Burned - Destiel

XIX

A/N: I struggled with this chapter quite a bit, so sorry if it sucks. And I've been thinking about writing something Stony related but I don't know if people would want to read that so I'm a bit hesitant. Should I do it or not?

Anyways, sorry for bothering you. Enjoy reading!

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Dean regained consciousness, his eyes moving under his eyelids before they opened slowly. For a moment, he was unaware of the unfamiliar surroundings and the situation all together. He sighed quietly, closing his eyes and turned around, his head pressing down on something hard. A frown made its way up his face as he looked at the grey fabric that seemed to be an armchair. He closed his eyes once again, enjoying the dreamless slumber he had just woken up from.

"Hi there, sleeping beauty," he heard someone say behind him. He smiled lightly curled up against the couch a little bit more. Cas was here. What was he doing here? It was nice hearing his voice, though. He felt fingers rank through his hair and smiled contently. That was until his brain started working again.

He remembered the past few weeks, the car crash, crying, the hospital, befriending Charlie again, Castiel's first day back at school, their 'coming out', the exposure.

Instantly, the smile fell from his face. He turned around to look at the boy, who was looking at him sadly. His eyes were more blue than they had ever been, mostly due to the redness around the blue orbs. Dark bags created a partial circle under his eyes and once in a while, Dean could hear him sniff his nose.

'Have you been crying?' he signed, after removing his hands from under the blanket and reaching them out to his face. Castiel quickly wiped his eyes before he could, failing to hide the obvious fact that he had cried earlier.

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it," he tried to reassure the mute boy. Unfortunately, his attempt was unsuccessful. Dean raised an eyebrow, and at that moment Castiel knew that there was no way that he could get away with lies.

"Seriously. We'll talk about it later, but now there's a more pressing matter. Your dad called and he's coming over," the boy said, changing the subject wisely. This seemed to work.

'When?'

"You've been asleep for almost an hour, so I guess any minute now," he smiled apologetically. Dean looked at him fearfully, shaking his head repeatedly. "Sam called him, De, I tried to stop him."

'I don't want to leave you. I can't,' he signed. Castiel grasped both of Dean's hands with his somewhat OK hand, looking straight into his eyes.

"Then we won't."

Dean looked up, hearing another familiar voice that wasn't Castiel's, but his father's. All he could do was stare, feeling Castiel's strong hand wrapped around his own protectively. Castiel looked up too, smiling sadly. He was the one to let go off Dean's hands, making room for the father and son to talk. John sat down on the couch next to Dean and wrapped his arms around his sons waist.

"We moved here because of what happened, but I would never have moved if you were happy there. If you wished to move, I would make it work-" Dean pulled away and shook his head quickly. John smiled fondly. "-But you look like you've found a reason to deal with your scars," John said, looking at Castiel, who was - not so subtly - eavesdropping on the conversation. Castiel visibly sighed in relief, as Dean became much more emotional. He was holding back tears, accepting his father's request of another hug immediately.

"I would never do something you're not comfortable with," the man whispered, pulling his son closer to his chest. Dean buried his head in the man's shoulder, mouthing a 'thank you' against his clothing. He repeated that gesture when they pulled away.