The Beautifully Tortured

“Do you think your attitude to seeing a therapist has changed over the past few weeks, Dean?” the Doctor asked halfway through their weekly session. “Are you becoming comfortable with the idea of getting help, of having the opportunity to talk to someone?”

The room remained silent as Dean continued to look straight past the blue eyed man, his gaze fixed on the blank wall behind him. The patient was a lot quieter than usual and his brows furrowed every so often as though he was conflicted with himself; it was obvious the had a lot on his mind but no matter how many questions the Doctor asked, the man answered seldom.

“We can sit here in complete silence if that’s what you wa-”

“Am I forgettable?” Dean asked out of the blue, throwing Dr. Novak off his game a little.

“Sorry?”

“Do you think it’s easy for people to just forget about me, to move on with their lives like I was nothing?” The absolute turmoil in his eyes provided Castiel with enough evidence to know that this wasn’t some joke. It was remarkable, and frankly surprising, that the man was revealing one of the insecurities he usually suppressed.

“What’s brought this on?”

Letting out a heavy sigh, which deflated the brunette‘s form dramatically, he responded, “Today I ran into this guy I knew a couple years ago, we were pretty good friends, but he had no clue who I was. And it just got me thinkin’, what if Sammy forgets about me when he gets married and has a family? What if he has no time for me and I’m just the loser Uncle living like a bachelor for the rest of my days? I don’t want that, Doc.”

Castiel stared at his patient for a long moment, taking in the unfamiliar expression that was fixed onto his face. There was panic and possibly fear, with a sense of need hinting in his eyes. It was the complete opposite to Dean Winchester, The Showman.

“It is very unlikely your brother will ever forget about you, Dean. He means a lot to you and it’s evident that you mean a lot to him, also. He wouldn’t have made you get help if he didn’t care,” the therapist countered softly, assessing the other male’s emotions for a response which came in the form of a small nod. “You seem to believe Sam has no dependence on you, as if it would be easy for him to detach his life from yours. But I remember you telling me about your childhood and how you were more like a parent to him than anyone else. A bond like that between brothers doesn’t simply perish, or at least it doesn’t if you don’t let it.”

Dean appeared to contemplate the words that came out of Castiel’s mouth, his sad demeanour slowly shifting to a shadow of what it was usually like. It gave the man hope in that his patient was absorbing the information.

“And as for the friend you ran into, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Haven’t there been people you’ve forgotten about upon meeting them again? This man was taken off guard, and perhaps after you parted ways he remembered who you were. This is only one person out of the many you have met in your lifetime; an insignificant number.”

Silence charged the office, the two men lost in the same thought. Dean, ever so confident, seemed to be wilting from something so trivial, letting his worrisome self-image peek through the façade and show itself to Castiel, who couldn’t help but marvel at the example.

“I guess you’re right, Doc,” the patient uttered under his breath before looking toward the Doctor where their eyes met. “It’s just, things change, people change, all the time and without any cause. Sam’s all I got and if I lose him, then… then I’ve lost everyone.” There was no light in the words he spoke, only sadness. But then a deep, weary chuckle stirred from him. “Man, I’m pathetic.”

Quirking a smile, Castiel shook his head with compassion. “Dean, it’s easy to misconstrue these happenings when we ourselves feel unmemorable.”

Those were the same words the Doctor had been told by his own psychotherapist back when he first started training. They had stuck with him because of their resounding notion that spoke so truly. He tried not to think too much about his own feelings, especially when he was with a patient. Instead, he continued on.

“Acceptance and recognition are two things we all desire in life,” he proclaimed, his eyes burning deep into his patient’s. With a quick glance at the clock on the wall, Castiel announced, “That’s our hour up, Dean. I hope you’ve found today beneficial.”

The man appeared dazed, as if coming out of a hypnosis. He nodded his head and gave a weak smile before standing up and heading to the door with the Dr. Novak following. “Uh, thanks,” he mumbled, then staggered out with his head down, leaving Castiel somewhat pleased with their progress.



At the end of the day, Castiel got in his car and drove straight home to a warm apartment which smelled of food and perfume. He found Anna in the kitchen, hovering over the stove, wearing a fitted short, black dress and nude coloured shoes.

“Going out?” he asked, curious but not overly so.

The redhead looked back at him for a fleeting second, still stirring the divine-smelling contents in a saucepan, nodding her head. “I have a date with a co-worker. I thought I’d cook you something nice since I’ll be dining out.”

“Thank you, Anna,” he replied, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze before stepping away.

Dropping his things in the living area and kicking off his shoes, the man loosened his tie as he headed to his bedroom while running his fingers through his unruly, dark hair. Upon reaching his favoured room, he instantly collapsed onto the large bed and hid his face in the soft sheets, taking a deep breath of the fresh linen to help clear his thoughts.

He knew exactly why he felt so utterly drained, and it spawned from his session with Dean. The issues that were brought up were some the therapist had experienced throughout his life. He understood exactly where the troubled man was coming from, and although he had tried to dismiss it, the conversation had affected him.

Because no matter how much Castiel tried to ignore the fact, he was someone people rarely remembered; he was an insignificant number to the Dean Winchesters of the world.