The Full Range of Human Dilemmas
As the field has evolved, the concept of the family is more commonly defined in terms of strongly supportive, long-term roles and relationships between people who may or may not be related by blood or marriage. Family therapy has been used effectively in the full range of human dilemmas; there is no category of relationship or psychological problem that has not been addressed with this approach -On Family Therapy
***
Family therapy was invented by sadists.
Cas had decided this long before Dean had declared it, although Dean being Dean, used words a little more dramatic than ‘sadist.’
Family therapy was an integral part of Rosemount’s treatment. In addition, Sam was receiving loads of varied group therapies, individual therapy, psychiatric therapy, traditional medical treatment, career counseling, and the occasional “specialized” therapy, including art, music, dance-a favorite, Cas knew, of Dean to one day tease about, assuming Sam was well, and strong enough, to tease-drama, and exercise.
Yet week after week, in huge, foreboding red ink, on Cas and Dean’s calendar, admist their already hectic work and Sam schedules, there lay “Family Therapy.” Twice. They were deeply fortunate to have bosses who were gracious and understanding: Jay, Dean’s boss, had lost his brother and father to complications from alcoholism: Anna, Cas’ supervisor, just plain understood.
Cas secretly wished she wouldn’t. She wished she’d tell him he had to be on shift. He wasn’t a Winchester, wasn’t even legally connected to Dean in any way other than a mortgage. And given his trust-fund, that could easily be paid off. But Dean had insisted he was family, Sam had looked at him with those huge, pleading eyes, and Cas had caved. After so long with a family that expressed little affection, easily switched loyalties, and often displayed little attachment, the Winchester’s world had brought him to his knees.
He had wanted to be a part of it. Any part of it.
And now, circumstances be damned, he was.
A few weeks back, Sam had stood, swaying and still sick, but determined. He’d gone to meals and meds. He’d gone to groups. And then, right when there was “progress” being made, he’d reverted back to Old Sam-bedridden, silent, and starving. Cas did his best to reassure Dean that it was all part of the treatment process, but he was wondering what was happening himself.
Seeing Sam like this hurt. It hurt terribly.
Alan came down the hall, a hand on Sam’s arm, like he was some old man instead of a once vibrant youth. “Took him off the drip myself,” he said proudly, helping Sam sit. Sam was still very pale, and fragile looking, shivering in his favorite hoodie, hand clutched on the amulet Dean had hung around his neck. “Be back in an hour to hook him back up. And we’re going to discuss this whole hunger-strike again. Alright buddy?”
Sam just stared at the floor. “Thank you,” he mumbled. Alan frowned and cast a brief, meaningful glance at Dean and Cas.
“Hey,” Dean said, voice upbeat and gentle. He rested a hand on his younger brother’s back. “Thought you were off the drip.”
“They put me back on this morning.”
“You miss dinner?” Sam shrugged. He seemed too tired to answer. “I’ll bring you some tonight.”
“I don’t feel good,” Sam mumbled. Cas knew he wanted to sound casual, but he sounded all of six-sad and scared and exhausted all at once.
“’Course you don’t. You’re not eating.”
Cas moved his seat to flank the younger Winchester. “You’re still in the worst of the withdrawal,” he said gently. “I’m afraid that comes with a great deal of exhaustion and depression.”
“If it’s all the same,” Sam managed, seeming weaker by the moment, “I’d rather not talk about it.”
Cas reached out and laid his hand on the younger Winchester’s arm. Sam’s eyes were damp and filled, as if he and Dean’s simple kindness was too much for him.
The door before them opened, and a thin, pale girl emerged, arms clutched close. She glanced at them, huffed a “good fuckin’ luck,” and drifted off down the hall.
“See you tomorrow, honey!” Missouri called. “And Lily-up on time tomorrow, alright? It’s gonna be okay.” She smiled and waved, then turned and gave a great huff in their direction. “My God that girl wears me down. I’ve dealt with homeless prostitutes with more optimism. C’mon in.” She crossed the short space, took Sam’s arm in hers, and got him on his feet. “Sam, before we get started, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”
“I know,” he mumbled as she lead him into her small office. Dean and Cas sat on the loveseat, as they had been in the past few weeks, while Missouri lowered Sam into a chair at a right angle to them, then sat directly facing him. “So. You’ve been missing groups, meds, and meals. Why?”
“I don’t feel good.”
“So skipping meds and meals will make it better?”
“I’m sick. You...all of you....made me sick.”
“No, you made yourself sick, and we’re tryin’ to get you better. And so far, all you’ve done is crash in our beds like this a Motel 6 and you’re sleeping off a bender.”
Sam flinched. Dean instantly leaned forward. “Look...my brother’s been through a hell of a lot, okay?”
“Your brother ain’t any different from anyone else I see. And they still get themselves where they need to be. Sam, I can’t keep having this conversation.”
“I can’t either,” he grumbled, sounding so broken Cas felt an ache in his chest.
“You quit that, right now,” Missouri snapped. “You did something few people I’ve seen did-you came here completely of your own accord. No court-orders, no professional interventions, no pending lawsuits or divorces or custody-battles. You’ve owned all your own mistakes, and from what I’ve heard, you’ve been nothing but supportive and forgiving to everyone around you. So you’re not gonna turn around and decide you deserve anything different, and you’re not gonna curl up on a third-rate mattress and give up on yourself. You hearin’ me?”
Sam smiled, ever so slightly. “Everyone in the state hears you, Missouri.” She grinned warmly back at him.
“Atta boy,” she said proudly. Dean instantly sat back in a huff, crossing his arms, jealousy all over him. Cas laid a light hand on his boyfriend’s arm and got knocked away. He tried with all his might not to chuckle. “So,” Missouri huffed. “What do you two have to say about this?”
“What, this is our fault? What the hell are we supposed to do when he’s locked up like this is Goddamn Alcatraz and he’s friggin’ Al Calpone!”
“Dean,” Cas and Sam said at the same time.
“No, I’m really sick of having to come in here and have every bit of our family picked to death. Okay, yes, Sam and I grew up in crazy conditions most people don’t have to. It made us ‘co-depedent,’” he said, with overly exaggerated air quotes. “I’ve been trying to fix this. Trying to help him. And you and everyone here just want to keep him locked up and me guessing all the millions of thousands of things, I did wrong!”
“Dean,” Sam murmured. “This isn’t on you. I have to...learn. How to deal. Without you.”
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
“Why is it so bad to rely on Dean, Sam?” Missouri asked.
“Because he...I always wondered if he’d still be there.”
“I’ve never left you,” Dean raged. “Ever, Sam.”
“Why did you feel that?” Missouri asked. Sam rubbed his hands on his sweats and didn’t answer. “It’s alright, Sam,” she softened her voice. “It will help Dean understand if you tell him.”
Dean’s face hardened. “Sammy?”
Sam began to tremble. His fumbled under his sleeves and started scratching at his scars. Dean launched out of his chair and grabbed his brother’s head in his hands.
“Stop it!” he almost shouted. “Look at me! I can take it, Sam! You’re the one who can’t. You’re the one who stopped telling me things. You’re hiding and lying and it’s not like you! Spit it out.”
“Dean-” Cas pleaded, but Missouri held up her hand in a “stop” motion.
“Spit it out!” Dean roared.
Sam’s jaw locked and he shoved his brother, hard. Dean landed on his ass, stunned. “You let him beat you!” Sam shouted. “You said it was for me, but it wasn’t, Dean! You would be hurting and weak and scared and you’d try and tell me it was nothing! You’d make me hide upstairs and listen and wonder if you were ever coming back! And then, even when he was gone, you started going out with people who would hurt you-you’d drink like it was nothing, like he didn’t do that-like you’re some martyr whose only role is to die for me, when it’s not-you’re not. I don’t want you to die for me. I want you to be safe and healthy and not sacrifice for me. I wanted to go to law school so one day I could pay for you to go to college. And buy us tickets to sports games. And give back so you’d know I was grateful and know you deserved more than what he did and-and-”
Sam reached up, grabbed his hair, and pulled, hard. Dean, who’d sat quietly, stunned, throughout Sam’s rant, shot to his knees at the sign of self-injury, wrestled Sam’s hands away, and replaced them, gently, with his own.
“It’s okay, Sammy,” he murmured, pulling his forehead close to his brother’s. “It’s okay. We’re alright. See? You said that, and I’m not mad, and I’m not leaving. I’m right here. Shhh,” he murmured, as Sam’s breath hitched. “I’m here, I’m here, I’m right here, Sammy. No one’s gonna hurt us anymore. It’s okay. We’re gonna be okay.” He smiled, smoothed Sam’s hair, met his eyes. “We’re really gonna be okay, little brother.”
Sam launched himself forward and nearly knocked Dean backwards as he wrapped his arms around him. Dean held him back, tightly, with a whispered “whoa, whoa, easy does it.” And then a lower, softer, “I gotcha, Sammy.” Missouri got quietly to her feet and made a “c’mere” gesture to Cas, who followed her just outside the room.
“God almighty,” she sighed. “Elephant’s have birthed in less than time than it took that to happen.”
“He told you he wanted to say that?”
“Hell no. Don’t mean I didn’t know it needed to be said.” She winked at him. “They’ll be fine. But Sam had to get that out. And Dean needed to hear it. They’re both too damn willing to toss themselves away. They need to realize that it hurts the people that love them.”
“Should I-”
“No.” Missouri’s face softened. “They love you both, honey, they do. And Lord knows how good you are for them. But this...they gotta get it out of themselves and promise each other they’ll make it. They ain’t never gonna do better for anyone else if they can’t swear to stop lining up for the guillotine for each other.”
“What can I do?” Cas managed. Missouri touched his arm lightly.
“Just love them, honey. Love them with all you got.”
***
Cas and Missouri waited quietly until the end of their hour. Dean had an arm around Sam’s waist, as much to keep him upright as to support him emotionally. Alan appeared at the end of the hall, and Sam leaned slightly into his brother, damp eyes filling once more.
"Hey," Dean murmured, "I'll be back as soon as I'm off, okay? And Cas will swing by after."
Sam gripped Dean's shirt. "Are...you just....saying that?"
"What?"
"Do you--are you done with me now?"
"What--Sammy--c'mon, man. You know I'm not."
"It's not that I didn't...want to stop I--"
"I know, I know, hey," Dean laid his hands on his brother's arms and squeezed. "It's good that you're being so honest. I know it's hard. But if you're not honest, we can't help you." He squeezed his brother's shoulders. "You've got a group now, but we'll be back."
"You will? You promise?"
"Sammy," Dean chided. A tear escaped his brother's eye. Dean leaned forward and pulled him into his arms, stroking his hair softly. "I'm going to come back tonight," he murmured, "and I'll bring you dinner and we'll watch the game."
"Promise?" Sam whispered, sounding all of four years old.
"Promise, buddy." He gave him a quick kiss in his hair and patted his back a little roughly. "C'mon. Go to your meeting, alright?"
Alan came forward and hooked an arm into Sam’s. “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling to the three of them, “I’ll escort him there if he’s ready. Sam?”
Sam met his brother’s gaze, and the boys had one of those intense conversations with their eyes before Sam nodded and accepted Alan’s arm.
“I’m gonna go to group, Alan,” he managed. “And dinner.”
“You’re gonna go on an IV until you prove you’re ready, pal,” Alan, tugging him a little closer and grinning at the remaining three. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he gets where he needs to be.”
“Thank you,” Cas said, in lieu of the Sam and Dean, who were still holding weakly to one another. Missouri stepped forward and touched Sam’s cheek lightly, smiling with her usual warmth.
“You be strong, honey,” she murmured. “You gotta show your big brother what that really means.”
Dean huffed in characteristic indigence, but Cas was determined to be all the Winchesters could not.
***
Dean rubbed his forehead as Cas pulled his car out of the Rosemount parking lot and headed back toward town. “Are you alright?” he chanced.
“Am I the worst person alive for saying that sometimes, dealing with this is exhausting?”
“Of course you’re not.”
“Christ, Cas. I hear all the doctor’s spiels on chemicals and bio-chemicals and psychotropic meds and psychology-but dealing with Sammy like this-” his voice hitched.
“It’s alright,” Cas said gently. “I’m not going to judge you, you know that.”
“He’s a totally different person! I mean, he’s always been a geek, and fussy, and stubborn, but now he’s-nervous. And...”
“Pessimistic,” Cas supplied.
“Right. He doesn’t believe anything we say. He doesn’t believe anything I say.”
The rest of that sentiment resounded, clearly, between them: he doesn’t view me as perfect anymore. He doesn’t view me as the fixer of all.
“Dean,” Cas said, carefully, “I think...it may very well be a sign of maturity... of growth, in Sam, that he acknowledges your humanity and doesn’t rely on your absolute ability to fix his mistakes. Of course, that will come with some very real repercussions, because if you aren’t able to fix everything, than he has to find a way to fix things on his own. So he may very well overcompensate.”
“But Sammy doesn’t give up. He doesn’t just...lie around without a fight. Never. He fought our Dad. He fought our life.”
“He’s sick, Dean,” Cas murmured. “Try and think that he has a chronic illness, like cancer or HIV. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be better, it’s that he needs intense treatment to do so, and that treatment may change him.”
Dean sighed and slumped even deeper against the window. “Told you I’m awful,” he grumbled.
“Of course you’re not.”
“You take all this in stride,” Dean said bitterly, slumping against the window. Cas felt his palms begin to sweat. Rubbed his thumbs on the steering wheel. Remembered Missouri.
“Dean,” he said carefully. “When most people come to me...they’re ill. I don’t get to know what they are before. Seeing Sam’s decline...has been very difficult. And seeing your struggle has been...far worse.” He drew a deep breath, felt Dean’s eyes cut sharply toward him. “But...I wouldn’t trade it. My own family...would never tolerate such troubles. And I’m trying to learn...how to cope with this as you would. It’s easier for me to...think as Sam as a patient. To think of him as family-” Cas was mortified when his voice broke. The light changed to green, but was too blurred to see the way forward, even when a horn sounded behind them.
“It’s alright,” Dean soothed, smoothing Cas’ hair behind his ear, a rare, intimate gesture normally reserved for their private moments. “It’s alright to hurt, Cas. It...helps. Sam and me and both. It helps to know we’re not alone in it.”
Cas opened his mouth to answer and found he couldn’t. Because it wasn’t just all he wanted: it was all anyone wanted.
Not to be alone.
***
Cas slid into bed behind Dean, looping an arm around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. Dean lay on his back, eyes on the ceiling, breath even and relaxed. They lay in the dim light from the streetlamp, the tension of the day flowing out of them now that they were under the covers, side by side in their own bed.
“I’m an alcoholic,” Dean said, voice wavering. Cas moved his hand off of Dean’s waist and rested it over his boyfriend’s heart.
“Yes,” he murmured.
“All those years watching my old man, and I turned out just like him.”
“You’re nothing like him.”
“I’m an alcoholic.”
“You’re not abusive-mentally, physically, emotionally. And you know you have to stop.”
Dean didn’t answer. Then: “I want it so bad, Cas. I miss it almost as much as I miss Sammy.”
“It’ll get easier.”
“It didn’t for my Dad. He’d go a few months, and then...flat on his face.”
“You won’t be alone, Dean. Sam and I will do it with you. Missouri will help us all learn what we need to do to cope.”
“You’re not the one with the problem.”
“I am. I looked the other way for far too long. I should have raised concerns sooner.”
“I get it. You don’t want to be sleeping with a drunk,” Dean snapped, in that maddening, self-hating way he had.
“I didn’t want to trigger your defense mechanisms and send you running,” Cas corrected. “I know you, Dean. You’ve been cursed with impermanence. Sam has been the only constant in your life from a very young age. Others have mistreated you greatly, and left you feeling abandoned. I didn’t want you to fear that from me. It’s a problem, Dean: a medical problem. It’s not yet to the point of disrupting your character, the way it did with your father. Your values and judgments and morals are intact. You’ve just been given a very difficult life with only one demonstrated way of dealing with your pain. Now we’ll find others.”
Dean didn’t answer. A moment later, he tilted his head slightly, and Cas felt a warm wet spot touch his own forehead.
“I love you very much,” Cas murmured. “I know, if the situations were reversed, that you would care for me.”
Dean’s hand found his own. Seconds later, his mouth found his own. Miles away, Sam was curled in bed, under the extra warm green blanket they’d bought, struggling and suffering. Cas silently willed strength and hope to him, and then embraced the one closest to him, vowing to all the absent others that he’d love them with all he had, across all the years he had left, no matter how hard they tried his loyalty, or however violently they assaulted his patience.