Summary: Withdrawn after an assault, pediatrician Dean is visited by handsome therapist Sam, a man with two shocking secrets.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
Conjugal Glue (Part 4: The Penthouse) by frostygossamer
Sam had popped into an Italian grocery store for supplies. He was going to make something extra-special for dinner that night, and he was bouncing with anticipation. He threw his purchases onto the passenger seat of his car and jumped in, but before he could start the engine, a voice interrupted him from the gloom of the back seat.
"Sam Singer?" the sinister voice asked.
Sam sighed wearily. "A little Chandleresque, huh Cas?"
The owner of the voice leaned on the back of the front seat.
"Hi Sam," he said. "How are things?"
"Pretty good," Sam replied. "What's with the mystery?"
Castiel adopted a grave expression.
"Got a message from the Syndicate, Sam," he explained. "They got this, um, opportunity. The man they called 'Alastair', he has transgressed. He needs to be taught a lesson, permanently. The Syndicate want to know if you're up for the job."
Sam inhaled sharply. "They know I'm legit now, right?" he asked.
"Indeed," Castiel agreed. "But the right belongs to you as the victim's, um, guardian. They are giving you first refusal, but the malefactor will be dealt with anyways. He sinned big time. What do I tell them?"
Sam gritted his teeth. "Tell them 'Hell yeah!'," he answered. "Get me the time and place and I'll be there."
"It will be arranged." Castiel nodded and got out the car.
He leaned into the driver's window.
"It will be a righteous act, Sam," he pronounced, and disappeared into the night.
Sam shook his head wearily. His good mood had just gotten shot to hell.
~0~
It was a normal day on the ward. Just a normal day. Dean was making his rounds as usual, mind full of medical procedures and after care, everything safely hygienic and impersonal. And then it happened, completely out of nowhere.
Dean was wasting a few minutes with a little kid who had been in and out of the hospital numerous times with a lung condition. He was trying to cheer the poor kid up with a couple of his cleaner stories from Med School. The TV on the wall across from his bed was murmuring on a too low volume, just for company, and Dean happened to glance up at the wrong moment.
It was some kind of news story on the screen. A jail break? A mysterious killing? And right in front of him, there was the ugly mug of Alastair himself.
If Dean had been some girl, which he most definitely was not, he would have fainted right there and then. He came damn close. His head swirling, the stab of almost physical pain was too much to bear. He escaped from the room, mind in panic.
All he could think to do was go look for his stash, his trusty stash of drugs, and try to kill that pain. He found them in the back of his locker, tucked into the loose binding of an old medical journal, his Dad's. He stared down at the pills for a long moment, then inhaled sharply and took out his cellphone.
He called Sam. The call went to voicemail. He tried three times. Voicemail every time.
"Where the hell are you when I need you, Sam," he whimpered into the phone.
Then he took the pills. All of them.
A few minutes later a member of staff found him passed out on the floor,unconscious.
~0~
The minute Sam stepped off of the plane, he realized that his cellphone had been switched off ever since he arrived in Jackson. He switched it on right away and was shocked by an avalanche of voicemail, texts and missed calls. He went through them quickly, growing more anxious by the second.
Dean had had some sort of crisis? He had taken an overdose? He was found barely alive? He had been readmitted to the hospital? Sam hurried straight to Dean's bedside.
"For God's sake, Dean, what in the hell did you think you were doing?" he yelled, the moment he arrived.
Sam's anger at himself was making him sound way harsher than he meant.
In his hospital bed, Dean covered his ears. "Couldn't get through to you," he explained weakly. "Call went to voicemail. C-couldn't hack it alone, Sam."
"So you decided to just end it?" Sam demanded in disbelief. "Dude, since when has whiskey not been strong enough? You took enough pills to kill an elephant."
Dean tried to justify himself. "Used to do more than that, Sam. Just... forgot that you can't do so many when you've been clean a while, is all. Just needed to kill the pain."
Sam forced himself to calm down. Shouting at Dean when he was fragile was not going to help him. He sat on the corner of the bed and put on a smile.
"OK. OK," he said, voice gentle. "Soon as you're discharged I'm gonna take you home."
~0~
As soon as Dean was physically fit enough to leave the hospital, Sam put him in his car and drove him home. Sam was not impressed by the cold, lifeless, gray apartment Dean had been living in.
He wandered around poking things and sneering, while Dean sat on his couch with his eyes closed, feeling drained. When Sam returned to the living room, he found that Dean had fallen asleep slumped over the arm of the couch, worn out.
Sam made a decision. He picked Dean up, carried him back out to his car and drove him to HIS place.
~0~
Morning light filtered through Dean's eyelids, as he lay warm and comfortable in a soft bed. Gingerly opening his eyes, at first he couldn't place where he found himself. And then he realized that was because he hadn't been there before. This wasn't the hospital or his apartment. He was laying in a king-sized bed with lilac sheets and a purple bedspread. Definitely not his bed. And to top it off, he was wearing soft cotton pajamas with cute bunnies on them.
"What the...? Freakin' bunnies!" he muttered to himself.
Somewhere beyond a glass brick wall that separated the sleeping area from the rest of the apartment, Dean could hear the rattling of pans and snatches of singing. He slipped out of the bed and padded barefoot into the open-plan kitchen, scratching his messy head. He found Sam making breakfast. It smelled delicious.
Sam glanced up from the stove and smiled when he noticed Dean appear.
"I'm making you Eggs Benedict," he said. "Help yourself to coffee and juice."
Coffee sounded great to Dean right then, but he hesitated.
"This your place?" he asked. Sam nodded.
"So you brought me here last night?"
"Sure," Sam replied. "Dude, that tiny, soviet-bloc apartment of yours was enough to turn any guy depressive. Couldn't leave you there, and I sure as hell wasn't gonna spend the night there myself."
Dean yawned and sat down at the counter. He reached for the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. He raised it to his mouth. It was an expensive blend and it smelled marvelous.
"And you put me in these kiddie pajamas?"
Sam chuckled. "They were a gift, dude. Not exactly my style. But you look pretty cute in them."
Dean frowned. Cute? Huh!
"You put me in your bed?"
Sam turned away from the stove, and plonked a plate of Eggs Benedict in front of Dean.
"Yep," he agreed. "You would have preferred to sleep on the couch?"
"Maybe," Dean answered, defensively. "Depends where you slept, buddy."
"On the couch," Sam replied, pointing in the direction of his living area, where he had a pull-out couch bed made up.
He placed a second plate of eggs on the counter and sat down across from Dean.
"Eat," he commanded.
Dean took a forkful of breakfast. It tasted great.
"Just to be clear. You know I'm straight, right?" he said
Sam chuckled again. "Sure. I know that, Dean. I know you're straight. And so am I, in case you were wondering."
Dean relaxed a little. "Fine," he said and ploughed into his eggs with renewed gusto.
Sam fixed himself a cup of coffee.
"Want you to stay here until you're feeling better, Dean," he said. "Don't want you going back to that sad-ass place you've been living in. Never gonna get well in a hole like that."
"You expect me to stay with you? No way," Dean retorted.
"Dean, I'm not taking no for an answer," Sam replied calmly. "As your therapist..."
"Therapist!" Dean snickered. "Oh sure. Self-help guru, right?"
"As your therapist," Sam repeated, "and your friend, I want to be here for you, when you need support. Because, Dean, I was away for a few days and you know what happened. Won't let that happen again."
Dean paused from eating to give that some thought.
"Sorry for the crack about self-help, man. I'm a physician. To me even psychotherapy's not real medicine. No offence intended."
"None taken, Dean. I'm not equating self-help with real medicine. No comparison, I agree."
Dean smiled. "OK," he allowed grudgingly. "I'll stay a few days. But not in these pajamas."
Sam smirked. "Dude, those pajamas are awesome."
~0~
The morning Dean returned to the Pediatrics ward, he noticed a certain awkwardness from the patients and staff. Nurse Carmen was the first to give him a tentative smile.
"You know, ya don't have to walk on eggshells around me," Dean assured her. "Not gonna freak again anytime soon." He smirked. "I'm on mood stabilizers."
Carmen giggled. "I'm glad you're feeling better, Dean," she said. "But it's not that." She lowered her voice. "It's just the news."
"What news?" Dean demanded suspiciously.
"While you were on time-out. That guy..." She stopped, wishing she hadn't broached the delicate subject. "THAT guy. He was... murdered!"
Dean just stared at her blankly for a moment and then exhaled shakily.
"A-Alastair? He's dead?" he gasped.
"Uh-huh," Carmen confirmed. "It was all over the TV and papers. Sounds like someone got to him. Like what they call a 'hit'. The Feds say they're looking for a professional, but somehow I doubt they'll be looking very hard. That guy was an animal!"
Dean knew all too well exactly what kind of an animal Alastair had been. He swayed back a step and Carmen caught him by the elbows.
"You OK?" she asked solicitously.
Dean smiled faintly. "Oh sure. I'm fine. I'll just... I'll just take a little break. Got a phone call to make," he said and reeled away to the staff breakroom.
TBC
A/N: Poor Dean's emotions are on a roller coaster. More tomorrow.