Dan gets even a little quieter than normal, daring to show a little vulnerability because a steady hand and competence aren't going to be enough to soothe a kid who obviously holds himself to that standard.

"I know. I hate it too. The only reason I'm keeping it more together than you are is because I been through this before." He takes a deep breath. "Every time I think about the things they're rifling through in my head, I just want to throw up."

Dan suspects that their memories are going in tandem, because the next ones from him are similar to Dean's. Dan - Danny - is six years old with a gun on his hip, helping his toddler little brother walk across the room, coaxing him with slices of candied sweet potato. Danny's mom is breastfeeding two infants; his sister, around his age, is plunking away at an upright piano, a rudimentary version of "A Little Night Music."

The toddler trips on his way to the sweet potato and starts bawling. Danny's mother moves to get up, but Danny rushes to his little brother's side first.

"Eli, Eli, it's okay." Danny pulls his little brother into his arms, letting Eli babble snotty toddler gibberish into his arms. "You ain't hurt. Ain't nothing on you hurt. See?"

Danny gestures with his hand around his little brother's whole body as if waving a magic wand. "All better."

"All better?" Eli asks.

"Yeah." Danny wipes away Eli's tears. "Here's a sweet potato anyway."

"I don't know how you're so good at that, Danny," Danny's sister says. "Mom, why is Danny so good at-"

And then the memory is, mercifully, gone. Dan brings the horse in to a little alcove, helping Dean unload the unconscious woman as he sees some of the escaping faire goers running over to collect her. A man's calling her name, a family member, maybe, or a spouse.

Dan looks over at Dean. "What do you say, do I leave you here to hand her off or do you come back out there with me looking for folks in peril?"