Speak but Don't Pretend (Dean/Invite)

[eviljessica]

When one had standards as Elle did, life wasn't exactly a walk in the park. Unlike many Demons, Elle kept up the pretenses of her meat suit; Sarah Thatcher, a reputable psychologist that had a respectable practice. It was hardly anything terrible, the set up was quite a cozy one and one she planned on keeping until it wasn't convenient any longer.

She sat behind the desk, rubbing at the back of her neck and listening to an overweight businessman go on about how stressful his life is. How he's contemplated suicide because of the pressures his job puts on him. Elle, or rather 'Dr. Thatcher' listened attentive. Such an interesting creature 'stress' was. It drove men to such extremes.

Elle smiled and reaffirmed what she'd been telling him for weeks; find a spa, find a woman and indulge himself. Give into those need of self worship. Shaking his hand and leaning back in her chair. What a waste of potential, but then, when he first came to her he was a well mannered mousy sort of man. Now? He drank, did drugs and best of all, he'd gone up in the world. He was the ideal poster boy for what self worship could do for someone. Just one more step.

"Debbie, do me a favor and cancel my next appointment." The assistant nodded and did just that. Debbie was a special project of Elle's, she'd slowly bring her over and make a real assistant out of her. Elle may not be a white-eyed demon like Lilith and Alastair, but her track record was almost as impressive.

Elle never lost a target once it'd been established. Every soul she'd set to corrupt had ended up in the Pit. It was a bit of a trick to do, as well. Small steps, so many demons didn't understand one had to lay the foundations for corruption brick by brick. One just doesn't snap their fingers and have the masses ending up in hell. Well, for the most part most were already that corrupt. Elle worked special cases; children and the pious.

Elle shook herself out of her reverie and looked around the office for a few quick moments before rising to her feet. Wearing a simple black skirt and white button down blouse. Her hair was let down and a pair of earrings dangled gently from her ears. She definitely looked good as she walked out into the receptionist's area and smiled to Debbie.

"Why don't we call in sick tomorrow, hmm? You've been working too hard and I think I have been too." Said with a sigh as she went back to rubbing her neck. "Why don't we play hookie on my appointments and find a massage parlor with a spa. My treat." Debbie was a bit of an introvert but had only taken a month or two to draw out. Debbie smiled and started working the phones to clear tomorrow.

Elle let out a little sigh. With Alastair still unhappy that things weren't going as quick as he'd like and stuck on Earth until they are, Elle barely had time to breath and enjoy the finer things in life. It would certainly be a tragedy when the whole thing went up. Elle'd gotten used to the cold and the fact that humans knew more about indulgence than any Demon.

[ZZZ - Dean - RETIRED]

There were times in every man’s life when he had to admit that he couldn’t do everything by himself. That sometimes he needed a little help. However, Dean Winchester was far to stubborn for that kind of chick flickery.

Admittedly, he was barely holding it together these days, the cracks in his armour having long since evolved into huge gaping chasms, crumbling easily at the slightest touch. Hell had ravaged his soul and whilst Castiel had repaired his body, putting a new and improved version of him back into the world - rehymenated and everything - the angel had been unable to remove the memories of horrific torture and pain from his psyche. And it wasn’t just his own suffering that haunted him. It was, possibly more so, the suffering he inflicted on others in a desperate bid to spare his own pain that caused him the most grief.

Night time was the worst, even when he had the bliss of sleeping beside Annali, he couldn’t escape his own mind and sooner or later, the nightmares always caught up with him. It was becoming a real problem not only because it meant he never really got to rest, averaging only a couple of hours of real sleep a night, but that in itself had a knock on effect on his body, draining him of energy that he needed to hunt. How could he save other people when he was already drowning underneath an ocean of guilt?

He’d been getting by for months, just clinging on by his fingernails, but now other people were beginning to notice. Sam had attempted to get to the truth on a number of occasions, but he could only ask the same questions so many times, getting the same brush off from Dean before even he wanted to give up. Now Annali was the one waking him from his nightmares and so many times he’d come close to attacking her when she did, thinking she was the demon in his nightmare, or the soul on the rack he was flaying alive, it was only going to be a matter of time before he actually hurt her. He’d never be able to forgive himself if that happened.

So here he was, standing outside a shrink’s office, like some emotionally broken loser, about to walk in and spill his guts to a complete stranger who probably went home at night thinking that all her patients just needed to pull themselves together and get a life. Part of him wanted to get it over with, lay all his secrets out for someone to examine, get a quick fix solution and be done with it. But the other part kept steering him around the matter, coming up with excuses why he shouldn‘t be doing this.

He couldn’t afford to see a psychiatrist, they costed too much money.

It was all psychobabble anyway, touchy feely self help crap for people who were gullible and stupid enough to believe it.

He already knew what his problem was and he had a way to deal with it. It was called alcohol.

Besdies, how could some college graduate, probably still wet behind the ears, know anything about what he was going through anyway? And even if it turned out to be someone older, with all the experience in the world, his problem stemmed from a different dimension. Actually explaining that would result in him being locked up in a psych ward for the rest of his life.

Yes Doc, I went to Hell. What do you mean that’s impossible? I have the scars to prove it? Let me show you where an angel gripped me tight and raised me from perdition…

Stamp this one as a nut job.

Maybe that solution was actually something he should consider. Maybe he was the next Martin Creaser, bound for the looney bin where drugs and fluffy pyjamas would become his daily life. It was tempting to let it all go and give up, but he’d be cut off there, forgotten and left to get progressively more lonely. No, he had to at least try and help himself, for the sake of his loved ones if nothing else. So before he could change his mind and talk himself out of it, Dean was striding towards the psychiatrist’s doors with purpose. Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, he was already starting to regret the decision.

There was a sweet looking woman sitting at reception, a little mousey for Dean’s tastes but he suspected that with the right sort of persuasion he might be able to talk her into anything just by showing her a little interest. At least he hoped so, since he didn’t actually have an appointment.

“Hey, uh… Debbie, is it?” He said, approaching the desk with his best charming smile, reading her name off the oblong sign on top of a pile of folders. She was just hanging up the phone as he came over, her eyes lighting up a little when she saw him smiling handsomely at her.

“Hello, Mr..uh?”

“Winchester.” He supplied, deciding that if he was going to be honest and talk about his issues, then he might as well start with a little truth when it came to his name. After all, it wasn’t like anyone knew he was coming here. It wasn’t a job and the whole doctor/patient confidentiality laws applied.

“Mr. Winchester.” Debbie repeated, blushing a little as she leant further forward over her desk. “How can I help you today?”

“I was actually hoping you might be able to fit me in with the shrink this afternoon, I’m not in town long and this is the only chance I have to speak to someone…” He trailed off, feeling awkward that he was even here.

“Oh.” She said, her face falling in disappointment since she’d just been asked to clear the diary for the next day. “I’m sorry, Dr. Thatcher isn’t available until the day after tomorrow.”

Dean never believed in fate or destiny, but he was quite happy to believe that this was the get out clause he needed to not have to go through with the idea of talking to a professional quack.

“Oh, no. Really?” Debbie nodded sympathetically. “Damn, well that’s too bad. Thanks all the same though.” Dean smiled politely and turned to go, not at all surprised that he hadn’t pushed for a meeting. They really weren’t in town for that long, he couldn’t stick around without raising Sam’s suspicions as to why. Another excuse for the list.

“Maybe I can have a word with the Doctor?” The receptionist suddenly blurted out, her motives purely helpful, with a subtle desperate need to keep the good looking man in the office. “See if there’s anyway we can squeeze you in for a quickie?”

Dean’s eyebrows raised up to match the smirk on his face at the innuendo.

“I wouldn’t say no to a quickie.” He replied, disarming her with a smile and a wink, which made her blush even more before she nervously shuffled off to Dr. Thatcher’s office.

[eviljessica]

Debbie walked in and Elle looked up and smiled, "Dr. Thatcher, there's a Mr. Winchester here hoping to be able to squeeze in a quick meeting with you?" Debbie double checked that she couldn't be seen and fanned herself and nodded to Elle. Elle forced a smile...every demon knew THAT name. Certainly it couldn't be one of the Winchester boys...she'd been a bad girl this year and Christmas was still a bit far off yet. Still...listening as Debbie filled her in a bit.

The door to the office opened and Elle looked at Dean Winchester and smiled warmly, offering a hand. "Mr. Winchester, I'm Dr. Thatcher. Debbie tells me you're on a bit of a tight schedule with your time? Unfortunate, one or two meetings isn't quite ideal to really determine just what is going on. However, I can offer you my rather ugly couch for as long as you're in town." Sweet, softly spoken and apparently one of few women who don't swoon over him on sight.

Elle's mind was spinning a thousand miles a minute. Dean Winchester. The boy wonder himself. She could hardly believe her luck! Still, she had to take a mental step back and regroup. Running off half cocked just wasn't her style. Still, she had to sweeten the pot a little and make him think he's stumbled onto a bit of good luck.

"Please, let's go ahead and step into my office. I have a few forms you'll need to fill out. I'll also need you to have Debbie here scan your ID and insurance card. If you don't have any insurance I do go through a funding system with the government since this is a private practice. You'll only have to fill out an extra form and the details are there. I know it's a pain, all this paperwork." She chuckles and offers Dean a seat on a reclined sitting couch that is surprisingly ugly, but he'll find enticingly comfortable. "Still, necessary evils seem to worm their way into everything."

Elle walked over to the desk and sat down. Cool as a cucumber, but inwardly almost trembling with excitement. "The paperwork should only take a few minutes to fill out, while you do so, why not give me a bit of family history to work as a baseline? Also...what maybe you're hoping will come from meeting with a psychologist? I can't promise a miracle in only a meeting or two, but we'll see what we can do." Smiling as she opened a notebook and leaned back in her chair. "Let's start with names. I'm Sarah Thatcher, you're free to call me Sarah, Doc...whatever makes you comfortable."

[ZZZ - Dean - RETIRED]

It was fair to say Dean was rather surprised at how good looking - and normal - his shrink appeared to be. Perhaps it was an ingrained stereotype that doctor’s wore glasses, dressed stuffily and looked like they didn’t really see the light of day very much, but he’d surely landed a bit of luck with this one. Dr. Thatcher probably turned quite a lot of head’s at the psychologist’s ball.

"Mr. Winchester, I'm Dr. Thatcher. Debbie tells me you're on a bit of a tight schedule with your time? Unfortunate, one or two meetings isn't quite ideal to really determine just what is going on. However, I can offer you my rather ugly couch for as long as you're in town."

She had that no nonsense kind of attitude too, he liked that. He wasn’t here to be pandered to or smothered in sympathy. He wanted real, genuine, useful help and perhaps he’d come to the right place.

“Thanks for fitting me in, I know it’s short notice but like I told Debbie here, I’m just passing through, so I appreciate you making time for me.” He gave the mousey receptionist another warm smile and she bit her lip, cheeks flushing crimson in surprise that he used her name again. Sometimes his charm was just effortless.

Stepping into Dr. Thatcher’s office was just how he expected it to be. Pretty much like any office he’d ever been in, only this one had a big ugly couch in it and piles of certificates on the wall to confirm the good doctor’s qualifications. He wandered past a couple and read the blurb, finding himself looking for ways in which he could drag out the initial part of the meeting so that he wouldn’t have to sit and talk for so long.

"I have a few forms you'll need to fill out. I'll also need you to have Debbie here scan your ID and insurance card. If you don't have any insurance I do go through a funding system with the government since this is a private practice. You'll only have to fill out an extra form and the details are there. I know it's a pain, all this paperwork. Still, necessary evils seem to worm their way into everything."

“Tell me about it.” Dean replied, a hint of bitter irony in his momentary laugh as he thought if only she really knew how much truth was behind her statement. The prospect of filling out a pile of paperwork wasn’t blowing his skirt up though and it probably showed on his face because she went on to reassure him that the admin side of things would only take a few minutes.

“Look, I’ll be straight with you, I don’t actually have insurance.” Not strictly true, he had several insurance policies, it was just that none of them were in his real name. Handing over a card with Bruce Wayne on it after introducing himself as Mr. Winchester would immediately ring alarm bells. It wasn’t just that though. Using insurance would leave a paper trail for Sam to follow if he ever checked up on the policy. Dean didn’t want to get caught off guard, questioned about doctor’s bills that his brother knew nothing about.

“I’m not great with paperwork either, so I was sort of hoping that I could just pay you cash up front and we could forget that side of things?”

As he sat down on the couch, he pulled out his wallet to show he was serious and that he did in fact have enough money on him to back up his proposal. Maybe she’d read something into that, perhaps start scribbling notes down on her pad and it would all go some way to her labelling him as a particular kind of crazy, but he didn’t really care. It was paying in cash or nothing. If she said no, at least he could say he’d tried and that would be the end of it.

[eviljessica]

“Thanks for fitting me in, I know it’s short notice but like I told Debbie here, I’m just passing through, so I appreciate you making time for me.”

"Think nothing of it. Honestly, I was just having her clear tomorrow's appointments so we could play hookie tomorrow and hit a spa and get a nice massage. I'm of a very strict code of always spoiling yourself when you feel the need to." She smiles and watches him browse the certificates for Sarah Thatcher. Even Elle could appreciate delaying the inevitable. The opportunity to figure out a bit how Dean Winchester worked mentally was tempting. Still, she had a job to do.

“Look, I’ll be straight with you, I don’t actually have insurance.”

Elle/Sarah chuckled softly, "Seeing a psychiatrist is expensive and sometimes the people who would benefit from it the most can't afford the fees. I try to work with everyone I can on a scale. As for paperwork...Well, why don't we call this 'old friends meeting and talking about old times'. Debbie will take care of the price when we're finished." Dismissing his wallet with a wave of her hand and closing the notebook as she stood. Walking around the desk to sit on it's edge.

"So, you don't strike me as the type who shares his innermost dark secrets easily. I'll try to make this as painless as possible, Mr. Winchester. All I ask is that you're completely honest with me. Let's face it, you're here for a reason and I want to help you. I can only do that if you level with me. Some topics may be uncomfortable, just please remember that I'm not here to judge you." Her smile was warm and those blue eyes proved sincerity in that warmth.

Ah, playing human was too easy, sometimes. She'd been doing it for years and had it quite down to an art form. "So, while Debbie orders us all lunch, since I'm hungry and we're just friends. Start with your family. Tell me about your direct relatives."

She leaned back on her hands a bit and watched him for a moment. It was easy to see why Debbie was smitten with him on sight. He was a hell of a looker, but so many mental demons. Elle would see just how many and just how to play her cards and see what would come of it. Now began the true art of her game. Why she was favored above many by Alastair. The subtle twist of the blade is one thing...the subtle twist of the mind was something entirely different.

[ZZZ - Dean - RETIRED]

Dean put his wallet away, surprised by how easily he’d been able to avoid having to fill in a pile of paperwork. Usually doctor’s in his experience, whilst they were from the phsycial side of things rather than the psychological side of things, were sticklers for filling out forms and getting every possible detail from you before they’d do anything to help. Even when all you wanted to do was check yourself out of the hospital and go home, there was always a mountain of paperwork to attend to. He supposed it was a legal requirement, but it sure was a pain in the ass when all you wanted to do was get on with things. Apparently this time, the good doctor’s advice would be classified as ‘meeting an old friend’, negating the need for such time wasting red tape.

Idly he wondered how many other times she’d skipped the formalities in order to be able to help out someone in need. Maybe she only did it for the good looking guys breezing through town. Maybe that was just his ego thinking big. She didn’t have quite the whole goody two-shoes vibe though. Dean could read people pretty well and he doubted she was the type to ruin her expensive suit to stop by the side of the road and help someone out with a breakdown, especially since she’d just admitted to cancelling appointments just so she could pamper herself. The thing was though, she knew all the right things to say to convince Dean she cared enough to want to help him and more importantly, he found himself wanting to trust her. That was a big thing for him. He didn’t open up to people easily.

"So, you don't strike me as the type who shares his innermost dark secrets easily. I'll try to make this as painless as possible, Mr. Winchester.”

“It’s just Dean.” He cut in, perching on the edge of the couch rather than actually lying down on it as he imagined most of her patients did. Being called Mr. Winchester somehow didn’t feel right and neither did stretching out on the comfy chair of the insecure.

"So, while Debbie orders us all lunch, since I'm hungry and we're just friends. Start with your family. Tell me about your direct relatives."

Why did nobody ever tell me that you got fed when you came to see a shrink? I might have come sooner if I’d known there was food involved…

“My family?” He took a deep breath in and pressed his lips into a thin line, no idea where to start with what should have been such an easy topic to begin with. After a second of thinking - mostly thinking why he was putting himself in this position - he slowly blew out the breath and spoke.

“There’s really not that much to tell you.“ A pause. “My folks passed away and it’s just me and my brother these days. He’s a little younger than me.” Dean stopped talking, unsure what else to say but finding that when she didn’t fill the silence for him, he was compelled to carry on if only to take his mind off the fact she was studying him.

“I always thought he was going to be a big time lawyer. Only one in our family who was smart enough to go off to college y'know.” A brief, awkward laugh proceeded a sad smile, Dean’s gaze moving to his fingers, hands clasped together in front of him, elbows resting on bent knees. If only Sam could have had that life he tried to leave all this behind for. If only Dean hadn't dragged him back into it. If only.

[eviljessica]

“It’s just Dean.”

Elle smiled and nodded her head, "Dean it is." She listened as he began and stopped and began again. She knew that he'd keep being a Hunter kind of secret, but she remembered John Winchester. She never got the opportunity to work on him, but they were both in the Pit at that time. The man was legendary. The only man who never let Alastair break him.

“There’s really not that much to tell you.“ A pause. “My folks passed away and it’s just me and my brother these days. He’s a little younger than me.”

She nodded and decided to intervene is awkwardness. Holding up a hand to ensure he gives pause. "When did your parents pass?" Giving him a moment and on the assumption that he'd be honest, since he's been honest so far... "Your mother died when you were young. Tell me what you remember about her, and what happened afterwards. I assume your father raised you and your brother?" She knew that answer, but it needed to be asked. "What was your relationship with your father like growing up?"

“I always thought he was going to be a big time lawyer. Only one in our family who was smart enough to go off to college y'know.”

Chuckling softly, "You undervalue yourself, it seems. You have to understand, Dean there are two kinds of 'smart' out there. The kind of smart that is found in a book. Uses big fancy words and tends to think that's the only smart worth knowing. And the kind of smart that's found on a street. I have treated clients who had no where to go, no home no family or friends...but they weren't hungry and they had a roof over their head. You may not have gone to college like your brother, but I bet you nickles to dimes that you've got more sense than he does."

She takes a sip from her cup and shakes her head. "You regret some of your decisions made? They say hindsight is 20/20 and they are certainly right. The problem I think you have is that you've turned regret into guilt? Understand, Dean, you can regret something without blaming yourself for it. It's not easy, but it is possible."

Of course, Elle made it sound like simple keen perception...but honestly she was skimming off surface thoughts from him. Handy trick and she made sure she didn't bring things thought of too often (especially with Dean, since he'd get suspicious).

[ZZZ - Dean - RETIRED]

"When did your parents pass?"

He knew she’d ask that question. It had been inevitable since the moment he sat down on her couch. Shrinks always wanted to know about your parents as though that information was some kind of secret key to unlocking whatever it was that was troubling you. When he eventually answered her, his voice was small, un-Dean-like and flat, an attempt to disassociate himself from what he was telling her because if he didn’t, it’d hurt to much to hear the words out loud. Even, after so many years.

“My Mom died when I was just a kid. There was a house fire and she…she didn’t make it out.” His mind cast him back to that night, to standing on the front lawn staring up at Sam’s nursery through the window with baby Sam held tightly in his arms. He had thought he’d imagined it at the time, but he had seen a figure on the ceiling, just an outline really, masked by the flames as they consumed everything in sight.

Snapping himself out of the memory, he cleared his throat and continued.

“Dad died a couple of years ago.” Had it been that long? To Dean the wound still felt fresh, even after his forty year stint in Hell. His heart still had that John shaped hole with it‘s faulty supports, only partially braced by the other father figure in his life, Bobby.

"Your mother died when you were young. Tell me what you remember about her, and what happened afterwards. I assume your father raised you and your brother?"

“I was only four when it happened, so it’s just bits and pieces really.” He thought back, the corner of his mouth ticking up into a small smile as he pictured her cutting the crusts off his sandwiches, kissing the top of his head as he happily launched into munching on them.

“She was really kind. Loving. Used to tell me angels were watching over me when she tucked me in at night. She always made me feel safe.” He paused, swallowing a lump in his throat.

“It wasn‘t the same after she died. Dad raised us the best he could but it was hard. We moved around a lot and Dad sometimes worked long hours so he wasn‘t around that much. Money was always tight. I guess I grew up pretty fast.” Somewhere at the back of his mind he was wondering why it was so easy to tell this stuff to a complete stranger, when talking to Sam about his feelings was so damn difficult sometimes.

"What was your relationship with your father like growing up?"

“Dad was just Dad, y’know. I mean, I idolised the man for years. After all he’d been through…what he did to make sure me and Sam would be safe…” He stopped talking again, rubbing his jaw with one hand, gaze flicking over to the window as though he was subconsciously trying to find a way to escape the conversation.

“I tried to be just like him, looking out for Sammy. Taking the lead when he wasn’t there.” Another pause and Dean caught her eyes and held them for a moment.

“Big shoes to fill when he died. I’m not sure I could ever match up to him.”

I didn’t in Hell…

"You regret some of your decisions made? They say hindsight is 20/20 and they are certainly right. The problem I think you have is that you've turned regret into guilt? Understand, Dean, you can regret something without blaming yourself for it. It's not easy, but it is possible."

“I don’t know how though. There is no-one else to blame for my guilt.”

I chose to get down off the rack. I chose to pick up the knife and cause other’s to suffer. I can only blame myself…

[eviljessica]

Elle was a little surprised when Dean began to answer and those answers were pretty much accurate to what she knew of Dean Winchester. Nodding her head and listening as he begins to speak about his parents and growing up.

“She was really kind. Loving. Used to tell me angels were watching over me when she tucked me in at night. She always made me feel safe.”

She nods her head and smiles a little to him, "I'm sorry for your loss, Dean." Said and it sounded genuine. Was Azazel a mastermind forging these boys and their father? She didn't know but it was a layout she could appreciate the nuances of.

“It wasn‘t the same after she died. Dad raised us the best he could but it was hard. We moved around a lot and Dad sometimes worked long hours so he wasn‘t around that much. Money was always tight. I guess I grew up pretty fast.”

"That's not easy, Dean. Allow me a moment of professionalism, a child needs to grow up being a child. I realize that sometimes that doesn't get to happen. I have a rather difficult question for you, you don't have to answer it, but it's something I want you to put some thought into. If you do choose to answer, I'd like you to be honest. Do you resent your father for forcing you into that situation?" She paused for a moment to let that sink in.

“Dad was just Dad, y’know. I mean, I idolised the man for years. After all he’d been through…what he did to make sure me and Sam would be safe…”

She nods her head, "He sounds like an amazing man, Dean. I'm just worried there may be buried resentments. For your father, for your brother? It sounds like you've had the world on your shoulders for some time. Your brother was always looked after and you said even went to college and you implied that you didn't...or weren't smart enough to. Buried resentments can linger, Dean. They cause unhappy memories to manifest when we don't want them to, nightmares and can even effect how we treat those close to us now." She took a sip of her coffee and Debbie knocked and walked in with Chinese.

The food placed on the small table and Elle accepted her carton of General Tsao's Chicken. "Please, help yourself."

“Big shoes to fill when he died. I’m not sure I could ever match up to him.”

"Oh Dean...we're not meant to fill anyone's shoes but our own. It's impossible to be someone else when you are very much yourself. If we were meant to completely replace someone, we'd have been made to be the same." Smiling softly as she nods at her first bite of delicious chicken.

“I don’t know how though. There is no-one else to blame for my guilt.”

I chose to get down off the rack. I chose to pick up the knife and cause other’s to suffer. I can only blame myself…

She watches him for a moment, having skated off the thoughts from his mind. This man was fairly tormented, normally this would be easy...but his sense of resolve...that was the hard part.

"Are you holding onto your guilt out of a sense of loyalty? To your father? Maybe to your brother? There is something inside of you, Dean that's holding tight to all this guilt. That is something you need to realize, the only person who can make you feel guilty is yourself. Some part of you feels you need this...mental punishment."

Setting her food carton aside and thinking for a moment before standing. "You have a lot of things unsaid as well. I want to try something...it'll feel kind of stupid? I've had good results with it, however." Walking over to sit beside Dean a moment. "If you're willing to try, I'd like to see if maybe this can help your unresolved issues."

She smiles at him, "No need to lay in this ugly ole thing, I just need you to focus. Close your eyes...picture your father. Begin to mentally piece him together...all that strength...His voice...commanding and unwavering...." Her own voice had become soft, soothing and safe. It was a mild sort of guided hypnosis. "The smell of his clothes and cologne...the warmth his body put off...start creating him in your mind, keep your eyes closed...just begin to bit by bit put him together..."

Elle, of course, had other plans that letting him fashion his father and truly resolve this long standing tension. If he lets her put him a bit under, then she has some basic control over what happens. Peeking at his mind, she waits until he forms John Winchester, no matter how long it takes. Once the image is complete is when Elle tweaks the system.

Changing the voice to Alastair's and making this mental 'puppet' speak.

"Hello, son."

Of course, that should jolt him right out of it.

[ZZZ - Dean - RETIRED]

Do I resent Dad?

For Dean the automatic answer would have been no. Would always be no, no matter who asked him. How could he resent the man who gave him everything he had? Who’d taught him how to hunt and survive, all the skills he had to protect his little brother from the things that went bump in the night? Who’d even sold his own soul and gone to Hell so that Dean could live. He owed the old man his life and there was no way he could pay that debt back.

However, whilst there were many sacrifices his father had made for him, he’d also put a great burden on his shoulders in the process. From the moment John had told Dean to take his brother out of their burning home, he’d felt a responsibility to take care of Sam. It was only after his carelessness and selfishness had nearly cost his brother his life, when a Shtriga had broken into their motel room while Dean was off playing video games, did he really understand what being the older brother meant. Thankfully his Dad had come home just in time that night, but the look of disappointment on John’s face when he found out why Dean hadn’t stopped the Shtriga himself was just heartbreaking. It didn’t matter that he was just a kid, probably only about eight or nine at the time, John had given him an order and he’d disobeyed.

From then on Dean became the perfect little soldier, never disobeying an order again, even if that meant neglecting himself in the process. He didn’t matter anymore, only doing the job, saving lives and protecting Sam mattered. Over the years maybe he did start to harbour a little resentment for that. For all those times he’d not been able to do stuff that other kids could. He had wanted to play football too but was never allowed to, having to spend after school hours at home cleaning weapons and doing laundry. Making dinner for Sam who would be hungry when he came home from his football practice.

Sam deserved his own life though didn’t he? Going off to Stanford had been his dream and he’d earned it. Dean couldn’t resent him for having his own mind and following his ambitions. Or could he? He’d never had that pressure to be the one to pick up the slack when their father was out of town working a hunt. Sam had always had someone else to fall back on and until Jessica, he’d never known what it was like to lose someone he loved, so perhaps he was complacent about his duty to hunt evil. In fact he’d pretty much thrown a hissy fit about the whole ‘family business’ subject many a time, making it clear to Dean and John that he didn’t want to end up like them.

In fact, the more Dean thought about it, the more he realised that he did resent his brother. Sam had always thought what he did was beneath him, so therefore he also thought Dean was beneath him too and after he’d gotten everything he’d ever asked for, it just flicked the light switch in Dean’s mind.

Yes, he did resent them both. And damn, wasn’t that a revelation.

He didn’t answer the question though, but then again, maybe he didn’t need to. The look on his face probably said too much already. Dr. Thatcher could probably see the cogs turning in his mind, but thankfully she didn’t press him for anything and before the awkward silence seeped in, Debbie arrived with food.

Politely, Dean took a carton of something with noodles, idly poking at its contents with a pair of chopsticks despite the fact for once in his life he wasn’t hungry. He’d never really thought this whole psychiatrist gig was a good idea and now that he was feeling more depressed than usual about his life, he knew he was probably right.

"Are you holding onto your guilt out of a sense of loyalty? To your father? Maybe to your brother? There is something inside of you, Dean that's holding tight to all this guilt. That is something you need to realize, the only person who can make you feel guilty is yourself. Some part of you feels you need this...mental punishment."

If you knew what I’d done, the horror’s I’ve inflicted, you’d believe I deserve far worse than this…

Setting her food aside, the good doctor came over to sit beside Dean, suggesting that she had a way go get him to open up a little more. Naturally, his instinct was to back away but after a few of her reassurances that it would be fine he stopped chewing on his lip and set his own, uneaten food aside too.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked, voice filled with trepidation and apprehension. He didn’t go for this kind of hypno-therapy mumbo jumbo, but really, what harm could it do? She seemed to genuinely believe it would be of use so he did as she asked, feeling utterly stupid the whole time until her soothing voice started to sink into his mind. If nothing else, at least he’d be able to get a few minutes snooze on a comfy chair.

Initially he’d been leaning back into the cushions, pretending to relax when in reality his muscles were tenser than steel cable. But gradually, as he focused more on picturing his father and less on the fact he felt vulnerable closing his eyes in a room with a stranger, the tension began to ease off.

In his mind’s eye he could see his father, pictured sitting in a chair not unlike the one Dean was in, across the room from him in his thoughts. He was wearing the same clothes he always wore, worn at the edges but clean and smart, neat like a Marine should be. A few days worth of stubble adorned his square jaw, calloused hands resting loosely in his lap. Dean could almost smell the engine oil and gun powder scent that was his father, but then again, that could just as easily have been on his own clothes. He’d practically chiselled himself piece by piece into the memory of who his father was, it was easy to imagine him in the room.

The warm, familiar look in his eyes was unmistakeable. It was the same look he’d given him in the hospital the last time Dean had ever seen him. His father was proud of him. A subtle smile crossed his lips and Dean’s heart wished his imagination was reality when his father opened his mouth to say something to him.

”Hello, son.”

The wish quickly turned into a nightmare though.

It took less than a second for Dean to jerk himself awake again, eyes open wide, muscles tighter than coiled springs, nerves on edge and lungs gasping for gulps of air when Alastair’s voice came out of his imagined father’s mouth. The shock alone had brought his arms out in goose bumps, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as though he’d had the fright of his life.

The Doctor was staring at him and Dean couldn’t speak, couldn’t string three words together to explain what had just happened. What he’d heard in his head. She probably thought he was even crazier than he did. Why, when she was asking him to picture his father, did he hear the voice of the one person - demon - he wanted never to hear again? It was like a living nightmare in his mind now, like the time Yellow Eyes had possessed his Dad and had tortured him to within an inch of his life. Now he was associating Hell’s chief torturer with his father too? What did that mean? That he thought his Dad was evil? Or did he think his father had tortured him growing up, that he was almost meant to be punished?

Too many thoughts swirled around Dean’s mind and his throat felt like it was closing up on him. He needed air and more importantly, he needed to get away from this room and the Doctor in it. Abruptly he stood up and made his way to the door without looking back.

“This was a mistake. I’m sorry…”

[eviljessica]

He reacted just as she thought he would and it took everything Elle had not to smile. Dean was like playing a finely honed instrument. Of course, Alastair himself had laid the ground work already. When Dean shot up like a rocket, Elle stood as Dean did and she held up a hand to him.

"Here, take this...toss it into the back of your car...forget about it. Just know that you can always call me, Dean. You're always welcome here, regardless the day or the hour." Pressing her card into his hand. "Sometimes we see things that we need to process, hopefully I hear from you soon." With that, she walked over and opened the door for him. Ignoring the questioning look from Debbie.

"This door is always open, Dean." Not impeding his path or telling him he should stay. He needed some time to settle before he'd be any use to her for the next step anyway. Smiling gently to him as he likely b-lined for the door outside.

Glancing to Debbie once Dean was gone. "He'll be back, I'm sure of it. If he calls or comes in, you're to cancel my appointments for the next three hours after wards." Debbie nodded and Elle stepped back inside her office and leaned back against the door. The blinds were closed and no one was able to see her.

Her eyes turn black and she smiles darkly into her empty office. Chuckling at the tangled web she's begun to weave. Dean will be back, she's sure of it. Sure he'll come back with questions and seeking advice as to why the voice of his father is now that of Alastair. And when he comes, she'll be here. Ready to set him further along the path.

-Thread Paused: Next post will be a few days after this one-

[ZZZ - Dean - RETIRED]

In the days that followed, Dean’s mind was distracted. Like a soundtrack on a loop, Alastair’s voice just kept playing over and over in his head.

Hello son.

He couldn’t get away from it, nor could he figure out why he’d heard it. He hadn’t consciously intended to hear anything when Dr. Thatcher had asked him to imagine his father, it was disturbing to think that his mind simply connected the dots for him, associating his most disturbing nemesis with the one person he thought was his mentor.

Hello son.

Everytime he heard it, it was like nails down a chalk board, sending shivers of discomfort down his back. He couldn’t concentrate on anything for longer than five minutes and it was starting to affect his appetite too. If he didn’t figure out how to stop obsessing it, he was going to go insane. Sooner or later those around him would begin to notice there was something on his mind and if he was backed into a corner and forced to explain what the problem was, then they would quickly begin to think maybe he hadn’t left Hell behind as easily as he’d fooled them into thinking he had.

Hello son.

That voice. That sinister, creepy, malevolent voice that twisted itself around his insides like an evil weed destroying all else in its path, just kept on growing in his mind. Over and over again until he couldn’t sleep because of it. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw his Dad, didn’t matter what the memory was, it was always ruined by the sound of Alastair’s voice until he felt he couldn’t remember what his father sounded like anymore.

Hello son.

By the third night, Dean needed an answer and there was only one person he felt he could talk to without repercussions. It wasn’t Sam, because how could he talk to his brother about his psyche replacing their father with the demon torturer of Hell? That wasn’t going to work. He couldn’t talk to Annali either, because as loving and as helpful as she wanted to be, this was completely out of her depth. If he wanted to scare her away, then yes, he’d confess that he was losing his mind, but he didn’t want to scare her at all. He already felt like his luck would run out any minute with her. She was too good for him, why did she love a guy as messed up as he was?

Cas and Bobby wouldn’t understand either, and to be honest, Dean was a little worried about what Castiel might do to him if he found out he was obsessing over a demon in his head. So, with no other options left, Dean found himself rummaging around in the bottom of his duffel bag, searching for a small white business card with one name on it.

Dr. Sarah Thatcher.

[eviljessica]

Debbie had gotten the call from Dean Winchester and did exactly as she was told, clearing out at least a four hour block. The extra hour given because he sounded rattled and like he needed this more than most. When Dean arrived at the small building, Debbie would smile and rather than blush and titter over him, she called back for Elle.

Elle stepped out of the office and smiled to Dean. "Hello, Dean. Please, come on in." No waiting, no paperwork; he was greeted with a warm, if lightly concerned smile from the doctor. Offered a seat and she took her own seat at her chair pulled around from behind her desk. The small coffee table between them and a cup of hot, black coffee already waiting for him.

"You last left in quite a hurry, Dean. I've been a bit worried about you. I am glad you decided to call. Before we go into things, I feel like I owe it to you to get something off of my chest." She sits back a little bit. The well worn and well loved chair creaking only slightly with her shift of weight. "I can't shake the feeling you're not being completely honest about everything. I cannot stress to you how important it is to be frank and honest with me. No matter what it is about...no matter how...wild it may sound."

She watched him for a brief few seconds. She had to get him to trust her completely, else she wouldn't be able to get in as deep as she needed to. "I know it's not easy for you, but you're going to have to trust that I'm not going to put you away, call the cops or think you've gone around the bend. Normally this trust takes time to build, but time, as you've said, is fleeting for you. So...I'm asking you to take a chance on me."

"Now, something happened a few days back that spooked you what good. If you want me to be able to help you...you're going to have to level with me, Dean."

[ZZZ - Dean - RETIRED]

This time, when Dean returned to the doctor’s office, the spark of charm in his flirtatious smile had gone. While he waited in reception he was uncharacteristically quiet, withdrawn and he barely gave Debbie a second glance. Too lost in his thoughts to keep up the pretence that he was happy to be there.

Walking back into Dr. Thatcher’s office felt familiar, with everything exactly the way it had been a few days before. Well maybe not everything. He wasn’t exactly the same anymore. He greeted her with a courteous nod and shuffled over to the couch like a sleep deprived zombie, mumbling his thanks for her fitting him in again.

"I can't shake the feeling you're not being completely honest about everything. I cannot stress to you how important it is to be frank and honest with me. No matter what it is about...no matter how...wild it may sound."

Just how do you go about telling someone you barely know that you feel like you’re still trapped in Hell which is, by the way, very real and very, very terrifying? That you’ve spent your whole life hunting evil because when you were four years old, a demon pinned your mother to the ceiling of the nursery and set her on fire? That you’ve spilled more blood in a lifetime than you could ever make up for and that no matter how many times you washed it from your skin, you could never get the feeling of it out of your mind?

Dean stayed silent, unable and unsure where he should start, just in need of a moment to gather himself together from all the broken pieces scattered around. One hand rubbed at his temple, his eyes cast down at spot on the carpet where he could focus rather than looking around the room just in case he reimagined his father sitting in one of the chairs.

"I know it's not easy for you, but you're going to have to trust that I'm not going to put you away, call the cops or think you've gone around the bend. Normally this trust takes time to build, but time, as you've said, is fleeting for you. So...I'm asking you to take a chance on me."

“I’m not good at this.” He finally said, working up the courage to look her in the eye. “I don’t really…talk about this stuff.” It was the most honest he’d been with himself for days.

“I, um…” He dropped his hands into his lap again, clasping them together in front of him in an unconsciously defensive gesture.

“My brother’s always trying to get me to but I can’t bring up this stuff around him, y’know. Gotta keep my game face on. We've got enough to worry about without him thinking I’m…” Unstable? Unreliable? Weak?

“What happened the other day, when you asked me to picture my Dad?“ He paused for a second, licked his lips.

“I couldn’t tell you why it happened, but in my head,” he made a rough gesture to the side of his face and then waved his hand away dismissively, “I gave him someone else’s voice.”

There, he’d said it. Sort of.

“Out of everyone I’ve ever met in my life, and I’ve met a lot of people, it should have been the last voice I ever associated with my Dad too and I can‘t explain why I did it.”

[eviljessica]

She listens quietly, letting Dean get through the words he was so reluctant to speak. He held so hard to the creed of the Hunter that you don't tell a civilian what's really going on because it'll only hurt them or possibly land you in a heap of trouble. Taking a sip of her coffee before setting it to one side.

“I’m not good at this. I don’t really…talk about this stuff.”

She smiled faintly to him and leaned back, "Have you ever considered that that may be apart of the problem? Talking about what's going on intimately in our lives is very healthy because it keeps us grounded. Imagine, if you will, a cup." She reached out and held up her coffee cup as if to demonstrate. "You keep filling it up and it's only ever going to overflow. You have to empty it from time to time. Having someone to talk to is like emptying the cup. Doesn't have to be a psychiatrist, Dean. It could even be a pet. Now, this is going to sound a little like psychobabble, but...vocalizing events out loud allows our brain to better digest the information." Taking a sip of coffee and smiling a bit before setting it back again.

“My brother’s always trying to get me to but I can’t bring up this stuff around him, y’know. Gotta keep my game face on. We've got enough to worry about without him thinking I’m…”

"Of course, he's your younger brother and you, for the most part, raised and took care of him. It's like any parent getting hurt in front of their child...they smile through the pain to keep their children from worrying. The same thing applies here. Good parenting instincts. You'd make a good father, Dean."

“I couldn’t tell you why it happened, but in my head, I gave him someone else’s voice. Out of everyone I’ve ever met in my life, and I’ve met a lot of people, it should have been the last voice I ever associated with my Dad too and I can‘t explain why I did it."

She listened and frowned a bit, nodding her head. "So, you super imposed someone else's voice over your father's own. Have you ever looked up to this other person? As a father figure or perhaps a mentor?" She did an excellent job at keeping her excitement hidden, edging so close to speaking her goals aloud. "Often, when presented with a complicated image we seek to simplify it. It sounds like your relationship with your father is easily complicated. Perhaps this other person made things simpler somehow?"

-Then-

Elle wasn't a stupid creature. She knew Dean would never actually come clean about demons and the oncoming Apocalypse without some sort of nudge. Dean had quickly departed her office but maybe an hour ago, leaving Elle to almost revel in this rather bountiful opportunity.

She knew he'd never fully trust her without something...he'd have to realize she knew about the Supernatural but in such a way that he'd not suspect her of being on the other side. When the idea came to her, Elle began to laugh. Almost clutching her slides for relief of the stitch trying to form. A quick run to the store and back and she had a small bag of supplies.

Taking the small canister of salt and sprinkling it at the sills of the two windows carefully. Then a little bit at the edge of her doorway. Careful not to just trap herself inside. She took the small plastic bottle from her bag, looked at the cross on it's cover and filled it with tap water and tossed it into her desk. It was enough and she bet every ounce of her power and standing in Hell that if anyone would make notice of it...Dean Winchester would.

-Now-

Elle sat back in her chair a bit, "Please, have a sip of coffee...you look like you've lost sleep over this. Debbie makes an excellent cup." To just imply she'd spiked it with holy water later, she needed him to hear her encourage him to drink to better complicate her lies and truths. Elle was an old player of this game and she was very, very good.