Yeah…you know…screw that."
"I don't think that is a good idea, Dean."
"I don't care. I have to talk to him."
"I told you he's fine. According to the circumstances."
"I love you, Sammy, but I've to see it myself. And we didn't part on best terms yesterday…and I'm going up the walls here already."
"You're afraid, aren't you?"
"The hell I am. I will not screw this again, Sam. I'll fix this."
Dean turned to walk out of the motel room, when he was grabbed by Sam's big hands to hold him back. Dean glared daggers at his younger but gigantic brother.
"You have to be careful. He is on the edge. I've seen this many times. There is merely a hush needed to put him over. You don't want that. You have to keep your own feelings at bay for the next time."
"What do you mean?"
"He can't handle any of our worries right now. He will suck them in like a sponge. Also all anger...if it is meant for him or not. And with you it always was special anyway. Your bond is…deeper. You have to be even more careful."
"I can be sensitive, Sam."
"Well, don't forget it when you're there. For once…ONCE…at least pretend that you care for him as person only."
Dean turned around to face his brother and even took a big step closer. Sam was way higher as he was and it was difficult to stare someone in the eye from down under.
"What do you want to say? Straight forward, Sam! Tell me!"
"Exactly this is what I mean. You are angry. But not at me…or even Cas…you're angry at yourself, and you cannot put this on him, Dean. You mostly called him because you needed him…even for me it sometimes seemed as if you only want him around when he can be useful to us. That is what we hunters do. We don't get stuck with normal people who cannot fight…who cannot help us…who are a burden in a fight. To help Cas you have to get rid of that! Or you'll lose him. We both will."
"And what am I supposed to do, Dr. phil.? Cuddle him? Bring him a Teddy bear and tell him everything is fine? Because it isn't! It is far from that!"
"I know. But think for yourself…and if your answer is wrong here you should stop visiting him at all: Why are you worried for him? Are you worried for the tool he can be…or for him as person?"
Dean stepped back. There it was again: Tool. Why would they keep telling him that he ever wanted to feel Cas like being one? He never did! Did he?
"Dean! He will ask that question again, and again to make sure he is wanted…to give himself a reason to keep going. So if you go there….you'll better be prepared to think of some reason for him that he doesn't feel like a mindless soldier or a weapon…or a tool, but as a member of our family. Question yourself: IF he never would be able to fight again for whatever reasons: would you still want him to be around? Be part of our family?"
Dean walked out of the door. The voice of his brother still in his mind. What did he want? What did he feel about his friend? Why did he want him to stay?
He tried to think of the reasons. Tried to think of different futures. How their family could be. What he would like. He had some pictures in mind that he thought Castiel would like as well.
And he thought about what he really wanted for the angel. Did he just wish him to recover to full strength again? To have as much mojo back as possible? Or what was it that he wished for his friend to happen?
He walked outside the motel. He passed the Impala and went on walking. He passed the Gas station and walked and walked. He needed to be clear about this. He needed to focus on what he wanted for Cas. So he could give earnest answers to the angel….or never meet him again.
Sam was right. Sam was always right about things like this. He was a smart bastard at all. Probably had learned about this psycho stuff in the university. Or just read too many damn books.
But luckily one of them had done.
It took Dean three hours to get his head clear. Three hours of walking outside…accompanied by the fading light of the day. As he stood again in front of the little shabby motel he and his brother were residing in, he had come to an decision.
He knew it now was too late to visit Cas at this day, but that was for the better. Sam had been right again about that too.
He would visit his friend tomorrow. And he would be prepared to whatever question Cas had. And he also would be prepared for not to let his temper to lead the situation.
He could do this!
He had to!