Superwholock College AU

Panic

(( You guuuuys don't comment as much as you used to but I hope that you still like this fic. I'm sorry that it takes me so long to update :/ ily guys please keep reading okay bye ))
I stare at Sherlock as Dean closes the door quietly behind him. I hate to see him leave, just when I had him right where I wanted him.
On his knees.
Then this asshole had to come in and ruin everything.
"Why now?" Sherlock asks. I could pretend not to know what he means, but that would only drag out the process. There's no hiding anything from Sherlock.
I sigh heavily, flopping down on my bed. How do I explain this? "I'm not sure. It just got bad again. It's like that sometimes. One moment I'll be absolutely fine, and then the next everything just sort of hits me in the face. A student on campus that looks like one of my brothers. An ad online for somewhere I went with them on vacation. That's all it takes. Then suddenly I remember everything that's wrong and the only way to forget is the pain."
Sherlock considers this. "I understand what you mean, but what I don't understand is why you don't just find something else to distract you. Read, write, watch a movie? Those scars will be there forever Castiel. You have to stop."
"You think I don't know that?" I lash out. I can't help it. "Every time I use a blade I know that I am marking myself forever. But I don't care! I can't just do something else. It doesn't work. All I can think about is how good it would feel to bleed just a little bit."
Sherlock tilts his head to the side. I know that he can't understand, ever. I don't blame him for it, it's not his fault. Very young in life he was diagnosed as a sociopath, and he just doesn't have the capacity to empathize with others. I sigh, getting up and walking over to him. "Look. I understand that you want to help me, and I appreciate that. But this is something I need to do on my own."
Sherlock looks at me skeptically, but he nods anyway. I pat him on the back as he turns to leave, opening the door and stepping out.
Well, tries to step out.
Dean Winchester falls forward into the dorm.
I calmly pull him up and push the both of them out into the hallway.
~
In the movies, a psychologist's office looks very warm and inviting. The patient lays down on a chaise lounge and pours their heart out. The psychologist tells them that their feelings are valid, and the patient leaves feeling like a weight has been lifted off of their shoulders.
What a load of shit.
In real life, the office is either cramped and way too personal, or large and clinical. Cold. Just like this one.
There is no chaise, you just sit in an armchair across from a middle-aged doctor and stare at each other while he or she asks you seemingly random questions. Then you leave, and return to the same shitty feeling inside you had before you went in.
So here I sit, across from Dr. Singer in my court ordered hour of mundane questions.
It's not Dr. Singer's fault. I actually like the guy. He's a little short, with a round belly and a face that always looks grumpy. He smells of bourbon and gunpowder.
His office doesn't fit him at all. I've always got the feeling that he's just squatting.
"So, anything new?" he asks me. Always asks me if there's anything new.
For some reason, Dean pops into my mind. I guess that's new. It's not really that important though. I have flings all the time. Dean is just another one of those.
Right.
"Nope. Same old, same old," I say.
Dr. Singer nods his head. I start to play with the string that's started fraying on the seam of my jeans while he asks me more questions. The hour passes by with the good Doctor trying to crack my skull open, and me giving him short answers. Before I know it, I'm back in my car on the way to sit in my dorm and try not to think about how Dean heard everything today. The panic sets in.
What does he think of me now?