Probably not the smartest idea but...hey he didn't really care at the moment. He had to take a break, had to at least pretend that life for the moment was normal. He remembered the first time he had figured it out; the first time that cemented the fact that he was not normal.
He had been a kid, just minding his own business (and not paying attention to where he was going) when he ran straight into one of the resident “tough” kids. A kid who voiced his opinion by taking a swing at him. Next thing he knew, the kid was on the ground screaming and his arm was on fire. Naturally no one decided to go near him again after that and his parents all but freaked out; the only one who didn't was his brother. But he could still feel the eyes on his back, the unspoken fear that lingered in his house.
Finishing his drink he paid for it and was just about to leave before he felt a sudden weight fall into him and had to fight back disgust. Just his timing that he would run into the drunks and apparently a grabby one who decided to make Dean his new best friend. "Sorry pal, I ain't got time for this." he replied simply, rolling his eyes and shrugging off the repeated disoriented attempts to grab him. “ Y-y’think yur bett’r an me?” the drunk slurred, glassy eyes trying to focus on the younger man. “I don’t have to think, I know.” He muttered under his breath. An action that didn’t sit well because soon Dean was the one getting shoved roughly back and he barely caught himself on the counter, having forgotten alcohol could give some people an added strength boost.
The anger was rising; the fact that he could hear the mocking drunken laughter not helping and he glared at the drunk. His eyes took on an almost blank, dangerous glint and he didn’t say a word, slowly straightening up but not breaking his gaze at all.
And suddenly there was fire; bright reddish-yellow flames erupting from the front of the drunk’s shirt and spreading.
