Dean had his head down in math class. That was unusual for the 7 year old. Math was his favorite class, it was the only one where his hand would fly up, and he would be excited and ready with an answer. That was the only class anyone ever heard him speak, because little Dean Winchester never spoke any other time of the day. Students and teachers alike had tried to engage the green eyed boy in conversation but he never responded, sometimes one would get a shoulder shrug, but more often than not they would simply get down cast eyes. People stopped trying months ago and just accepted the fact that Dean didn't want to talk, and didn't try to force the issue.

But that didn't mean that his teacher didn't pay attention to him, or notice when he did something out of the ordinary like lay his head down when they were doing addition and subtraction board races, races that he was usually at the front of the line for.

She walked to the back of the classroom where he sat, and she put a hand on his back and knelt down next to him. "Dean sweetie, you need to take a turn." Dean turned glassy green eyes to her and that was when she realized that the problem was that he didn't feel good. Dean slowly sat up and nodded. He pushed his chair back and got up and took his spot in line, and when he answered the questions on the board it wasn't with his usual zeal and exuberance, it was slow and plodding, and the kids who usually didn't stand a chance in hell of beating Dean, beat him with ease. Dean put the chalk down and walked back to the end of the line, and he participated until the teacher rounded them up and got them ready for music class.

She held Dean back, "Sweetie, do you want to go to the nurse?" he shook his little head and rubbed at his bright eyes.

"You sure?" she asked patiently and with kindness. He nodded and followed his classmates out the door.

The next day, was the same as the day before, except this time, a very tired looking Dean Winchester kept wiping his nose with his shirt sleeve, and this time he tried to sleep through the whole day, his nose constantly dripping and him constantly wiping at it.

It was the end of the morning, students racing to the door to go outside, except Dean. Dean laying on this desk crying. Her heart broke.

She went to him and rubbed circles on his back. "Dean sweetie?" she questioned. And

"I don't feel good." Was the response she received. Dean started crying harder, and she reached out to him and he fell into her arms, she was unprepared for the action, Dean never engaged in any kind of affection.

"I want my mommy." He cried harder, and his crying turned into wheezing, and coughing which made him cry harder.

"I want my mommy." He continued to demand. She patted his hair and tried to soothe him, tried to get him to calm down, tried to get him to slow his breathing, tried to get him to stop coughing. She held him close and the more he cried the more he coughed, until he finally couldn't cry for the coughing.

She patted his back trying to provide comfort and trying to loosen some of the yuck that was congesting the little lungs. She stood up, bounced him around a little on her hip and encouraged him to calm down and quit crying.

"Shhhhh. It's okay little one, it's just a cold, it'll be okay. When you get home your mommy will give you some soup and it will all be okay." She said. Dean quieted a little but he didn't move. His arms stayed laced around her, and his head stayed buried into her neck. She moved to her desk and grabbed a tissue on the way.

She pulled Dean away from her shoulder, wrinkled her eyebrows at the mess he had become and slowly began wiping his nose and mouth. His eyes still shedding tears of misery.

"Let me get you all cleaned up and then we'll go call your mommy. She'll be able to make it all better."

Dean's eyes filled up with tears again and shook his head. He began to cry again harder. "Dean sweetie, don't cry. You're mommy will come and pick you up, she'll make you feel all better." Dean just cried harder, scrubbing sick laden fists into his big eyes. She pulled his hands from his eyes and began to wipe them down with one of the wet wipes that she kept at her desk. She was completely confused by his reaction.

"What's the matter?" She asked and began to clean his face up as well. "Don't you want me to call your mommy?"

He shook his head and she wiped tears from his eyes. He hiccupping sobs turned into a coughing fit and she rubbed his back until the coughing subsided. He leaned against her chest and he wheezed as he tried to calm down.

"What's the matter sweetie?" she asked again softly.

Dean sniffled, coughed, and coughed again. "She went away." He said softly. His teacher stopped.

"Oh." She said finally and took the tissue up again and wiped at his nose again.

"Daddy said that she isn't ever coming back." The teacher stopped rubbing circles on his back and took in the statement and its implication. It explained so much. Dean carefully put his head on her chest, and played with the wedding band on her finger. Dean fell back into silence, and continued to rub circles on his back trying to keep his breathing even, despite the fact that her breaths were fighting not to come out hitched and painful, her heart hurt so much for the little wide eyed boy in her arms. She wanted to hold him and hug him forever, she just wanted to make him feel better, wanted him to be whole, wanted him to have a mommy to go home to when he was sick, wanted him to have everything she had growing up. It hit her hard suddenly that not all kids were as lucky as she was. Not all kids had a mommy who made cookies and watched television with you and held you close while you were sick. A tear slipped down her face. Dean cuddled closer.

"I want my momma." He whispered as he fell to sleep as his teacher's heart broke.