A/N: Just something that popped into my mind. Hope you enjoy and please, please leave a review. It sucks when you see that about five hundred people have viewed your story but only two have reviewed. So... drop a line before you leave. Thanx!

"It won't hurt you, just an element. Something you can control"

John's voice might've just been a pebble in the proverbial sea. Dean couldn't hear him, or maybe his mind wasn't processing his father's voice. John worried about a lot of things but mostly about what would happen next, in the near future. Dean was only five but he didn't act much like a kid.

Not that John ever gave him the chance to. He convinced himself every night that it was a simple case of nature versus nurture. And by all means, what he was currently attempting to do would be considered normal. Just not with a five year old. John had to restrain himself. Dean needed to do this, needed to be able to take care of his brother and himself, when he wasn't around. When he wasn't going to be around. He tried to shoot down the idea of going to help him when he saw how Dean didn't even reach the counter. He had always been a little on the small side height - wise, but now the lack of proper nutrition was probably doing more harm. John made a mental note to buy healthier food next time.

A spark. Then another, as Dean tried to light the stove. The second a flame started, Dean scrambled back and scooted far away from the fire as far as possible. His eyes were wide with fear but his mouth did not open. Not once. John honestly didn't know if he'd even remember how to speak. Dean hadn't spoken a word since the fire. And that scared John. And whenever John got scared, he became angry. He has yelled at Dean more than a few times in the past seven months. And all he was doing now was teaching his kid how to start a fire on a friggin' stove so that one day he could make pancakes. Or omelettes. Or pancakes and omlettes. God, John could down a cow.

John stood where he was, just a few steps behind the kitchenette, where he had instructing Dean from. The spark that had been created never blossomed into a full fire.

"Come on, Dean! It's just a stupid fire!" Something he knew wasn't true. "Nothing's going to happen to you, or me, or Sammy." Sammy seemed to be the magic word. It got Dean moving from his very vulnerable position on the floor, and godammit, that made him look smaller than ever. There was a determination that John hadn't seen before.

He watched as Dean slowly trudged towards the stove and tried starting it once again. This time the flames started. He watched as the fire was reflected in Dean's eyes and reminded him so much of the fire and he watched as silent tears streamed down in rivulets on his son's cheek. But he didn't move. Not once. Seeing the fire and seeing Dean like that made John want to join the crying club but he won't. He couldn't, not now.

So he did the next best thing. John Winchester, pride be damned, went over and hugged his kid for accomplishing what he did. And he was rewarded when Dean acknowledged him with those unblinking green eyes and lashes too long for his own good. Dean crashed into him too and something inside him broke when he heard what he did, in a muffled voice, originating somewhere from where Dean was mushed into his chest.

"D..daddy"