Once upon a time, Dean Winchester was a regular kid. His blonde hair was cut on the longer side, and there was a permanent smile on his face that highlighted his dimples. He loved Sesame Street and peanut butter sandwiches with the crusts cut off. His mother was the most beautiful woman in the world and his father was his hero.

This is his story.

"Time to wake up, honey," Mary whispered as she rubbed Dean's tummy. She kissed his forehead and tickled his ribs.

"Stop it!" he giggled.

She tickled him harder, "Only if you get out of bed, you sleepy head!" Dean's laughter was infectious, and she joined in.

"Don't wanna get outta bed! I'ma sleepyhead!" He clutched his hands tight under his chin and his arms squeezed in against his torso, but to no avail. Mary's fingers worked their way back to his ribs. "Daddy!" he yelled, still laughing.

John shook his head and grinned when he peaked in the door. The daily ritual was right on schedule. "Did somebody call for Daddy?" he asked, trying to keep a serious face. "Is somebody in trouble?"

"Me! Me!" Dean shouted, wriggling around on the bed but not trying too hard to escape his fate.

John crossed over to the bed and stood above his wife and squirming son. "What's the matter?" he asked, pretending confusion.

"Ticklemonster!" Dean yelled.

"Ticklemonster?" John gasped. "That's the worst kind of monster!"

Mary smiled up at her husband. She loved this part of the day more than any other.

John grinned back at her. "Do you know how to fight a ticklemonster, Dean?" he asked, an impish gleam in his eye.

Dean, out of breath from laughing and from anticipation could only ask, "How?" His green eyes were as wide as saucers as he looked up at his father.

"Youuu… tickle it!" John shouted as he pounced on Mary and gave her a taste of her own rib-tickling medicine. Her hair smelled like the strawberry-scented shampoo she used, and he took in a deep breath and kissed her neck.

Mary gasped for breath between her laughter and tried to pretend it was hurting her. "No! No! Not… tickles!" she screeched. "Anything but that!"

Dean jumped up and down on his bed. "Get her, Dad!" he cheered. "Get that ticklemonster!"

Mary pulled away from John and turned to face him, fingers wriggling. "It's not that easy, is it?" she mocked. "Since you like tickling so much, let's see how much you like it when it happens to you!" She quickly dove in under John's arms and brought her clever fingers up to his neck. His ribs were impervious to attack, but the back of his neck was where the magic happened.

John instantly collapsed on a heap on the floor, laughing and struggling to get away from his wife. "No! Please! Stop!" he gasped, tears welling up in his eyes.

Mary saw her chance. "I've got you now!" she shouted in triumph, reaching down now to scratch the bottoms of her husband's feet, another sensitive spot.

"Dean!" John shouted. "Quick! Get her!"

Dean slid down off his bed a bit awkwardly, almost falling onto his bum on the floor due to the height of the mattress. Regaining his balance, he ran over to where his parents were laughing on the floor and started poking Mary amateurishly in the ribs. "I save you!" he shouted. "I getting the ticklemonster!"

Mary fell back off of John rather theatrically. She threw herself onto her back on the floor and groaned loudly with each poke by her son. "Oh no!" she wailed. "It's too much!" Once more she exchanged a smile with her husband. It was time for the monster's big death scene. "Woe is me!" she cried, the back of one hand going to her forehead. "Dean the master tickler is here!" She covered her face with both of her hands. "I can feel myself changing!"

Grabbing Dean and holding him close, she moved her body around on the floor as if she was struggling which conveniently felt an awful lot like bouncy hug to her son. Then, suddenly she stopped.

"Okay now, Mommy?" Dean asked in a quiet voice, looking carefully at her face.

"All better, sweetie," she smiled at him. "Thank you for saving me from the ticklemonster."

"Dad helped," he replied with all the gravitas of a four year old hero.

John stood up and then pulled Dean up into his arms for a kiss on the cheek. His son wrapped his arms around his neck and returned the gesture with a loud smack. "Ooh, that was a loud one," he laughed. "Who wants pancakes?" he asked as he leaned down to give his wife a hand up from the floor.

"Me!" Dean shouted, raising his hands above his head in excitement.

Mary kissed the back of Dean's head and then took him from her husband into her own arms. "Alright, sweetie, but you have to wash your hands first."

She kissed John on her way past him. "Love you," she grinned.

"Love you more," he grinned back. Whistling, he moved into the kitchen to start on breakfast.