Burned - Destiel

I

Fire.

That smell.

That awful smell.

The smell of burned wood, melted furniture, ashes.

And the screams.

The screams of pain of his mother.

The desperate shouts of his father.

The cries of his baby brother.

The heat.

        "Dean! Wake up, we need to go to school!"

        Like they did every day, Dean's eyes moved underneath their lashes, yet they didn't open. His chest was heaving, desperately trying to even his breathing. Sammy could barge in any second now to attempt to get him out of bed and he didn't want the fourteen-years-old to worry. In the few seconds he had left, he watched the flames dim behind his eyes, the horrid smell leaving his nostrils.

       Like he expected, the door opened gently. The footsteps suggested that it was indeed his little brother that walked in, due to the small amounts of time between the steps. Despite his normally somber mood, a small smile crept up his face when he felt a weight on the left side of his bed. He was faced towards the wall, which would make sure that his brother thought he was asleep.

        "Dean. Dean. You need to wake up. I don't wanna be late for my first school day." Sam shook his shoulder gently. Dean pretended to wake up and opened his eyes, only to want to sigh. It was just the same, white wall as he woke up to every day that reminded him that his life was real. He turned around to look at his brother and nodded. 

        "Dad made us food already. He asked me to get you," Sam continued, now knowing that he was awake. He was rewarded with another nod, which was all he was gonna get.

        Dean swung his legs over the edge of the bed and flinched immediately as his eyes made contact with his right leg. The shattered skin could be compared to a rough, wild sea, only was it not able to ease away like the calm after the storm. No, Dean's body was a constant reminder of his past. Therefore, his hate for himself had reached a limit. At least, he hoped so.

        It wasn't just his right leg that carried severe burn marks. The flames had damaged almost a quarter of his body, burns covering the right side of his stomach and chest up to his shoulder and neck. With just enough care he could cover it all up and pretend it never happened.

        But it did.

        In the bathroom, he splashed water on his face before dabbing it with a towel. His reflection showed him - in Sam's words - unique green eyes and freckles splattered across his cheeks and nose. His lips were pressed together as his stare went to his burns. He knew his leather jacket would cover up his neck perfectly, but he couldn't help to feel anxiety making its way through all of his body.

        Once the people at school found out about his condition, Dean started to get bullied. He was laughed at, mocked at, but he never told his father. Three weeks earlier, bullies had screamed that there was a fire in the middle of the room. Dean had a massive panic attack and was sent to the nurse's office. John Winchester had immediately pulled both his sons out of school and even went as far as moving. Dean couldn't help but feel guilty for causing all that, but his father kept saying it was nothing. The expensive bills told them another story, but Dean wasn't supposed to know about those in the first place.

        "God, finally. I still need to brush my teeth and we have to leave. Dad packed us lunch and made you some breakfast to go," Sam rambled. Dean was still standing in the door frame of the bathroom, slightly dumbfounded as his brother walked past him and grabbed his toothbrush. Then he just shook his head and left to get dressed.