[ Dean's dream world tips a little on its axis as his subconscious flits through memories, some real, some imagined, many deeply personal. He lands here, though, and he remembers this day, remembers Sam's scribbled drawings, remembers his own legs stretched out as the sun beat down on his face. It wasn't hot, it had been just right - warm, comfortable, just the two of them.
He remembers buying those supplies, the notebooks and crayons with cash they were supposed to use for food, but Dean hadn't cared. Sam had wanted to draw, and what Sammy wanted from Dean, he usually got.
B(
He remembers buying those supplies, the notebooks and crayons with cash they were supposed to use for food, but Dean hadn't cared. Sam had wanted to draw, and what Sammy wanted from Dean, he usually got.
It had been a good day, he remembers.
Why, then, is he trembling? He doesn't know. ]
I'm fine. Show me what you drew?