Ouch, ouch, ouch for Dean never came from simple wounds like falling off of his bike.
Ouch, ouch, ouch was never fixed with a mother's soft kiss and a cold bowl of ice cream.
For Dean, ouch, ouch, ouch meant a sharp claw in his stomach, fangs in his neck, blood dripping from any hole it could fine.
Ouch, ouch, ouch meant time in the hospital, or his father pouring rubbing alcohol over it a few times a day in hopes that it didn't get infected.
Ouch, ouch, ouch meant being brave in front of Sammy, because he was only a child, and while he knew some of the horrors that their life seemed to be filled with, he didn't know the full extent. Sammy didn't know that when they said goodbye, Dean wasn't sure if this was going to be goodbye forever.
Sure his father was good, extremely good at being a hunter. But Dean was young, still learning the ropes. And more often than not, Dean slipped up.
Ouch, ouch, ouch occurred offend for Dean, more times than his father or little brother would ever know.
Because ouch, ouch, ouch wasn't always physical wounds. Sometimes it was emotional. Sometimes it came from going to school and watching the other kids with their mothers and fathers, blissfully unaware of what hid within the shadows.
Ouch, ouch, ouch sometimes showed itself as Sammy looking up at Dean, big brown eyes silently asking why they didn't have a mother when so many others did. Why they didn't have a normal life. Why their father left them alone in motels for weeks at a time, both of them wondering why he hadn't returned yet.
If he would ever return.
Ouch, ouch, ouch was sometimes Dean silently curled up in his room, hands wrapped around one of the only pictures he had left of his mother, tears streaming down his face in the dark because he knew he couldn't cry in front of his father or Sammy.
Because his father needed him to be strong, and because he had to protect Sammy.
Sometimes Dean wondered what would happen when ouch, ouch, ouch became too much.