"Are you sure you're good?" Dean asks, looking over at Sam as the pull from the alley way. "Cut yourself pretty deep..."
Sam sighed and shook his head,"I promise I'm good," looking over at his big brother and frowned a little. "Are you good? You gave up some blood too and got put in that trance thing…"
Dean gave a non-committal shrug, a go to for him. The action saying "I'm not good, but I'm not bad" without him having to actually say the words.
Dean because he shook his head and nodded again to the weird book that lay between him and Sam. "Think that's anything like the Book of the Damned?"
Sam straightened, blinking and licking his lips. "Um…I don't know." Picking up the book in his slightly shaky hand, "Maybe more powerful. Who knows really?" Sam looked over at Dean, studying his face a minute. His jaw was set, a bit too pale. He was nervous. "But I don't think we should worry about it until we know what it does…" Sam continued.
Dean nodded without a word.

An few hours and burgers later, they were tending to their wounds with better supplies at the bunker.
Sam's cut was stitched up and wrapped, and now it was Dean's turn.
"Do you miss it?" Dean said suddenly as Sam pressed some hydrogen peroxide soaked cloths against his wrist.
Brows cinching, Sam glanced up at his brother as he continued to clean his wound, "Miss what?"
"Simpler days."
Sam chuckled, leaning back and observed his brother a moment, "We never have simple days, Dean." He started on stitching Dean's wound. He would only need three and a good wrap.
"Yeah, I know. " Dean said with an air of impatience. "I just mean…do you miss Stanford? Jess? Miss your old friends? Do you miss any of that?"
Sam cinched his brows together, tilting his head at his brother. "Where is this coming from Dean?"
Shaking his head, Dean waved a hand, dismissing his own questions. "I'm going to grab a few winks. You good?"
Sam just blinked and nodded. "Um, yeah."
Dean stood and headed out of the main part of the bunker and down the hall to his room, leaving Sam to digest Dean's questions.
Truth was Sam didn't miss Stanford. His friends? He had been gone so long that he would be surprised if any of them even remembered him. But Jessica… He would always miss her.
Sam slumped into the chair more, lost in his thoughts.
What were Dean's 'simpler days'. He never had a real childhood after the age of 4. He never had the luxury. Neither did Sam, really. But thinking about it, because of Dean, Sam's childhood was closer to "normal" than his own.
and now, here Dean is, not being able to be 'simple'. There would be no more simple days. There hasn't been in years.
Sam clenched his jaw, angry at someone. Who though, he had no idea. Standing, he grabbed the weird book and quietly as he could, left the bunker. He had some business to attend to and a witch to bribe.

November 1st, 1983

"Why can't you sleep, Mister man?" Mary Winchester asked her eldest son. A little boy sat in front of her. He had huge green eyes, tons of freckles and a smile that could light up any grey day.
"My tummy hurts." The little boy said softly, wringing the blankets between his hands.
"We had your favorite meal tonight, why would that make your tummy hurt?" Mary moved closer to her little blonde boy and ran her fingers through his soft hair.
"s'not that, momma. Bad things might happen to Sammy."
Mary looked down at Dean, who on instinct met her gaze with big watery eyes.
"Nothing is going to happen to your brother, Dean…"

Little Dean nodded, "Angels watch over him too, momma?" He crawled onto his mother's lap, who cradled him.
"Yes my love. They watch over him and they watch over you. Nothing bad will ever happen to either of you. I promise." Mary kissed her son's freckled nose. Dean scrunched it and let out a squeaky laugh, hiding his face into his mothers shoulder as she tickled him a moment.
"Alright, Dean…time to relax and sleep." Mary said as she laid her son under the blankets.
"Momma?"
Mary tucked the Batman blankets around Dean's shoulders. He was small for the bed and small for his age, but his eyes and sweetness made up for size.
"I loves you." He said with the cutest, slightly dimpled smile.
"Aw, I love you too, my baby boy." She said, leaning over and kissed his forehead.
"Sleep well, my love. Tomorrow is a new day."

Present Day

Dean rolled onto his side, unsure of why that particular memory came into his head, or why he was crying. But for some reason he couldn't stop. His stomach clenched and he curled up, gazing at the picture on his table. Of his mom. Of simpler days. The silent, warm stream of tears began to soak his sheet. He remembered her smell. He remembered her laugh. He remembered how she cried when his Dad left for a few days. He remembered her smile. He remembered how she held him at night if he had a nightmare. He wished he would stop the stupid tears. Stop his face from screwing up and hiding into his pillow. Wish he could stop wishing she was holding him. Telling him that it would be okay. That it's okay.
Dean sucked in a shaky gasp, nose dribbling now but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything right now, except that she wasn't with him. She was never going to be there. His whole body was trembling. Dean hoped his brother wasn't around. It was all too much. Angels, Demons. The Apocalypse. The Mark of Cain. Too many of his family dying. The lies. Betrayals.

Fuck it all. It was all just too much.