Little Soldier Boy - Dean Winchester

Leaves from the vine

 Dean Winchester put his head in his hands.

Falling so slow

 He was breaking down, but he always tried his best to hide it. He always hated to cry.

Like fragile, tiny shells

 He was tired and sad. Sometimes he realized all at once just how fucked up his life was. His parents were dead, the girl he loved didn’t remember him, and his best friend was a rebellious angel who had pulled him out of Hell after he had sold his soul to bring his little brother back to life.

Drifting in the foam

 He also didn’t have any real home. Ever since he was 4, he had been brought up in a variety of cheap motels. He was a drifter, only staying in one place until his job was done, and then he bailed.

Little soldier boy

 Dean had always been a good little soldier. He always listened to what his father had told him. Even after his dad had died, he still obeyed his main job: Keep his little brother Sam safe.

Come marching home

 After every Hunt, he would go back to whatever dingy motel he and Sam were staying in. They would pack up their stuff and hit the road.

And brave soldier boy

 Dean was the role model for Sam, and because of it, he always tried to act like everything was okay, even though he sometimes hoped it was all just some Hellish nightmare that he might someday be able to wake up from. He always tried to hold himself together.

Comes marching home

 But sometimes everything was alright. He always loved driving his Impala, loved joking around with Sam and Castiel. And those were the the best. Those were the times that Dean almost felt like none of the other shit mattered.