Hope is the Thing With Feathers

Therapy Session I

Azymis calls Dean, who picks up on the second ring.

"I didn't give you my number just to decorate your contacts," the archangel says into the phone. In his confusion, Dean doesn't respond.

Azymis sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Dean, I am a licensed psychologist. And I've renewed it every five years to keep it up to date. I've always had a 99.9 success rate with my patients."

"What?" Dean asks.

"Winchesters are fucking dumb ass idiots I fucking swear- You need therapy, I am a therapist; therefore I can help with more than just my amazing friendship." Azymis explains, feeling quite exasperated.

"Azymis, I don't need a damn angelic shrink. I'm fine." Dean grunts.

Azymis promptly flies to Dean's location and lands behind him.

"No you're not. You can't lie to me."

Dean whirls around, pointing a gun at him. "What the hell Azymis?!" he yells, lowering his gun.

"Our therapy sessions will be one hundred percent confidential. Unless you want me to, I wouldn't breath any of this to a soul. Scout's honor," Azymis promises. "Infact, we can go to my office if you don't want to be overheard. No one will be able to get in except for us. I even angel proofed it. Hell, I can't fly in there."

"And what do we need to talk about so damn bad?"

"Dean, you went to Hell. I know you remember what happened; there is no forgetting. You can lie to Sam, but you can't lie to me. If you don't want to tell me everything, then don't. But you have to say something. Otherwise, all these amazing therapist abilities will go to waste." Azymis tells him, crossing his arms.

"You're not going to let this rest, are you?" Dean asks with a heavy sigh. Azymis merely raises his eyebrows in response.

"Alright then. Let's get this shit over with."

"That's the spirit!" the archangel says, beaming at the hunter. Without warning, he grabs Dean's shoulder and flies to his house, landing right in front of his office door.

The shiny plaque reads:

DR. PROFESSOR AZYMIS
PROFESSIONAL PSYCHOLOGIST/PSYCHIATRIST

Dean gives him a look.

"What? I had the time and the resources. I decided to put it to good use. Besides, you haven't even seen all of my degrees." Azymis says, unlocking the office and opening the door.

The office has mahogany paneling laid over the extra precautions Azymis built into the walls. Large Chinese Evergreens and Guiana Chestnuts sit in decorative pots in three corners of the room, looking pristine. In the farthest corner is a large plush lounge with a chair next to the head. To the right of the chair is a simple desk with a rock garden on it.

Azymis closes the door behind them and motions for Dean to lie down on the lounge.

"Really?" Dean asks, raising an eyebrow at it skeptically.

"What? It works. Besides, it's way more comfortable than sitting in some hard ass chair. Unless you'd rather...."

Grumbling, Dean mutters, "No." before sitting down on the lounge. It's alot softer than it looks, and Dean nearly sinks into it. Azymis bites back an amused chuckle and sits his chair.