"Dean, honey," Mrs. Ridgewood put a hand on Dean's shoulder and he jerked awake. He looked up at the teacher that had treated him so kindly and found that he had fallen asleep during their health lesson. His face grew red.
"I'm so sorry Mrs. Ridgewood." He said and wiped his mouth.
"No, sweetie, don't apologize."
"I'll clean the black board for you." She shook her head and encouraged him to sit back down.
"Is something wrong?"
"No ma'am. I just didn't sleep real good last night."
"Well." She corrected.
"I didn't sleep well last night." He amended.
"Why not? Have nightmares?" He shrugged and avoided her gaze. She rubbed his back in soothing circles. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. We all have bad nights. "What did your daddy say?" Dean shrugged. "Sweetie, we talked about this. You have to talk to me. I'm not going to make fun of you." He looked up, he always looked so sad and she always wanted to hug him tight and take away that sadness. She had bus duty a couple of weeks ago and she watched Dean stand right by the office and wait, a little brown haired boy came barreling out of his classroom and threw himself into Dean's arms, and Dean hugged him tightly. She wondered in that moment who hugged Dean, because Dean always seemed to need a hug, and the one time she had met his father, he seemed too distracted to give many hugs to his sons.
"I dreamed about my mom." He finally admitted. "Once I had the dream, I work up and I couldn't get back to sleep."
"I bet you miss her." She said. Dean nodded.
"I don't remember what she looks like anymore. I have to look at a picture to remember. I can't hear her voice any more. Sammy is starting to ask about her. I don't know what to say. I don't' remember very much. I don't want to get it wrong." Melissa Ridgewood blinked back the tears that the little boy's confession had evoked.
"Well, your daddy can tell him." Dean shook his head.
"No. Talking about Mom hurts Daddy more than it hurts me. So, I don't want Sammy to ask him. I can't ask him. I don't want him anymore sad than he already is."
"What do you remember about your mom?"
Dean looked down at his health book and thought about it. "I remember she liked to laugh. She smiled a lot. Her hair was soft. It was long. I remember that. It was real long. Longer than yours." He said. "When I hugged her I would get her hair in my nose and tangled in my hands. But I don't remember much more than that."
"How old was Sammy when you lost her?"
"He was 6 months old."
"He doesn't even have that. So just telling him about her hair is something that you can give him. You can give him that little part of your mom. And maybe, if you tell him about her you'll remember more, and then you can remember her better."
"You think so?" he asked hopeful.
"I think so. My mom died when I was little too. My little sister doesn't remember a lot about her, so I tell her the things that I remember, and sometimes it makes me feel like she's with me. Sometimes I remember little things about her that I had forgotten." Dean nodded, and she took a chance and pulled him into a hug. He stiffened for a second and then hugged her back. His little body sagged against hers. She had been right. Dean needed a hug.
"Come on sweetie, you need to get to lunch."
"No. I'm not hungry." He said and looked back down at his health text book and started to read. Melissa hung her head. This was the not the first time this little boy had said that he wasn't hungry, and had stayed behind to read or do extra work for her or other teachers. She was starting to not believe that he wasn't hungry, and by looking at his threadbare coat she was pretty certain that Dean Winchester wasn't hungry, because he didn't have the means to eat. Sighing, she left him to the book, deciding that a hug was the smallest part of this kid's needs.