Fire and a gun - Destiel

16

It was the next day when Cas opened his eyes. Beautiful on the one hand, totally creepy on the other. Because these blue diamonds didn't react or move, just staring at a point. For this, eye drops had to be put in every two hours to prevent them from drying out. Talking was out of the question, let alone moving fingers or facial features. It was exhausting enough for Cas to open his eyes.

Dean gently placed his hand on the cool cheek and kept asking the black-haired man to look at him until the nurse slapped his fingers. Yes, Dean Winchester and patience. Those two things just didn't go together. Nevertheless, he rejoiced at every little step forward like a child at Christmas.

If it wasn't Dean briefing his friends on all of this going on, it was Orlovsky popping in now and then.

"For a relationship, it's the greatest test to fight death together," he said, "you're mentally and physically completely naked in front of your partner. Imagine that your husband lies at the bottom of a sea and has to fight his way back to the surface from a great depth, infinitely slowly and tenaciously. It must be dark, cold, and lonely where he's now."

The chaplain's words of wisdom encouraged Dean in what he was doing, and he was so glad to have him.

It was constant emotional chaos. Minor changes in pulse or blood pressure on the monitor were interpreted as a glimmer of hope. After Dean was briefly in the fresh air, had drawn a coffee from the machine, and was sitting on his husband's bed again, he felt that he was struggling with something.

The heartbeat was a little higher, and somehow Cas' face had darkened a bit. Dean carefully took his hand and stroked his cheek with the other, murmuring soft, soothing words. The young cop's heart broke as a tear slowly made its way down his pale cheek.

"No matter what demons you're arguing with right now, it's not real ... are you listening? I'm here; just focus on my voice and my touch."

Like several times before, Cas dreamed of his parents; to clarify, of their death ...

It was a sunny day. Cas was six – just enrolled in school. But he didn't feel well. The other kids teased him for wearing braces. They called him Robot and said he shouldn't open his mouth; otherwise, those wires would kill the other children.

That was too much for a child's soul and expressed in nightmares, abdominal pain, and nausea. Screaming and raging, Cas refused to get out of bed. He didn't want to go there anymore; he didn't tell his parents why...

The boy was ashamed because he knew they both worked hard to make it happen. That day, both parents decided to stay with their son. If he'd gone to school, none of this would've happened.

It was a cable fire; it was found out later ... a stupid accident. All he could remember was his mother dying of smoke inhalation in the hospital and his father dying at home trying to protect his son. But that fear, that terror, that helplessness was more present than ever. Of course, the young man had therapies behind him. It wasn't easy for a little boy to process it all.

That was also the reason why he was in the fire department. He saw himself in every saved child; he felt guilty about every victim. That was his way of dealing with what he'd experienced. He felt he deserved it.

Castiel had no idea how many hours, days, or maybe even weeks had passed. He woke up again to a familiar noise.

Noodling, he always called it jokingly since Dean usually hit the wrong notes on the guitar. But at that moment, it was the most beautiful melody that reached his ears and spread as a warm wave throughout his body.

But when he sang ... Dean did it at moments when he felt unobserved because he was shy about that. But for his husband, it was the most beautiful voice he'd ever heard.