**Time skip brought to you by: salt lines by the fireplace.**

"Pst. Lance." a voice from over by the door said. Lance sat up and looked around groggily. What in the name of all that is holy- "psssssssssst." Lance got up and walked over to the door rubbing his eyes on the way, he cracked the door open and looked out.

Dean was standing there in just his jeans, looking like he'd rolled out of bed, an old tattered book hugged to his chest. "Lance, it was a dream, right?" He honestly looked utterly terrified.

"What was a dream?" Lance asked confused stepping out of the room into the hall with him as to not wake up Keith.

Dean clutches the book tighter, like it's a lifeline. "Dad and Sammy and Mommy, and what they said, and what happened. It was a dream, right?" He watches Lance, waiting for an answer, with haunted, confused eyes.

"What did they say?" Lance asked calmly. He needed to know in order to tell Dean if it was a dream or not.

"That I screwed it all up again." Dean whispered. "That I never do anything right, and that I got Sammy killed 'cause I'm not strong enough, and that I let them all down, and they hate-" His breath hitched with a sob and he hugged the book closer. "And they hate me." he said so quietly it was barely audible.

"That was definitely a dream." Lance placed a hand on his friends shoulder. "What's this book?" Lance tapped the book with his other hand.

Dean glances down at it and almost looks startled, like he hadn't realized he was holding it. "It's… it's Dad's old journal. He put everything in here. Pictures… stuff about monsters… and other stuff."

"Oh." Lance muttered. "Why do you have it?" Lance asked softly and kindly looking into Dean's eyes.

"I… I'm not sure." he whispers. "I just… I always grab it when I'm upset. And remember that Dad used to be… different. That he would've protected me. Years ago."

"It's late Dean, do you want to try and get some more rest?" Lance asks. "Do you wanna sleep on the floor in my room with us?" Lance suggests, he would always want to sleep in his parents room when he had a bad dream.

Dean shakes his head quickly, almost panicked. "No, if I sleep it'll come back. It always comes back. I'm so sick of… I just wish it would go away." The journal accidentally slips from his numb hands and hits the floor, old photographs scattering. Dean stares at it for a second, horrified. "Dad's gonna kill me." he mutters, bending down, trying to gather up the pictures, but his hands are shaking too hard.

"Dean stop it, Dean stop." Lance bends down to his level. "You dad cant touch you, he's not here." Lance places a hand on his shoulder. "Leave it." he says softly yet sternly at the same time. "Come with me into the kitchen for a second."

"I can't just leave it here." Dean whispers. "This stuff is Mommy's and Sammy's too." He looks down at the one picture he's managed to keep a hold of, one of a woman with blonde hair and green eyes hugging a little boy who had the same blonde hair. The same green eyes. "It's theirs too…"

"I know dean, I know." Lance coos soothingly. "Come on, let's go into the kitchen." Lance pulls Dean up by the arm letting him hold onto the photo.

Dean looks at Lance fearfully. "I'm sorry, I woke you up, I'm so sorry. I… I didn't mean…" He glances down at Lance's hands like he's looking for something.

"It's ok, I was gonna get up anyway, now come on." Lance brings Dean into the kitchen and sits him down. Lance looks through a few cupboards and pulls out a small bottle of white pills. "Take this, it'll help with the dreams. I promise." Lance holds it out to him. "Do you want some water?"

Dean stares at the pills like they're poison. "You want me to shut up. Just like Dad always wanted me to shut up. He used to give me those all the time, said I woke up screaming to much, said he didn't wanna deal with it. Said that's ridiculous…"

"Dude, it's melatonin. I don't want you to shut up, I'm trying to help you, look I can take one too if you want." Lance tries. "It has nothing to do with your dad, it has to do with your well being."

"I don't even care about that. Why would you?" Dean looks up at him. "Why does it mean anything to you? You keep saying you care, but you never tell me why, and I'm not sure I believe you."

"I care because your my friend. Because you care about me. Because you care about Cas and Keith. I care about you because your awesome and talented, I care about you because your hurt, and because you don't care. And if you don't care someone has to. But I would care about you even if you did. I would still care about you even if you didn't care about me. I care about everyone, just like you do." Lance says setting the pill on the table forgetting about it. "I care about you because you're worthy of being cared for."

Dean's green eyes almost seemed to glow in the dark room as he searches Lance's face for any sign of a lie. A single tear slides down his face. "You really mean it." He says, shocked. "You actually mean it."

"Yes dean. I really really mean it." lance says looking back into his eyes. "I want you to be happy, and I'm doing my best to make that happen. Dean, how can I make you happy?"

Dean stares. Nobody ever really asked him what he wants, and he's really not sure what that even is anymore. So he just says the first thing that comes to mind. "I want a family, and I want to be safe." Lance bites his lip as he thinks.

"We can be your family Dean." Lance offers. "And we can keep each other safe." he says.

Dean nods slowly, his gaze still searching, obviously still expecting to be lied to. "Double promise?" He holds out his pinky finger. It's how he and Sammy used to promise. It's unbreakable to him. Lance smiles and links his pinky finger with Deans.

"I double promise." he says softly. "Now do you want to drink some water, take the pill, let me sing you a lullaby, tell you a story, tuck you in?" Lance smiles, his offers were genuine, and he would follow through with every single one of them if Dean wanted him to.

"Water's good. But I won't take the pill." Dean mutters, looking down. He just can't. All it does is remind him of suffocating blackness, nightmares he can't wake up from, death and blood and misery. "And…" he's almost embarrassed to ask, but he misses it so much. "And can you sing 'Hey Jude? By the Beatles?" It was his mom's favorite Beatles song, and she'd sung it to him every night before bed, telling him that angels were watching over him. It was the last thing he'd ever heard her say. Lance nodded. He got Dean a glass of water then walked him back to his room and stood in the doorway to sing.

"Hey Jude, don't make it bad

Take a sad song and make it better

Remember to let her into your heart

Then you can start to make it better

Hey Jude, don't be afraid

You were made to go out and get her

The minute you let her under your skin

Then you begin to make it better

And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain

Don't carry the world upon your shoulders

For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool

By making his world a little colder

Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah"

And then Dean was asleep. Since lance was awake he took this time to get all the gifts he stashed in the hall closet and the bathroom closet and put them all under the tree. He sorts them and makes it look like it always did when he was little. Lance nodded in satisfaction and walked down the hall to go back to bed. He stopped when he almost stepped on the journal Dean had dropped.

"What even is all of this?" Lance whispers to himself picking up a few of the pictures to look at them, what was oh so special about them but also so tearable.

The first picture was of four people. The woman and little boy from before were there, but there was also a man and a baby in this one. The man was holding the blonde haired boy, smiling, and the woman was holding the baby. Somebody had written across the bottom of the picture in pen. Mary, John, Dean, and baby Sammy, July 4th, 1983.

The next picture was missing the woman. It was just Dean and the man, John, and Sammy, older now. It had obviously been years. Dean had a bruise right across his cheekbone and a completely inadequate band aid across a gash on his forehead, just above his eye. Sammy had a split lip, but he was smiling happily in Dean's arms. John looked cold and distant, very different from the man that had held his boy and smiled in the first picture.

Lance peaks into the journal curious about what entries there might be.

He finds one labeled November 10th, 1983.

Dean still barely talks. Whoever was writing, presumably John had said. I don't know what to do with him. He's gotten so quiet since we lost Mary. The only person he talks to is Sammy. Sammy took his first steps today too. He was trying to get to Dean.

Lance flips through the pages again and finds another one, this one labeled, May 15, 1996.

Dean screwed up big time. He let Sammy run away when he was supposed to be watching him. I got the kid back, but damn, if Dean had just paid better attention, none of this would've happened in the first place. I don't remember much about when he told me Sammy was gone, I was drunk at the time. But something's different. I found blood on one of his pairs of jeans, and he keeps looking at me differently. Like he thinks I'm going to beat him or something. I think I hurt him, but I can't remember. What the hell kind of a father am I? What would Mary think of me now?

He flips to one final entry, not wanting to see more, but needing to.

August 18th, 2002

Sammy left. I can't believe he left. Told us he'd been accepted to Stanford and walked out on our whole family. How could Dean let this happen? He was supposed to keep our family together, he was supposed to keep everything together. Why would he fail when it really counts? But don't worry, I punished him. I don't think he's moved since. I'd check on him, but sometimes you deserve it.

Lance didn't want to intrude on Deans private life more then he already had, he stacked up the photos and placed them inside the journal and put the small book on the kitchen counter before going to bed. He glanced at the clock on the oven that read exactly midnight.

**Time skip sponsored by: Christmas Morning at the McClain house**