Perception

Your Reality is Skewed

Thursday entailed Sam Winchester following Castiel into group therapy. Dean had gotten lumped into Dr. Mignola's group, meaning he would have his therapy sessions on Monday and Wednesday's instead. Castiel wished that both men were with him, but he was willing to spend some quality time with Sam.

"So," Sam started once they took a seat next to a woman with severe manic depression, "what exactly goes on in here?"

Castiel looked up at him, eyes perpetually wide and curious. "We talk about our days, Sam. Lester is most likely to take up the majority of our session with the story of how he killed his wife and her boyfriend."

Sam's eyes widened. "Oh. Well, that's, ah, interesting."

"There is no need to lie, Sam. You will not be hurting anyone's feelings."

Sam laughed lightly, grinning. He had grown fond of Castiel over the past few days, Dean even more so. He could see him cooing (in his own special way) at Castiel when he did something especially cute, like curl up contentedly on Dean's bed or run his fingers lightly over the flask before tucking it into the waistband of his sweatpants.

And Sam - well, Sam just wanted to get him a good burger.

(The day before, Sam had watched as Castiel piled crappy hospital burgers onto his tray and scarf them down like they were his last meal. For all his troubles, the guy deserved a good burger.)

All talking subsided when Dr. Squill walked into the room and took a seat at the head of the circle. Sam could see him perfectly over the heads of his fellow patients. His gigantor genes came in handy at times.

Castiel stared unblinkingly at Dr. Squill, leaning back in his chair comfortably. He frowned when his doctor's eyes momentarily flickered black. It seemed his hallucinations were acting up again.

He looked away from Dr. Squill and rubbed his eyes, before glancing up at Sam, who suddenly looked stricken.

...

Castiel met Dean at the rec room doors after Sam had dashed off to his room to retrieve something. Castiel didn't bother to ask what, considering he figured he'd find out.

Dean smiled down at him, and Castiel grabbed his hand in response, fitting his long fingers snugly around Dean's palm and pulling him to his radio. He pulled Dean down to sit next to him and turned the dial on his radio to his station, where he found the song about the boy who liked to sing along to his favorite songs and shoot guns was just beginning. He smiled and leaned against the taller man's arm, smiling up at him adoringly. Dean grinned back amusedly, ruffling Castiel's hair.

...

When Sam returned, the song about not wanting to be sober had just reached its end, and Castiel was beginning to drift off into sleep. Dean was leaning back into the couch, supporting Castiel's limp body with the majority of his left side.

As much as he hated to ruin such a rare moment of peace for his brother, Sam had to say something.

"We have a demon, Dean."

"Of course we do, when do we not?" Dean sighed sadly and looked down at Castiel. "Let's just make sure Cas stays safe, okay Sammy?"

Sam nodded, albeit reluctantly. Despite Castiel's childlike propensities, the man was entirely competent and not at all daft, as one might have thought upon meeting him. He didn't need to be protected like a child. But it seemed Dean had already made a little space in his heart for Castiel, and there was no changing his brother's mind.

"Let's get him to his room, and then we'll talk."