Author's notes: I realize it's been over three months since I updated and that this is absolutely not an acceptable length for a chapter after such a long period of time. But I need to seriously re-format this story. It's going in a completely different direction from how I pictured it. I'm going to map out roughly what's going to happen, but I'm also writing Bitter or Sweet and trying to do my original stuff, so this story is the one that suffers. But I will finish it – I think abandoning stories is a really rank thing to do.

Chapter Three

"So, Dr. Ellen tells me that she's worried about your hallucinations, Dean."

Dean kept his face expressionless as Dr. Alistair opened his file. In sessions with Dr. Ellen, he tended to lounge on her armchair with his legs crossed ankle-over-knee, the ball of one foot pushing on the floor to tilt the chair back; the picture of comfort. With his psychotic psychiatrist, however, he usually sat slightly hunched in the chair with his arms folded across his stomach, both feet firmly on the ground in case he decided that he had to bolt. Dean could never put his finger on what it was about him, but the man was ten kinds of creepy. Maybe it was the way his voice seemed to slither over every syllable, maybe it was the sick delight he seemed to get whenever the hallucinations worsened and he had to fiddle with Dean's medication, maybe it was Meg's insistence that he had misdiagnosed her as a sociopath and in treating her for the disorder actually turned her into one, and maybe it was just the fact that Dean's mind seemed to need someone not to trust, but he dreaded sessions with Alistair like nothing else. Not to mention the fact that when Castiel had come back from their session the previous evening, he had seemed unhappy. Jimmy had surfaced immediately after and Dean got distracted trying to get to know his other roommate, so he still didn't know what had happened to cause it, but the memory only served to deepen Dean's dislike of the man. Which was an impressive feat on its own.

"Does she," he said noncommittally.

Alistair raised his creepy-thin eyebrows. "You wanna tell me why?"

"Not really," he replied shortly. "I told her I still hear barking sometimes, but she told me to wait awhile and the Haldol should fix it."

"If you're still experiencing symptoms, I think we should increase the dosage."

"Dude, I've been on eighty different meds since I checked myself in here." Dean could hear the defensiveness in his own voice and cursed it, because that meant Alistair could hear it too.

"I'm not changing it again, Dean," soothed Alistair in that horribly patronizing way of his. It set him so far on edge it was a wonder he had survived thirteen months with the guy as his psychiatrist. He had no idea how Jimmy-and-Cas were going to deal with having him as their primary therapist. Ellen was the only reason Dean was still kind of sane. "I'm just upping the doseage, that's all."

"Yeah well, it still feels different," Dean grumbled.

Alistair surveyed him through his pale eyes. "You have to be more receptive to different methods, you know," he said. "Albert Einstein defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. There are other options you haven't tried yet."

"This is sounding a little too Cuckoo's Nest for me, doc," said Dean, immediately masking the surge of fear he felt with flippancy. "You sound like you're talking about electro-shock therapy or lobotomy or something."

Alistair let a small smile seep through his features, as if the thought thrilled him, and then continued, "I'm not suggesting anything of the sort, kiddo. I'm just reminding you to be… open-minded."

"Are we done?"

"Yes," said the psychiatrist. Dean stood up and made a beeline for the door, glancing backwards so quickly that it may have just been an illusion, but he thought he saw Alistair's eyes turn completely white. "We're done."

He shut the door after him and power-walked back down the hall, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his flannel shirt, heart beating as if it had suddenly become too big for his ribcage. Alistair's eyes. Alistair's white goddamn eyes, in the one place where Dean hadn't had to deal with demons. And now one had gotten in his fucking psychiatrist – if Alistair hadn't been a demon to begin with. This was bad. This was terrible, actually. Fuck that, this was one step above apocalyptic, for him, anyway.

He racked his brains for a course of action. If he told Ellen, she would utilize the opportunity to have him "confront reality" and power through the fact that Alistair was an ungodly creature from Hell. If he told Alistair himself, not that he was anywhere near stupid enough to do so, he would either increase the medication to a near-lethal dose, or just decide to quit playing around and kill him. Who else could he tell? Anna? No, Anna would be legally obligated to let Ellen know. Chuck? Tessa? Jimmy-and-Cas? Dean almost laughed at the thought. They had their own issues to deal with.

"Dean?" asked Sam's voice from behind him. Dean whirled around.

"Sammy, Jesus Christ," he nearly exploded. "Don't sneak up on me like that, I almost took your fucking head off… It's morning, the place is crawling with nurses. How the hell did you get into my wing?"

"I'm just good at it," Sam brushed it off. "Are you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost."

"I did. A demon, actually. Fuck, Sam, don't worry about it, if the sonofabitch wanted to off me I'd already be dead."

"Dean…"

"Anyway, you should get back to pediatrics, Sammy, I don't want them coming down on your ass for sneaking around all the time. 'Specially if Dr. Alistair's a demon."

Sam frowned. "I don't like it there," he said, as if he were a petulant child again and not the smartest damn eleventh-grader Dean had ever met. "I want us out of here, Dean. I don't like being separated. You can't fight them off without me, you know that."

Dean's fear ebbed slightly, eclipsed, as always, by the fierce love he felt for his brother. He pulled Sam into a rough, affectionate hug. "Listen to me, kid. They're gonna get you fixed up and you're gonna go home and I'll follow as soon as I can, all right? You got a future, Sammy, but my kind of crazy doesn't come out with bleach."

Sam didn't answer, sulking at the floor.

"Seriously, you better get out of here. Goddammit if I know how you've been sneaking around for the past year and not getting caught once, but I'd hate to break your streak."

"Dean," interrupted Jimmy's nervous voice.

He was standing in front of the door to the nurses' station, twisting the hem of his V-neck t-shirt. Dean turned back to his brother to say goodbye, but Sam was already gone. He should have been a ninja.

"What's up, Jimmy?" he asked, hoping that his roommate's presence would calm him down slightly.

"I…" Jimmy hesitated. He looked exhausted from the three hours (and that was being generous) of sleep he'd gotten the previous night. "Are you all right?"

A demon has control over the medication I take every day, no big. "I'm fine, kid. What's your problem? You look twitchy."

Jimmy shook his head, bringing one hand up to his temple. "I… my father's coming for visiting hours tonight. I think Cas is going to try to, you know… be the one who deals with him, instead of me."

Unsure where Jimmy was going with this, Dean prompted, "Okay…?"

His boyish face reddened slightly. "I just – would you mind hanging around in case he does? Cas, um… my dad thinks… that just because I have Castiel chilling out in my head, I'm completely incapable of making my own decisions. Or thinking for myself. Or… well, anything."

"Not a real open-minded dude, then? Come on, walk with me, I can't just stand around out here." Not while Alistair's door was still visible. He took Jimmy by the burn-free arm and started towards the atrium. "Don't worry, I'll look out for you. Sammy and me don't get visitors, I'm never busy. So, what therapy group are you in?"

Jimmy blinked at the change of subject. His eyes seemed to sparkle with a kind of melancholy innocence, whereas Castiel's absorbed light and held it there. Each was pretty in its own way; it didn't seem to matter who was behind them, Dean kept getting lost in those eyes. "They said I'm in, uh… B."

"Figures they'd put you in mine," said Dean, grinning. "We have art therapy in twenty minutes, in that case. What's the rest of your day like?"

"They said I have a consultation with my treatment team after lunch, then I have my first psychiatry appointment, then individual therapy, and then just visiting hours."

Dean nodded, his every bone shivering at the thought of Jimmy alone in a closed office with Alistair. Cas could handle himself, but he doubted Jimmy could. He tried to think of a way to warn Jimmy without scaring the hell out of him, but a snarling series of barks rang through the hallway, making Dean's heart stop, and a leathery, forked tail disappeared around the corner.

"Dean-?"

He grabbed Jimmy's arm and planted himself in front of him. "Stay behind me, these thing'll kill you!"

"Dean, what-?"

From behind them came a low growl. Dean whirled, manhandling Jimmy around with him, only to come face-to-face with the grotesque, mad-eyed beast, its fangs and claws and the head that reached his elbow blowing putrid breath into his face-

"Nurse!" called Jimmy timidly. "S-someone?"

Footsteps hustled out of the nurses' station. "Dean," said Anna. She knew better than to touch him, but placed herself directly beside the hellhound. It turned to her, growling louder.

"Run, Anna!" Dean roared.

"Dean, you have to listen to me. There is nothing there."

"You're practically on top of it, run!" Dean himself dared not run; it would catch him in half a leap.

"Dean," repeated Anna. "I want you to look at me."

No, he couldn't break eye contact or it would attack. "I can't," he nearly whimpered.

"Look at me," insisted Anna. "Just turn your eyes to me. It's all right. Jimmy, sweetie, do me a favor and go to group, okay? You're in the music room."

"S—sure," said Jimmy. He sounded scared, but that didn't make sense; he couldn't see the hellhound, not when it had come for Dean.

"Dean." Anna's voice was firm as she returned her attention to him. "Listen to me. I want you to follow me, okay? We're going to take a walk and you're going to take an as-needed. Just like you and Ellen talked about. Okay?"

"Okay," Dean ground out. He couldn't take his eyes off the thing. It bared its mouthful of fangs, letting out a low, ugly growl that filled the air with vibrations and made him want to bolt as far away as he could get. Anna took his arm in a grip that was firm, but forgiving, putting pressure on it in her own direction in a motion that was not insistent enough to be considered pulling.

"Come on," she prompted him gently. "Come on, Dean."