It's been a few years since you mother Ellen Harvelle and older sister Jo sacrificed themselves. They blew themselves up to kill a pack of hellhounds so Sam and Dean Winchester could escape and continue their mission to stop Lucifer...

Ellen left you in the hands of Sam and Dean, knowing that they would do whatever it takes to look after you since you're only a few years old.

Now that Sam and Dean finally had a break from saving the word, the chaos of losing Bobby Singer and everything else, they were tired and in need of a break. Dean had pulled the impala in a roadside motel for the night, paid for the room and the three of you went in, impending rest a luxury that didn't come too often.

After a while, Sam left to get some fresh air and by now, they Winchester's had put you down to sleep.

But you couldn't sleep, you crawled out of bed and padded over to Dean who was sat by the window, sipping from a glass.

"What are you doing, pipsqueak? You're meant to be sleeping." He raises an eyebrow. "Can't sleep?"

You nod, your brain too active to turn off.

Dean glances up to the doorway before grabbing another small glass and filling it up a smidge with whiskey.

"Don't tell Sammy... Or Cas." He puts a finger to his lips, signalling silence on this matter to which you nodded. Dean nodded as well a small smile as he was amused by your obedience. "It'll help you become sleepy. God knows it works a dream."

He laughs a little to himself and takes a swig of his glass whilst you stand there, holding a glass that was a little too big for your young hands.

"Nothing that I didn't give to Sammy when he was little, and he's turned out fine."

Dean thinks to himself about how your mother would probably slap him for daring to give you alcohol and smiles a little sadly at Ellen's memory.