Burned - Destiel

II

       "Make sure he enters that room," John said, pushing an angry Dean towards her, resulting in him stumbling on the stairs and having to block his fall with his hands. He glared at his father, before slowly walking up the stairs himself. The woman smiled awkwardly and nodded. John walked towards the waiting room again, and Dean couldn't help but dig his nails into his palms.

        In contrary to what others thought, John Winchester was actually a caring father. He was so caring that arguments like these were bound to happen. Like Dean mentioned earlier, their priorities were elsewhere. When angry, his father could get slightly dangerous. That didn't mean that Dean gave in quickly, as he was just as stubborn. 

        "I'm Anna, Carver's daughter and secretary. It will mostly be me to pick you up, although you might see my younger brother drop by once in a while. He's your age actually. Well, good luck, Dean." Dean faked a smile in her direction before walking through the door she had opened.

        In contrary to the white, clean house he had stepped out of just moments ago, this room was quite the opposite. Dean wouldn't say it was messy, but it was definitely less awkward and spotless. It made Dean feel more at ease, but not enough to change his mind. In a comfy looking chair, he noticed a figure, seeming relaxed as their eyes met.

        The man was - well - everything yet nothing like Dean expected. He had the age to be a father of children in their twenties, his blue eyes boring through Dean's skull - if that was possible. The man stood up, turning out to be shoulder length to Dean.

       "You must be Dean Winchester. I'm Doctor Edlund, but in this room, you can call me Chuck." Dean nodded since there was nothing else he could and wanted to do. The man had stretched out his hand for Dean to shake, but Dean ignored it and walked to what he supposed to be his chair. The man followed him without any disappointment and sat opposite of him. Dean noticed the notebook and pen laying on the table in front of him, eyeing it suspiciously before looking up at the therapist.

        "So, Dean. How was your first day of school? You can write it down if you like," Chuck gestured towards the notebook. Dean grabbed it hesitantly, before starting to write. Instead of a one-word answer, he kept on writing with big letters, until almost a whole page was covered. Then, he exaggerated the dot in the end and handed the notebook over to the therapist.

        "So, here's how we're gonna do this," Chuck began reading, and Dean couldn't help but blush at his failed attempt to sound threatening. "My dad isn't thinking straight. We've barely got enough food to get through the week, for God's sake. So, you're gonna say I'm untreatable - which I am - and that I'm fine, so I can at least make sure that Sammy gets food and education. Deal?"

        The therapist chuckled.

        "Dean, I actually talked to your dad on the phone. I do this voluntarily. You see, I got rich by writing books, this is just a profession on the side." Dean pursed his lips, not knowing whether to be mad or embarrassed. That would've been a handy fact to know.

        "So, tell me about your brother. Sam, right?" Dean nodded quickly. No matter how much he wanted to rant - well, write - about his little brother, he kept staring at the page blankly. He knew that it was a strategy to get him to talk, to show that he indeed wasn't alright, but he couldn't give up that easily. Chuck stared at him calmly, and slowly he grabbed the pencil.

What do you want to know? He wrote down before handing it over to the therapist.

       "How your relationship is, how you feel about him. That kind of stuff." Dean nodded, not moving his hands an inch. "-and although you're trying to hide it, I can see that you love him and that you're proud of him. It's not a shame to talk about your feelings, Dean. It can be quite refreshing, actually."