Summary: Withdrawn after an assault, pediatrician Dean is visited by handsome therapist Sam, a man with two shocking secrets. AU Sam/Dean slash romance. Warning: implied Alastair/Dean noncon

A/N: Yesterday's chapter took hours to come online. Hope they've solved the problems.

Conjugal Glue (Part 3: The Therapist) by frostygossamer

It was another day in Welby Memorial Hospital. Dean was staring out the dayroom window again. It was a nice sunny day outside but that didn't register much with him. Sun or rain didn't matter to Dean. Every day was gray.

He was sitting in his usual armchair, just after finishing a totally unedifying lunch, when the door opened and a tall, well-built and good-looking guy entered the room. The newcomer glanced around, then collared Nurse Carmen and whispered with her urgently for a second, before coming over to Dean and plonking himself in a nearby chair.

He regarded Dean silently for a few moments, steepling his fingers and chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully, before he spoke.

"You don't know me yet, Mr. Winchester, uh, Dean. May I call you Dean? Sure I can. You don't know me yet, but the two of us are gonna become good friends. Real good friends."

Dean ignored him. The newcomer brushed off the cold shoulder and smiled broadly. He leaned forward.

"My name is Sam, Sam Singer," he continued. "I'm a therapist. Between the two of us we're going to find a way to get you talking again. That's my job here and I'm very dedicated to my job. I don't give up, Dean."

Dean continued to stare blankly. Sam moved his chair so that he could get a better look at his patient's face. He was moved. This was a beautiful person in front of him. Hair lank and unkempt, skin dry, chin stubbly, bags under his eyes, but still beautiful. What they used to call 'elegantly wasted'. Sam felt his heart clench in sympathetic pain. There was no way he was going to walk away from this guy.

As he got up to leave, sensing there was nothing more he could do for the guy right then, Sam patted Dean on the shoulder.

"I WILL be back," he insisted and left.

On the way back to his hotel, Sam called a realtor.

~0~

"What exactly are we looking for?" the realtor asked, scrolling through her website. "A permanent home? A vacation place? A business address?"

Sam leaned toward her and grinned. "A love-nest," he said.

"Ooh," she replied chuckling. "Well, I do have some lovely, cosy little properties on my books."

They spent the evening visiting most of the realtor's portfolio. Her final property was an elegant little open-plan penthouse apartment, with a breathtaking view over the city.

Sam glanced quickly over the layout of the apartment, then went straight out on the balcony. He filled his lungs with the uber-fresh air.

"I'll take this," he said immediately.

The woman was taken aback by this sudden decisiveness.

"Oh, really? Well, great!" she said. "I have the details here..."

"Don't worry about that," Sam cut in. "This is the place. He'll love this. It's full of..." he searched around for the right phrase, "new beginnings."

The realtor chuckled. "Well, I sure hope 'he' does," she remarked. "This is the most expensive property I have."

~0~

From that day on, Sam visited Dean every day. Even though Dean persisted in completely ignoring his presence, Sam persisted in turning up and chatting away to him about life outside the hospital, news, sport, current affairs, celebrity gossip, anything. Every day at 2pm he would arrive, regular as clockwork. Until the day he didn't.

Three days later he reappeared at the regular time. On the way into Psychiatrics he spoke to Nurse Carmen about Dean.

"Oh hello, Mr. Singer," she greeted him cheerfully. "You're back."

"Yep," Sam replied. "He been OK?"

Carmen smiled sadly. "Same as usual, I'm afraid. No change. Sorry."

"Damn it," he swore. "Was kinda hoping for some flicker of interest, when I didn't appear as usual."

Carmen thought a moment. "Actually, I did catch him looking at my watch a couple times."

"Bingo," Sam grinned. "There's a spark still burning in that numb skull of his. Now let's see if I can ignite the gas."

He walked over and sat down beside Dean. "Hi," he said. No reply.

Sam stared into Dean's face until he was pretty sure Dean and he were making eye contact.

"You know, if you'd asked for me, I'da been back sooner," he said. "That is assuming you're not brain-dead in there."

Dean let go a tiny involuntary groan.

Sam laughed. "Yeah. I know. Not brain-dead. Just dead inside, huh?"

Dean closed his eyes and sighed.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry," Sam apologized. "Just trying to force a reaction."

Sam spent the rest of the afternoon talking about everything and nothing, as usual. However, this time he knew Dean was listening.

~0~

For a few more weeks, Sam came to see Dean every day, as before. Then one day, just as he was getting ready to leave, he pretended to remember something.

"Oh yeah, and by the way I'm gonna be flying back home for a few days. Got some business to wind up in Chicago. I'll see you again when I get back, whenever that is."

He checked out Dean's face for any expression of happiness or unhappiness with that news. Nada.

"Soon as I find out how long it's gonna take, I'll check in with the hospital here. Let them know when I expect to be finished up there. OK?"

As expected Dean made no response to that question, so Sam put on his coat and left.

Sam flew up to Chicago and closed down his therapy practice, first finding an alternative therapist who was prepared to take on his existing caseload. He made sure everyone who needed it had his number, in case of emergency. He knew better than to leave his people hanging. He had been there himself.

Then he flew back to Dean.

~0~

It took almost a full week before Sam's absence became too much for Dean to endure. It was almost 3pm on another dreary day, and Nurse Carmen was just returning from spending the last five minutes with her nose pressed against the patients' lounge window, trying to judge just how wet she was going to get on the way home, when he caught her wrist as she passed him by.

"Dr. Singer..." he whispered.

His voice was a little reedy after its long silence, so he tried again.

"Dr. Singer, has he called yet to say he's back in town? Back from Chicago?"

"Dr. Singer?" Carmen repeated uncertainly. "Oh, you mean your visitor, Mr. Singer?"

"MISTER Singer?" Dean queried. "He's not a doctor? But he's a psychotherapist here, right?"

The nurse realized his mistake and gave him a gentle smile.

"Oh no, Dean," she replied. "Sam's not on staff. He's just a visitor. A friend of Cas the janitor, I believe. He doesn't work here. He was only coming in to visit with you."

"Uh?" Dean responded, confused. "Thought..."

"Do you want me to check and see if he left a message?"

Dean nodded absently and Carmen scurried off. She was back in a couple of minutes.

"Day after tomorrow," she told him.

~0~

Two days later Sam turned up a little early, anxious to see Dean again. Dean was waiting for him.

"Hi, Dean. How've you been?" Sam asked. "Missed me?" he added ironically.

Dean grumbled. "Where do you get off telling me you're a psychotherapist, Singer."

Sam was amazed to hear Dean's voice for the first time. It was deeper and more husky than he had expected. But he decided not to make a thing of it.

"Never said I was a psychotherapist, Dean. Said I was a therapist. Which I am. I'm a self-help therapist. I work with ex-cons."

"And you don't work for the hospital?"

"Nope."

"So why the hell are you even here?"

"Came because I was asked to, as a favour. Stayed because I realized you needed help, Dean, and wanted to be that help."

"Out of charity," Dean snapped.

"Charity is one word for it, I guess," Sam agreed.

"Ass-hat," Dean opined.

Sam laughed. "Gotten you talking though," he pointed out.

"Don't appreciate the irony," Dean commented.

They fell quiet for a moment, then Dean asked,

"So you know Cas the janitor? That little crumpled guy always with the broom?"

"Uh-huh," Sam replied. "He's kinduva friend of a friend. Known him for years."

"And HE asked you to come see me?"

"Yeah. He did. Cas is a good guy like that. He cares, you know. And he worries about you."

"Didn't even know he knew about me."

"Oh yeah. He knows about you," Sam insisted. "He knows more than you think. He grokked you good. He's the only one that did, only one that could."

"That's Cas," Dean agreed. "Everyone else round here reckons he's some 'retard'."

"Dude," Sam laughed, "is Castiel Seraphos so NOT some 'retard'."

~0~

Soon after that, Sam had Dean far enough along the path to normality that he had started to think about getting back to work.

"So why is it you wanted so much to be a pediatrician, Dean?" Sam asked one day.

"Dunno," Dean replied. "Guess I just wanted to pick up where Dad left off, saving people, healing things, the family business. And I like kids. Maybe I'm just a people person. It's my calling."

"Maybe you like to heal other people because you can't heal yourself, huh?" Sam suggested.

"Maybe," Dean allowed.

"So what's gotten you sitting around here on your tush while there are patients downstairs who need you, Dean? Answer me that."

"Can't, Sam. Can't explain and I don't wanna. Don't ask me to talk about it. Jeez, don't wanna even THINK about it. It's too much."

"OK," Sam agreed. "And in the meantime you're gonna let your people twist in the wind?"

That made Dean feel kind of guilty.

"No. Guess Dad and Mom would kick my ass if they could see me now."

~0~

That's how it was that, two days later, Dean was back down in Pediatrics arguing with Meg about getting back to work.

"Dean, I can't sign off on you being fit to wield a scalpel," she pointed out.

"My hand is as steady as a rock, Meg," he retorted, holding out a rock-steady hand. "And how many of your team could you ever truthfully sign off on that, huh?"

Meg conceded. "OK. But for now you can tutor the trainees and observe, nothing more, Dean. I don't want any nasty expensive mistakes."

Dean was soon back in his element and, for a while, he was putting the past as far behind him as he was able.

TBC

A/N: So Sam's got Dean back to work, for now. But that's just the beginning. He's got more hurdles to jump. More tomorrow.