A/N Hey guys! This is my first real fanfiction story, I'm excited :)

This is set when Dean would be in high school (I didn't give exact ages so you can pick what year they are in)

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its awesomeness, if I did, well you probably don't want a list… and also I could never write the episodes as awesomely as Eric Kripke does (did you know he was born near where I was born! Um, sorry)!

Summary: When you look into the eyes of a teenager you expect to see that spark of hope. They think they are invincible, nothing can go wrong. They think they know the horrors of the world, but his eyes knew different, his eyes knew the truth.


Mom's happy voice, the hair she never got cut fell in long waves down, reaching to the small of her back. It was Thanksgiving, and she had been trying to cook, something she never did. Me, reading my new picture books Mom had gotten from the local charity. Grace in her room, taking her nap, I was five.

Mom twirled around, her hair flying out behind her. The gravy on the stovetop, the open flame, Mom's hair! In one second her head was covered in flames, she was stumbling around, trying to put he fire out, her body twitched and flailed around, whether under her control or not I didn't know. I was frozen, a picture book open in my hands. Then the flames caught the drapes, climbing rapidly, attacking the dried out, old wooden furniture of our small apartment. My eyes went back to my mom, her body seemed to be in a cacoon of fire, she was rolling desperately on the ground, but the flames were too strong. The fire was creeping along he ground towards me, but my eyes watched as my mom fell to the floor, the skin burning off her body, my brain kicked into working order when the flames began to lick at my back, and I ran out of the apartment and collapsed on the ground. Soon the whole building went up in flames.

I sat bolt upright in the tiny bed and took a few deep breaths as I wiped the cold sweat from my brow, I assured myself it was just a dream, it hadn't happened again. I looked over at the cheap alarm clock my foster parents had pulled from the attic for me to use. It read 5:57 AM; I reached over and shut off the alarm so it wouldn't go off in three minutes, before swinging my legs over the side of the bed and heading for the shower.

I stood under the hot spray for a few minuets trying to let the dream fall off me and go spiraling down the drain, but that never worked. I sighed and began to lather my hair with shampoo.

My first period was health with Mrs. Hake, and we were discussing the teenage mind, I sat down in my seat in the back. The other seat at my table was empty, something I was glad of, the other people in this room couldn't understand real grief, they hadn't watched their mother burn before their eyes, hadn't run from the house, forgetting their little sister asleep in her crib, and later watched the small two year old, her body charred beyond recognition being carried from the house on a stretcher. They hadn't, I had.

The bell rang and Mrs. Hake began talking, arms waving in dramatic gestures that made it hard to concentrate on her words, "Hello, class. Today we will be discussing how your brains work during these teenage years of life." she stopped talking as the door opened in he back of the room. Everyone's bodies and eyes turned around to face the young man walking in, his book bag draped carelessly over his shoulder, his faded jeans, and leather jacket accenting his well defined facial features and brilliant green eyes.

Mrs. Hake motioned him up to the front of the room, "You must be the new student, it doesn't make a good first impression to be late on your first day in this school," she wore her bitching face, I felt bad for that guy, the rest of the year would be horrible for him, Mrs. Hake didn't like lateness.

He walked to the front of the room, his posture of someone who, like me, had been the 'new kid' many times before and was getting bored of telling your name to the class. But he didn't seem embarrassed or scared about standing in front of the class like I always did when I got moved to another foster house, "I won't be here long enough to make an impression," he retorted, his voice cocky as his mouth formed a perfect lopsided smirk.

You could see Mrs. Hake's face twitching from my seat in the room and I hoped for his sake he wouldn't be here long, "Tell your name to he class," she spat out, gesturing to us.

"I'm Dean Winchester," the smirk still rested on his face.

"Well Mr. Winchester," she spat out his name, "You can go sit next to Miss. Young in the back."

My brain switched into overdrive in a millisecond, I could see Macy Dremal and Kelsey Res playing rock, paper, scissors under their table, glancing over at Dean. I knew that was their version of 'dibbs', and that they would kill me if I even looked at him the wrong way. My hands fell to my lap as he walked back, I noticed my hands were wringing together and I forced them to stop, stuffing them into the pockets of my jeans. He sat down next to me and leaned back, legs crossed in front of him.

I kept my eyes on the open health book in front of me, my eyes glancing up only slightly to see Kelsey and Macy giving me a glare that clearly stated back off.

"Hey, I'm Dean," his voice caught me off guard and my head shot up, my brown eyes meeting his green ones, but what I saw shocked me. I expected his eyes to hold the smug, cocky quality of the jocks at our school, that, I'm the best, I'm invincible quality I see in the eyes of everyone my age, but I found something else. My head tilted to the side slightly. I did see that in his eyes, but it was a shield and I could see beyond it. There I found that his eyes were the same as mine, they had seen something horrible, something that had burned itself into his corneas, never to be erased.

"I'm Hope," I told him. I saw his mind click and knew he had also seen that our eyes were the same. He gave me another lopsided grin that I could now see was covering up his grief before turning his head to look out he window. I wondered what had happened to him that his eyes held as much grief as mine did. I wondered how he could put up the front that he did, cocky and uncaring of the world.

All too soon the bell rang and everyone rushed to the halls, eager to talk before their next class began. I didn't have any more classes with Dean, and true to his word he wasn't there long, that was the only day he ever came, but I'll never forget his eyes, the eyes that were so similar to mine.

A/N So how was it? Please R/R well you already did read it, so… please review :) the button won't bite you.