word count- 611
It's his birthday, and he is five years old. Maybe that should matter, but it doesn't. There's no cake, no presents, no warm smiles.
His birthdays are never important. He's surprised his mother acknowledges the day at all, even if it's only to sneer at him and slap him across the face. "I never should have had you," she tells him. "I should have aborted you."
Piers drops to his knees, shaking his head. This didn't happen. This isn't… But he loses the thread almost instantly when his mother is on him, eyes wide and teeth sharp. She's foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog and her needle-like claws dig into his shoulders.
"You're pathetic. Weak. Miserable!"
"I'm not weak!" Piers opens his eyes, gasping for air.
Dean is beside him, frowning. "I wanted to wake you," he says, "but you were thrashing so bad."
Piers nods, blushing deeply until his cheeks burn. He remembers the last time Dean tried to wake him from a nightmare. Piers had come up swinging, gripped by panic and fear. He'd spent hours apologizing, but Dean had insisted he understood.
It takes several moments for Piers to accept that he isn't in danger. His heart rate lowers, and he manages to take a deep breath. By some miracle, it helps to steady him.
"Your mum again?" Dean asks.
Piers laughs, the sound dry and humorless. "Isn't it always?" he asks.
Dean opens his mouth but seems to reconsider. He shrugs. "I s'pose."
"I don't remember her ever looking like a bloody werewolf." Piers pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales heavily. "Memories can be distorted. But still… Shit was terrifying."
"Are you okay now?"
Piers wishes he could say yes. Of course he's okay. Of course he isn't broken and pitiful. Of course he isn't traumatized from years of merciless abuse as a child. Everything is just fine.
Except it isn't, and he knows Dean would call his bluff. Nothing is fine. Sometimes he really thinks he's finally healed from his past, but it manages to find new ways to manifest and leave him torn and shaken. Maybe he should stop trying. Maybe he should just give up and accept his fate as a broken shell of a man.
But that wouldn't be right. Isn't Dean just as scarred from the war? Piers doesn't know much about the things his boyfriend saw, but he knows Dean has been different ever since he reappeared this past May. Dean is still fighting, and Piers knows he has to do the same.
"I'm not," Piers says, and he hates admitting that he's weak. "But I will be one day."
Dean smiles, and that's all it takes to melt Piers' heart. He doesn't know how Dean does it. It's like some secret trick he has up his sleeves, an easy way to make Dean feel like everything is okay, even when feeling it okay seems impossible. "Damn right you will be," he says with certainty. "I'll make sure of it."
Piers stretches until he hears a soft pop in his spine. "You promise?"
With a soft laugh, Dean captures him in a gentle hug. "Of course I do," he assures him, holding him close.
Piers doesn't always believe it when people tell him he's stronger than he realizes. Sometimes he thinks the idea of being normal is such bullshit because he is a hopeless case. But then there's Dean, and he is so genuine and kind, and Piers wants to believe that he can be better.
One day, it will happen. In the meantime, he will just let Dean hold him and wait for that brighter day.