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“I don’t really need to come here. I don’t say that to be mean or difficult, just… I need to get that out in the open right away. My counselor, well my other counselor says that I should be open and honest. I’ve got issues with lying and covering up when things are bad, and I’m working on that.”

“See my husband, he was taken by this really, really radical group. They were on a mission to reprogram gays, and they kidnapped him, and the police couldn’t find him. The FBI basically gave up on him. Even though they never said it, I knew that they figured it was only a matter of time before he showed up dead like the other victims that they’d taken.”

“But my Dean? He’s a fighter. Always has been, you know? He wasn’t going to let those bastards best him. Eight months he held on. Eight fucking months they tortured him, but he held the fuck on, and he was alive when they found him.”

“But you can’t expect any kidnapping victim to just be okay, especially not with what those bastards did to him. I don’t even know the full extent of what they did, you know? The authorities say that they can’t let the details of the case out, and apparently even bigoted, crazy scum take forever to prosecute.”

“Dean wasn’t in his right mind when they found him. The doctors say that it’s a mental break; he’s not really delusional in the sense that he’s got chemical brain issues, but he’s close enough. See, Dean loves me too much, and when they tried to ‘torture the gay’ out of him? He just couldn’t let me go.”

“He thinks he’s straight, and he thinks he’s my brother. My fucking brother! The scars those bastards gave him, he swears that they come from hunting. And not normal hunting either, we’re ghost hunters or demon hunters or werewolf hunters or whatever else Dean can remember from all of those stupid sci-fi shows he used to love to watch.”

“They had him in an institution for a while, but he’s not exactly harmful to himself or to others, has never attacked anybody else, and I’m a lawyer, right? I couldn’t just leave the love of my life in a mental ward, so I got a judge to release him into my custody.”

“He’s got a house arrest monitor on him, and I pay for a nurse to monitor him and make sure that he’s taking his medication when I’m not home.”

“Dean’s a perfect angel for the most part, and that’s what really scares me. He talks to his psychiatrist, and he takes his meds without a fight, and that just isn’t him. The only him that I see is when I let him go out to the garage in the evenings to work on his stupid car. I’m not really supposed to let him around all those tools and heavy equipment, but it’s his car. If not for me, it would be what he loves most in the world.”

“But… it’s been a while now. A long while and… fuck it gets so tiring. It hurts to see Dean flinch away when I just try to give him a little kiss. He’s my husband, and I can’t even hold his hand. Worse, he’s still Dean so he wants to help me. He tries to encourage me to go out and date pretty women. He thinks that I’m the one who is all screwed up. Some supernatural creature has gotten inside my brain and put me in this life so that they can control me.”

“Apparently they tried to get to Dean too, but he was too smart for them. He tells me that he could leave at any time, but he’s not leaving me here. Says he would never do that to his Sammy, and I just, I just want him to call me that again like he used to, you know?”

“Sammy was always some sort of pet name for me from him, he refused to give up on it, and eventually he wore me down to thinking of it as sweet. It’s ours, and those fucking bastards had to go and twist that too. I don’t need a brother. I need my lover back, but I can’t say that to Dean. The one time I tried, he looked like I’d stabbed him straight through the heart. He wouldn’t talk to me for days, and then somehow figured out how to pick the lock to the liquor cabinet and drank himself stupid.”

“I had to call the paramedics because you’re not supposed to drink with the antipsychotics that Dean is on, and I almost lost custody. Of course, Dean turned around and pinned the blame on the nurse that I’d hired, and I still feel horrible about that. She’s got this black mark on her record, but I can’t fix that because I’ll lose him.”

“The bastard knows it too. His brain is all jumbled up on the inside, but he’s still the same smooth talker that he’s always been. Bastard talked his way into my pants on the first date, and hasn’t given up since. He… he somehow got his heart set on me talking to you, Doctor. I think it’s the Robert part of your name.”

“Dean gets fixed on things and won’t let them go. When he first came back to me, he kept insisting that I call this Bobby Singer that I was supposed to know.”

“Bobby is a scrap dealer in South Dakota. Dean’s doctors think that maybe Dean got some auto parts from him for the Impala, and the name just kind of got lodged in his brain. They’re not really sure, but what else is new? They can’t fucking fix anything with Dean.”

“You know what one of them told me? Move on. That bastard told me to move on from the love of my life. Find somebody new and just, just resign myself to being my lover’s caregiver for the rest of his life. Worse, Dean tried to agree with them. Said I was getting too stressed and said I should go out with a girl or two, let off some steam.”


“And that hurt because I know where that one comes from. I had this girl I was dating when I first met Dean, and he’s always worried that maybe when I chose him over her that I would start to regret that decision. In his fantasy world? She died pinned to my ceiling, roasting in flames. Don’t even ask what that is all about. Apparently demons have yellow eyes and roast humans like marshmallows. Oh! Ghosts are afraid of salt too, in case you’re wondering.”

“But… remember how I said that Dean still knows how to push my buttons even though his brain is scrambled? A few weeks ago he started getting cozier. He’d, he’d hold my hand sometimes when we watched television, or he’d give me a little hug in the mornings. Nothing huge, but I thought that maybe he was getting better.”

“Last week, he… he gave me a kiss. Just a peck on the cheek, and it’d been so long. So, so long. And he said that if I’d just make an appointment with you that he’d… he’d give me another one. On the lips this time even, and I’m just not that strong.”

“I love him, scrambled brain and all. And I know it’s wrong. He’s not mentally fit for this, and I know that he’s manipulating me. I just don’t care.”

“Anyway, I know that our time is up for today, so I hope you don’t mind that I don’t pay extra for more session minutes. Dean’ll probably bribe me into coming back next week anyway, so you can tell me what kind of a crazy I am for letting my mentally broken husband manipulate me like he is.”


“Hey, Sammy, how did your appointment go?”

“It went fine, Dean. He’s balding and has a beard and is not in any way sexy.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“You always ask.”

“Mmm, what else?”

“What’s with the questions? Normally you’re telling me how my psychiatrist isn’t really a shrink but an agent of evil who is drugging the both of us into submission and me into a ‘false reality.’”

“Maybe I’m stalling. So did you like him?”

“He was okay, I guess. Must take on a lot of charity cases, he left right after me and wasn’t driving that nice of a rig.”

“Can’t blame a guy for helping save the world… one head case at a time.”

“No, I suppose not. Now quit stalling, I want my kiss.”