“Hey, kid, you okay?”
It’s a pretty dumb question, Dean knows. The boy is maybe seven years old and he’s just seen his mother killed by a monster. A monster he probably thought only existed in fairy tales or in his nightmares.
Dean hunches down so he can look under the table where the boy is hiding. The kid’s eyes are wide with fear, his cheeks damp with the remnants of his tears. Even now, his lower is lip is trembling, his chin wrinkling, and Dean speaks up before the heartwrenching sobs can erupt again. “Hey, what’s your name? I’m Dean. That big guy out there is Sam. He’s my brother. We’re gonna take you someplace safe, okay?”
The kid doesn’t reply but he takes Dean’s outstretched hand readily enough and lets him pull him out of his makeshift shelter.
Dean steers him away from the ruins of his mother’s body and out onto the patio where he lifts him up onto the stone wall, facing the peaceful suburban garden of this once peaceful suburban house and away from the horrors inside it.
The kid’s shivering and Dean curls an arm around his shaking shoulders and pulls him in against his side. And then they just sit there, neither saying a word.
“Silence is a great healer.” Dean’s not sure where he heard that. Probably not from his mom. He’d been too young when she died to remember too much of anything she might have told him. Definitely not from his dad. John Winchester had never been a man for platitudes. Where he heard it doesn’t really matter much anyway, Dean thinks. He only hopes it’s true. He snugs the boy in closer to his side and rubs his back and lets him cry.