Dean and Sam pulled up chairs and sat facing the unconscious angel, each trying to drink away the past couple of days. The whole ordeal was especially hard for Sam. He had never met his mother, and never met the man who became the skilled, determined, obsessed hunter. It was like getting to meet people out of a dream, a dream he didn't exactly remember, but the feelings remained strong and vivid in his mind.

There were times in his life in which he wished that he wasn't so smart, that his brain wouldn't retain absolutely every single detail it was exposed to. Sam looked at his brother and could still hear him proving himself to his mother. "When I would get sick, you would make me tomato rice soup… because that was what your mom made you. And instead of a lullaby you would sing "Hey Jude" because that was your favorite Beatles song." And that anger, that hurt, that fury that Lucifer kept saying would help him when Sam finally said yes, burned in his belly.

"Why did you never tell me about the soup or the song?"

"What?" Dean asked confused by the sudden conversation.

"Tomato rice soup and "Hey Jude". I had to have asked you a thousand times growing up about mom, and you never told me any of that stuff. You never gave me any sort of scrap of information about her, no matter how much I asked. Why?" Dean looked into his brother's hazel eyes and saw the fury that resided there most days now. He sighed, looked down into his drink, and took a sip and then looked at his brother.

"I couldn't. I just couldn't Sam."

"Why? Because you were too selfish? Because little Sammy didn't deserve to have any memories of Mom? What? Was that your way of punishing me for mom's death?" His eyes were fierce. Dean was taken aback.

"No one ever blamed you for mom's death."

"Yeah, sure whatever, that's why you told her the first time you met her back in the day not to go into my nursery and that's why you told her again the second time."

"I didn't want her to die. I didn't want you to grow up without a mother."

"Did you ever consider that the Yellow Eyed Demon might have taken me that night? Hmmmm? You know. Infected me and then just corrupted me and made me into the perfect vessel? Did you ever even consider that?"

Dean's brows knitted together. "No. Honestly, I just figured that he would have bled into your mouth, Mom wouldn't have died, and that we would have grown up normal."

"You never think things through do you Dean?"

"Why are you so angry at me all of the sudden?" Dean asked. "What in the hell did I do? Nothing! I got stuck watching you die AGAIN! AGAIN! This time by some dick angel, and here you are lecturing me…."

"Wishing that I was dead maybe?"

"Do you hear yourself?" Dean asked incredulously. He shook his head and put his drink on the table. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to see that pipe go through you, watch your blood drain out of you, you go pale? Do you know how freaking hard that is?!"

"Yes! Damnit! I do know! I watched you shredded by hell hounds….Yeah I know what that's like." Dean stopped, looked at h is brother, and an ironic grin came across his face.

"Damn. We are truly screwed up."

"Whatever." Sam said sitting back in the chair in a huff. Dean poured himself another drink, and starred straight at the unconscious angel.

"I never told you because I didn't think it was fair."

Sam turned to him sharply and with narrowed eyes asked, "What?"

"I didn't think it was fair of me to tell you that kind of stuff, because I didn't want you to feel like you missed out. I did my best to do the stuff that mom did with me to you. I know I wasn't a mother. But, I did the best I could. I just didn't think it would be nice of me to flaunt that I'd had home made tomato rice soup when I was sick, and you were stuck with whatever I could buy at the gas station. I didn't think it was fair to tell you about mom singing to me, when the best I could do was turn on the radio, because God knows I can't sing." He looked back down at the dink in his hands. "It wasn't fair to tell you that mom said that angels were protecting me, when I knew they weren't protecting you. I didn't want you to feel like you were missing out on stuff. So I claimed I didn't remember anything. I did. I remembered a lot. I just didn't want to rub it in."

"But I asked, time and time again. Didn't you think I wanted to know?"

"I just figured I knew better, I just didn't think…you're right. I just don't think. I wanted to protect you." Dean gave a bitter laugh. "God knows, wherever he is, that I've been trying to do that most of my life, and look at what a bang up job of it I've done." Dean took a deep sigh and settled back against the chair.

Sam starred at his brother, and watched as he took another drink. Sam felt a little wilted along the edges. He didn't know that was how Dean felt, because Dean never told anyone how he felt about anything. The Winchester way: Stuff it. Sam swallowed the last of his drink, shook his head and was about to pour another when Dean began, "She used to call you Sammy you know."

"What?"

"She always called you Sammy, or Little Sammy. I would sit next to her and watch her change your diaper, feed you," Dean gave a small sad smile. "I even fed you once or twice while mom was watching me, and coaching me. I guess that's how I learned to take care of you when Dad couldn't." Dean shrugged. "You just started to get the giggles and she would make you laugh as much as she could. She would say that Little Sammy was the happiest baby in the world."

"Is that why you call me Sammy?"

"I guess." Dean sighed and put his drink back down on the table. "Okay, after our little time trip, I'm going to need some food and fiber. I'll be back." He hurried to the other side of the room, and pulled his coat on and left. Sam watched him go. Maybe he hadn't had tomato rice soup, but he could definitely say that he'd been raised with love and kindness. Maybe that was the job of a mother. His brother had done the best he could with very little know how. Maybe it was time he let up on him. Dean had had it rough too. Sometimes that was hard to remember, Dean always made everything seem so easy. Dean never complained. Maybe being Little Sammy Winchester wasn't such a bad thing after all.