Burned - Destiel

VII

Dean's eyes moved rapidly underneath his closed lids as small, barely audible sounds escaped his mouth. It was in his state of unconsciousness that he didn't realize the pain it brought, but that wouldn't take long. It was same the nightmare, the same memory of all those years ago that caused all the discomfort in the first place.

There was fire, not like the ones you'd see in movies. It was a black mass of smoke, overpowering the yellow-orange flames that crept up the carpet and curtains. There was heat, so unbearable that the sweat that was formed on his forehead and mixed with the continuous tears, evaporated before they could leave his face.

He remembered his mother's screams, him trying to run back into those awful flames to save her. The firefighters pulling him out, the pain. The fiery pain by talking, the burns on his right side that he felt like scratching off. But they would never leave.

"Dean."

Sammy, being only six months old, crying because of the unpleasant heat. The chaos and the lack of comfort that his mother could give him. He remembered singing 'Hey Jude' to his baby brother as their father talked to the authorities, his vocabulary as good as any other four-years-old kid. The innocence was taken away from those innocent, promising eyes.

"Dean, we gotta go to school. Don't make me use force!"

Consciousness hit Dean like a brick. In his state of waking up, he started to feel the infuriating pain in his throat. As a result, he shot up from his lying positing, his eyes wide as he began coughing vividly. He didn't notice that it was actually Sam who had woken him up and stood beside his bed. Hoe little brother stared at him fearfully as unnatural sounds escaped Dean's mouth together with gasps of breaths.

"Dad?!" The younger Winchester son screamed out in panic while running towards the hunched over figure of his brother. He attempted to touch him in order to calm him down - that always worked - but he was surprised when Dean moved away quickly. While waving him off, the back of his hand came in contact with Sam's cheek. The boy fell off the bed and on the ground, holding his cheek in surprise.

John ran into the room, giving himself a second to comprehend the scene that had unfolded before he had gotten there. Sam was sitting on the ground, looking scared and worried. He was holding his cheek as if he had been hit. His older son seemed to have trouble breathing. John ran over to him and forcefully grabbed the boy's arms, succeeding in holding him down when he started to struggle. Dean started to scream, which sounded more like a wounded animal than it did human.

"Dean, listen to me. You're with me and Sammy. There is no fire. You are 18, we're living with the three of us, you go to school. I'm right here with you. There is no fire, calm down."

That's how the man slowly calmed his son down, who stopped thrashing around. The screaming had stopped, but the amount of vocal activity had caused a lot of coughing and pain The fact that he was crying didn't ease the situation. It took twenty minutes to calm him down completely, Sam watching them sadly with a throbbing cheek.

"Are you OK, De?" he asked slowly. Their father motioned him to come closer to them. Sam wasn't angry. He was in pain, yes, but his older brother was in a condition way worse than his, which lessened the pain significantly. Dean had heard his brother and looked up, his red-rimmed eyes widening. He shifted his position and touched the red patch on Sam's cheek gently.

"It's OK, Dean. Don't feel bad. I knew what was going on but I didn't think about the consequences," he reassured. Dean shook his head quickly, pulling himself out of John's grasp and walking out of the room before any of them could stop him.