Burned - Destiel

XXIII

It felt surreal, seeing his dad like this. Calm, at ease, without worries. Dean knew that his dad always worried. About income and keeping his job, the rent for their house, the gasoline for the Impala, Dean's depression and anxiety, Dean's involuntarily disability, Dean's scars - he basically worried about Dean in general -, both his sons their education, providing them with enough food, enough necessary clothes and shoes and even more could be added to the list of concerns the man had dealt with daily.

However, as he laid there, perfectly still, it was as if somebody painted away the dark circles under his eyes and the wrinkles that had appeared on his forehead over the years. He only now realized some features of his father that he had never noticed before, like a mole right beneath his right eye and the slightly bent bridge of his nose, the shape of his mouth and a scar on his chin.

He wished he would've been able to see those features before he died.

An arm wrapped around his waist, causing him to shiver as the muscles in his shoulders tensed, despite his knowledge of knowing the intruder of his thoughts. He didn't feel the physical and emotional strength to respond to the intimate gesture, keeping his hands buried deep in the pockets of his pants, wishing he could disappear just as easily. He just stared at his father, his eyes, red-rimmed and bloodshot, contradicting the emotionless expression that had desperately latched on his face.

"C'mon, Dean. They're about to start," Castiel whispered in his ear, rubbing his back gently as he spoke. Dean didn't budge. He didn't even flinch. He only moved as Castiel guided him away like a truck ready for the scrap yard. At least, that's how Dean metaphorically interpreted it.

He looked at the audience, which was far less crowded than he wished he could have seen. Some colleagues of his father sat in the back, some people unknown, yet some familiar. Jody was there, Bobby and Sam were, although they hadn't exchanged a single words since arriving. Chuck and Gabriel were there, Castiel (obviously) and Charlie. Dean had asked her to come after a dramatic fit from Charlie about missing school.

"Dean fucking Winchester. You better explain why you didn't show up to school today, young man. Do you even know how worried I was? We all were?  And where's Sam? I didn't see him. Oh my God, Cassie was gone too. Please, Tell me you didn't cut class for some frickle crackle?"

Dean watched her ramble with no strength to interrupt her. After her rant, she would start to see how he looked, he knew her too well to know this. He had no choice but to listen to her dramatic mom speech, contemplating on running away before she could even argue his physical state.

"Charlie. Shut your fucking mouth. Something personal happened, which is not my story to tell. Just- be careful around him," Castiel's voice sounded behind him. Despite the pain wrenched deep inside his heart, a shimmer of hope emerged when he heard him speak.

Charlie had stopped talking and was now checking Dean's face out.

"Oh my God, What happened?" she asked worriedly. Dean forced a smile.

"My dad had a stroke and passed away  last night. Sam's finishing the year in Sioux Falls," Dean replied, the words still foreign on his tongue. A muffled sound escaped his mouth when Charlie wrapped her arms around him, his own body unresponsive to the comforting embrace, his arms leaning against his side awkwardly. Upon realizing this, she pulled away.

"Right. Still not a fan of hugs. Anyways, is there something I l can do?" Dean looked at her and shook his head. Last time he checked, she couldn't exactly bring his father back.

"I- eh. Things are kind of fucked up at the moment," he said, scratching his head. "Would you - I mean, if you don't want to go, that's fine. I don't even wanna go-"