-1Title: Angel Kisses

YourOnlyBelle

Characters: WeeDean, BabySam, Mary Winchester, John Winchester

Pairings: None really. Okay, casually Mary/John

Ratings: PG

Disclaimer: I realize the hiatus is over and I have to give back Kripke's toys now. So no, I don't own them. Kripke has them and I'm only asking to play with them for a bit.

Summary: Prequel to Where Does the Good Go? Can be read separately. Dean was like every other little kid. He liked cookies, had a baby brother, and liked army men. And then Daddy told him the truth.

Author's Note: I had such a great response to Where Does the Good Go that I decided I absolutely had to write about Dean's fall from innocence.

Dean Winchester was three years old. A big boy. At least, that's what Daddy always said when he came home from work and swung him up in the air. "Wow, Dean, you're gettin' big there, kiddo!" And then Mommy would laugh and kiss Daddy on the lips. Which Dean thought was pretty gross. He'd make a face and Daddy would laugh and say, "Don't worry, Dean, one day you'll kiss girls on the lips." Which only made Dean make another face. Because kissing was gross. Girls were gross. Well, except Mommy. She was pretty.

Since Dean was three now, Mommy let him help her make Christmas cookies. He got to stir and mix, and Mommy let him squish the dough into little balls and sometimes he ate the dough. Which made Mommy laugh. Because he wasn't supposed to eat the dough, everyone said it would make him sick; but he thought it tasted better than the warm cookies that Mommy let him eat later. "Okay, Dean," Mommy said as she put the cookies in the oven, "we have to wait for them to bake, okay?"

"'Kay, Mommy," Dean nodded, plopping down on the floor in front of the oven, staring at his reflection in the glass. He liked to watch the dough turn into cookies, though he had to be careful and not get too close because it was hot.

"How about a nap?" Mommy suggested as she cleaned the dishes.

"Not tired," Dean shook his head, still staring at his reflection. "Mommy?"

"Yeah, Dean?"

"Baby like cookies?"

"Will the baby like cookies?" Mommy asked him.

"Yeah," Dean nodded.

"I bet he or she will," Mommy nodded. "Will you share your cookies with your brother or sister?"

"Yeah!" Dean nodded enthusiastically, staring at the cookies. "Pleaseman Dean!"

"That's right," Mommy laughed. "You'll be Policeman Dean!"

Dean went back to staring at the cookies, his gaze shifting to his reflection again. "Mommy?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Got spots."

"What kind of spots?" Mommy turned to look at him, a frown on her face.

"'N my nose," Dean pointed to his reflection. "'Nd my face. Thee?"

"You do," Mommy laughed. "On your nose and your cheeks."

"Why?" he frowned.

"They're angel kisses, Dean," she smiled, sitting down on the floor next to him, running her finger down his nose.

"'Ngel kiss?" Dean stared at her.

"That's right," she nodded. "Angel kisses. You know how I told you angels are watching over you when you sleep?"

"'Cause you and Daddy can't," Dean nodded.

"Right," she grinned. "Well, right before I come and get you in the morning, the angels give you kisses if they think they've done a really good job watching you."

"But, Mommy," Dean frowned, "Got spots."

"You do," Mommy laughed. "Angel kisses are special. They want all the bad things to know they're watching over you, so they stay."

"Bad things won't come?" Dean asked after another minute.

"No, the bad things will stay away because of the angel kisses."

"Forever?"

"Forever," she nodded, kissing his nose.

Dean Winchester was four years old and something was the matter. He was sleeping and then he heard Mommy scream. He stayed in bed, wondering where the angels were. Because something bad was happening. Daddy was yelling Mommy's name and then there was nothing. He slipped the covers off his head slowly and swung his legs over the side of his big boy bed. It was okay now. Everything was okay. The angels had fixed everything. And then suddenly he heard Daddy yelling again and Dean could tell it was hot. It was hot outside his room. He opened his door and ran out into the hallway. "Daddy!" he yelled when he saw Daddy come out with Sam in his arms.

"Dean, take your brother outside as fast as you can. Don't look back," Daddy said quickly, giving him Sam. "Now Dean! Go!" And then Daddy was gone and Dean turned quickly, going down the stairs as fast as he could. Sam was crying. Sammy was crying and it was hot. Sam was hot. Everything was hot.

"It's okay, Sammy," he said to his brother, wondering where Mommy and Daddy were. It was hot. It was hot and Mommy and Daddy needed to come outside now. It was time for them to come outside. He stared at the yellow and red and orange in the window and wondered why Mommy wasn't outside yet. And then suddenly Daddy was there and picking him up. But Mommy still wasn't here. She wasn't here.

When the firemen came, Dean knew it would be okay. The firemen would get Mommy out. Firemen stopped fires and saved people. Daddy sat down on the car, the car that Mommy never let them touch, and held Sammy who wasn't crying anymore. And Dean watched. He watched and waited. Because Mommy was going to come out soon. She'd come and tell Dean that he wasn't supposed to sit on Daddy's car. She'd tell Daddy not to be sad. But she didn't come.. Dean reached up and rubbed his nose, wondering why the angels hadn't kissed Mommy. Maybe that's why she wasn't coming out. She didn't have angel kisses.

People said things. They said things like fire. And a big word that Dean couldn't say, but it sounded like "tragee". And everyone was sad for them. Daddy was sad too. Daddy was always sad. And Sammy was really sad. Dean kept waiting for Mommy to come in and rub Sammy's back so he'd stop crying. He waited and waited, wondering why Mommy wasn't coming. She had to be out of the house by now. She had to. He wanted to ask where she was, but he was afraid. He was afraid because Daddy was really sad. He was afraid because he woke up to tell Daddy Sammy was wet and Daddy said something about Mommy being on the ceiling and that she wasn't coming back. He was afraid because Sammy was scared. He was afraid because he didn't know what to ask. He was afraid because no one told him angels were watching over him. And anyway, he was pretty sure they weren't. Not anymore.

Dean was five years old. Daddy bought him a cup cake that he got to eat in the Impala, which he never got to do. He was five and Mommy still wasn't there. He was five and he wanted to play baseball again but he couldn't ask. He asked Sammy once but Sammy couldn't talk. Not really anyway. Sometimes he said, "Dada", but he couldn't talk. And since Sammy couldn't talk, Dean figured maybe he shouldn't either. At least not for a while. Daddy talked to him sometimes, but Dean didn't know what to say. Because Daddy wasn't Daddy anymore. He was sad. And they lived in a motel. And Dean just wanted to go home.

Dean was six years old. And Sammy was almost two. And Sammy was talking and was starting to walk. And sometimes Daddy smiled about it, but most of the time he didn't. Dean smiled too, because Sammy sometimes fell when he walked and it was funny. "Look, Daddy!" he laughed when Sammy stood up all by himself and took one step forward. "Look!"

"Dean! Dean!" Sammy clapped his hands excitedly and Dean clapped his hands too. Sammy was saying his name. He was talking.

"Dean," Daddy looked up from all his books, "I need you to be quiet please."

"Sorry, Daddy," Dean sighed and turned to look at Sammy. He was just standing there now, his hands grasped in front of him and Dean moved forward a little. "Hey, Sammy. Daddy says we have to be quiet."

"Dean! Dean!" Sammy reached out for him, still not moving.

"No," Dean whispered, pulling his brother down onto his lap. He was getting heavy. "That was really cool, but we have to be quiet." Sammy nodded and put his hand in his mouth and Dean looked at his brother, suddenly concerned. Sammy didn't have spots on his nose. No spots at all. "Daddy."

"Yes, Dean?"

"Where's Sammy's spots?"

"What?" Daddy looked up from his books.

"Sammy's spots," Dean nodded. "He doesn't have any spots on his nose or cheeks. He doesn't have angel kisses."

"Dean…" Daddy frowned. Not an angry frown. Just a sad frown. A really sad frown. And Dean thought maybe this wasn't a good question.

"How will bad things know angels are watching Sammy if he doesn't have angel kisses?" he asked quietly, looking down. "What if…"

"What if what, Dean?" Daddy asked.

"Nothing," Dean shook his head. Because Daddy got mad when he mentioned Mommy. And Dean wanted to know if Sammy would go away in the hot stuff if he didn't have angel kisses. Mommy didn't have angel kisses and she still wasn't back. She still was in the hot stuff. All the hot stuff. The hot stuff was a bad thing and it had taken her away. Because she didn't have angel kisses.

That night, Dean decided to stay up. He was going to pretend to be asleep when Daddy came in, but he was going to stay up all night and see the angels. And then he was going to ask them why they didn't kiss Sammy. Because Sammy needed angel kisses. He needed them. Or else the hot stuff would take him.

He stayed up all night. Even though he was tired, he made sure he stayed up. And there were no angels. No angels at all. No one was watching them. No one gave Sammy kisses on his nose because they did a good job. It was just him and Sammy. And Daddy in the other room. But no angels. No angel kisses. Dean frowned as he got out of bed and made his way into the kitchen, where Daddy was still at the table, still surrounded by his books. "What are you doing up, kiddo?" Daddy asked him.

"There aren't any angels, are there?" Dean stared at his father.

"What?"

"Mommy…she said angels watch over us at night," he struggled to find the words. "But there aren't…she went away."

"Dean," Daddy sighed, running his hand over his face.

"Something bad happened to Mommy, didn't it?"

"Yes, Dean."

"A fire?" he asked carefully, rolling the word in his mouth. It was the first time he had ever said it out loud. And he didn't like it.

"That's what they said," Daddy sighed and then took Dean's arm and pulled him gently forward, lifting him onto his lap. Dean cuddled into his chest, trying to ignore the bad smell that came from Daddy's clothes. The bad smell that smelled like the bottle on the table. "Dean, I'm trying to find the bad thing that took your mom."

"But it was a fire."

"No, Dean," Daddy shook his head and squeezed him tight, "it wasn't a fire. It was a very bad thing."

"What was it?"

"I don't know," Daddy murmured. "But, Dean, you have to watch out for your brother, okay? Because if I'm going to find it, I need you to be a big boy. I need you to be a big boy and help me out with Sammy."

"Is it a bad man?" Dean asked. He knew about bad men. Mommy always told him not to talk to strangers, because they could be bad. They could be bad men who hurt kids. And if a bad man took Mommy, then the police had to come. Daddy couldn't find the bad man.

"No, Dean, it's not a bad man."

"Then what is it?"

For a minute, Daddy didn't answer. For a minute, Daddy looked at him really strange. He looked at him and looked at him and then Daddy turned and poured the stuff in the bottle into a cup and drank it quickly. "Dean, remember when you had bad dreams?"

"'Bout monsters?" Dean asked.

"Yes. And you remember that Mommy and I said they weren't real?"

"Yeah," Dean stared at his daddy. "Mommy said they were in my head."

Daddy nodded and then poured more of the stuff in the bottle into a cup. "Dean, sometimes, monsters are real. Okay? Sometimes, they're real and they hurt people."

"But the monsters are in my head."

"Not all the time," Daddy shook his head slowly. "A monster took your mom. A really bad monster. And I'm going to find it."

"Is it going to get me?" he whispered.

"No, Dean," Daddy picked him up and put him back on the floor before standing up and moving to the other side of the room. He dug into a bag and took out a gun, holding it carefully. "Nothing is going to get you, Dean. Because you're going to protect yourself. And you're going to protect Sammy."

"From monsters?"

"Yes," Daddy nodded. "And later, I'm going to show you how to use this, okay?"

"Okay," the little boy nodded.

"Why don't you go back to bed?" his father suggested carefully.

"Okay," Dean murmured, suddenly afraid to go back into the room. What if the monster was in there now? Or if a monster was under the bed? Or the monster that caused the fire? What if the monster was in there with Sammy? What if it was going to put Sammy in a fire like Mommy? He didn't have angel kisses like Dean. There wasn't anything to protect him. Dean crept into his room and pulled a sleeping Sammy close, his eyes wide open. He wasn't tired. He didn't want to sleep. He just stared at his room and tried not to be scared. Daddy wanted him to be brave. Mommy probably wanted him to be brave too. But there were monsters. Really bad monsters. And Sammy didn't have angel kisses. He heard the door open and he sat up quickly, his eyes filling with tears.

"Dean, go to sleep," Daddy whispered as he came to the bed, running his hand over Sammy's back.

"Not tired," he whispered.

"Just try," Daddy insisted.

Dean nodded and rubbed his nose, a thought suddenly coming over him. "Daddy, why do I have spots on my nose?"

"They're freckles, Dean," Daddy sighed. "They're just freckles."