Dean sat on the floor of his bedroom, humming quietly to himself. The song he hummed was a lullaby his parents used to sing him to sleep with. He took out the box of crayons and began coloring on a sheet of paper. He drew wild, raging orange colors spiraling and twisting all over the paper. The flames of his nightmares.

He didn't understand what had happened that night. But nothing had been the same since. Daddy had taken both him and Sammy away from everything Dean had ever known. He wished he had his toys. Coloring was so boring and what he really wanted to do was play with his hot wheels or go outside with his dad.

The more he thought about it, the more Dean wondered why he couldn't go outside and play with Daddy. He was just in the other room. And Dean was so bored. He climbed to his feet and walked quietly out into the den.

Daddy was lying on the couch again. He'd been doing that a lot lately- Just sitting on the couch, mumbling to himself, and only getting up to get another drink out of the fridge. Dean hadn't even gone to preschool in a while. This made him sad because he liked preschool, even if the teacher wasn't as nice as Mommy.

Mommy. Dean couldn't find her. Daddy said something about her being dead, dying in the fire that had burned down their house and most of Dean's toys. Dean missed Mommy. Ever since the fire, Daddy had laid on that couch. Dean was getting bored. He missed how Daddy used to play with him. Dean had been learning how to play football and Daddy would teach him every day. They didn't play football anymore.

"Daddy?" Dean whispered. Daddy didn't move. Maybe he didn't hear him?

"Daddy." He said again, a little louder this time. Daddy looked over at him.

"What do you want, Dean?" Daddy's voice was so quiet and… cold. It scared the four year old. Daddy had never talked like this. At least not to Dean. Daddy always spoke nicely to Dean, always sounding cheerful towards his son.

"You-you wan-wanna play f-f-foot-football?" Dean asked quietly, looking down at the ground. He didn't see Daddy's scowl.

"Not now. Go play in your room." Daddy replied, taking another sip of his drink and closing his eyes.

"But I'm boooored." Dean explained.

"Then play with your toys. That's why they're there." Daddy ordered, almost to the point of yelling with his agitation with the child. But Dean didn't understand that his father just wanted some time to drink his problems away.

"But Daddy! You promised to teach me…" Dean trailed off as Daddy got up and walked over to him. Next thing Dean felt was sharp pain across his face. The pain startled the young boy, and soon he started to yell and cry.

"Shut up and go to your room." Dean continued to cry. Daddy grabbed his shoulder roughly and shook him hard. "Shut up!"

"Dad-Daddy! You-you're h-h-hurting me!" Dean sobbed. Suddenly Daddy let go, as if startled by his own actions.

"Get to bed." Daddy whispered and Dean ran to his room as fast as his little legs could take him.

When he got to his room, which he had to share with Sammy, since they were staying with one of Daddy's friends, Dean curled up in a ball on his bed. He clung to his pillow and let tears roll down his cheeks. He tried to hum his lullaby but it was broken by his sobs.

'Daddy's gone crazy…' Dean realized. He really missed Mommy.