You're seated in your favorite chair in the war room. Your legs are tucked beneath you as you read a journal from the 1920s. The entry you're currently engrossed in is a hunter's account of a werewolf attack on a small rural town. It's an interesting read - makes you feel connected to the hunters who came before you.

Sam and Dean are on their way back from a pick up. Some powerful relic turned up in a city about four hours' drive away, and a friend of Garth's is handing it over for safe-keeping.

You could have tagged along, but it's not a hunt and the boys do need their alone time. You're not here to pull a Yoko on the Brothers Winchester. When shit is dangerous, you're right there with them. But for errands, research, and some parts of the investigations, you prefer to hang back and hold down the fort.

The boys need to bicker and joke around and torment one another mercilessly. They need to argue over whether Batman is more badass than Superman and agree that Aquaman was the lamest superhero of all time. They need to listen to the familiar rumble of the Impala and those same damned cassettes over and over (and over).

You've made a point of impacting their tight-knit relationship as little as possible. It's a pivotal part of both of them. Can't have a Dean without a Sammy. Can't have a Sammy without a Dean.

You're just about halfway through the journal when you hear the main entry door open with a bang. You jump to your feet, reaching for your gun, but stop when you see only Sam over the railing and nothing chasing him. Before you can relax, his voice rings out.

"We've got a big problem!" Sam calls in mild panic as he rushes down the stairs.

It's then that you notice what he's carrying in his arms.

A...boy.

Pre-teen, close-cropped hair, clothes entirely too large for his small frame. Not obviously hurt in any way. Completely unconscious. His arm is hanging limply away from his body, swaying with each hurried step Sam takes.

You rush to the table, clearing aside books and watching as Sam rests the boy atop of it. You quickly get to work assessing him, searching for injury. You find nothing.

"What happened?" You ask as you check his breathing and pulse.

"He...um..." Sam tries, staring down at the kid as if he's seeing a ghost. "He touched that rock."

"What?" You ask, not following. "What rock? You mean the relic you guys were picking up? How'd he even get his hands on it? I thought you and Dean were driving straight back here with that thing."

"Yeah...we were..." Sam says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "But it slid out of the bag when we were getting out of the car. It only brushed against Dean's hand for a second."

"So where is he?" You ask.

"Who?" Sam asks in confusion.

"Dean." You answer in frustration.

Sam meets your gaze and slowly points at the boy. "He's right in front of you."

Your brow furrows as you look down at the kid. Your brain seems to be having a hard time comprehending what Sam just said.

But then you start to see it. The subtle resemblance. The shape of his lips. The far-more prevalent dusting of freckles across his familiar nose and cheeks. The same clothes that Dean had been wearing when he left that morning.

"Holy shit..." You whisper, your eyes widening as it finally hits you.

"Agreed," Sam breathes with a hand clutching his mouth anxiously.

"Has he...? Is he...?"

"I don't know."

"I mean... Is he Dean... like now-Dean, just stuck in a 12 year old body?" You demand shrilly.

"I don't know," Sam repeats. "He hasn't woken up yet."

"Okay... Okay..." You say, trying to stay calm as you run your hands through your hair nervously. "What do we know about that rock?"

"Not much, other than the fact that it was bad news. I'd say it's safe to assume it extends life by rewinding the clock."

"We need to hit the books," you breath, staring down at Dean worriedly.

"And babysit." Sam adds.

-SPN-

An hour later, you're sitting on the floor in Dean's room surrounded by books. Sam is seated across from you as you both frantically skim pages. Kevin and Castiel are out in the library searching for every text they can find that could possibly help.

Dean hasn't moved a muscle. He's still out cold, but at least he's breathing steadily.

Despite the fact that Dean rarely spends any time in his room these days, you put him in his own bed. It was just too creepy to consider putting the sleeping, 12-year-old version of your boyfriend onto the same mattress you had sex with him on that morning.

You're just about to toss the latest book aside when you see him. You freeze as your eyes meet.

"Uh...Sam?" You say quietly.

"Hmm?" Sam asks without looking up.

"Dean's awake."

Sam looks up at you and frowns at the concern in your voice.

"Easy, Dean," you urge, holding your hands up and keeping your eyes locked on the boy currently standing behind Sam.

Realization sweeps over Sam's features. He holds up his own hands and slowly turns his head to find the boy version of his brother with a shotgun pointed directly at his back.

Neither of you had thought to remove the weapons. And doesn't it just figure that there'd be a loaded shotgun within reach of Dean's bed? You have no idea if it's regular shells or salt rounds, but you don't want to find out the hard way.

Dean's eyes are wide, his breathing heavy from panic as he stares at you both fearfully.

"Where the hell am I? Where's Sammy?" He demands, trying to sound intimidating despite his obvious terror.

"Just take it easy. Nobody's gonna hurt you here," you soothe with a reassuring smile.

"Save it, lady!" He snaps, startling you with his ferocity given his current age. "I don't know what you two freaks are or how you grabbed us out of our room, but right now, I don't care. The only thing I want you to tell me is: Where's. My. Brother?" He grinds out furiously and renews his grip on the gun. "If either one of you hurt him, I swear to God, I will shoot you both."

"Well, this is gonna be easy to explain," you mutter over to Sam.

"Dean?" Sam says softly and turns toward him with his hands still held up in surrender. "I know this is going to be hard to believe...but I'm right here. I'm Sam."

Dean pumps the shotgun with far too much ease for a little kid.

"Shut up! No you're not!" He screams and turns his furious eyes back to you. "No games! Tell me where my little brother is!"

Kevin chooses that exact, incredibly inopportune moment to enter the room, loaded down with books. His eyes widen at the scene playing out before him.

Dean moves to take aim at the new face.

You take the opening and tackle Dean to the ground, managing to get the gun free of his grasp before he can fire off a round.

"Get off of me, you crazy bitch!" He screams as he fights you off.

"Ow! Damn it!" You yell as he catches you in the jaw with a furious little fist. For a 12 year old, he packs a hell of a punch.

"Sam! Sammy! Answer me!" Dean calls frantically, kicking and punching you with everything he has.

"Jesus Christ! Just hold still for a second!" You plead as you try to restrain him.

"That's ENOUGH, Dean!" Sam bellows with so much force, it actually hurts your eardrums.

You both freeze mid-struggle. Judging by Dean's instant reaction to the words and the undeniably authoritative tone Sam just used, you're pretty sure you just heard a sampling of John Winchester from beyond the grave.

"Now," Sam says in a calm, no-nonsense tone. "You are going to stand the hell up, settle the hell down, and keep your mouth shut for a minute while I explain this. Have I made myself perfectly clear?" Sam demands. You can see in his eyes that it's hard for him to do this. To channel their father, even if it is for his brother's own good.

"Yes...sir..." Dean answers, eyeing Sam in uncertainty as he climbs to his feet. He glances down at you, looking unsure of himself before reaching down and offering you a hand up.

You consider it a for a second before taking his hand and climbing to your feet.

"Thank you," you offer quietly.

He eyes you distrustingly in reply before looking back up at Sam.

"Like I said, I know it's gonna be hard to believe this," Sam reiterates, "But I am your brother. I am Sam. You touched some kind of spelled stone and it turned you into a kid again."

"I'm not a kid," Dean grinds out defiantly. "And how am I supposed to believe you? Can you prove it?"

Sam frowns thoughtfully. "How old do you think we are?"

"I'm 12," Dean answers. "Sammy's 8."

"That thing with the shtriga happen yet?" Sam asks purposefully.

The color drains from Dean's face, making his freckles stand out all the more.

"How do you know about that?" He whispers.

"Because you told me. I didn't even remember what happened, but you were still carrying the guilt over it when we ran into that thing... Man, I guess it was about 8 years ago, now."

Dean's eyes widen. "We hunted it?"

Sam nods.

"Did I...kill it?" Dean asks hopefully.

"You did," Sam answers with a smile. He pauses, looking down at the floor for a moment before meeting his brother's gaze and adding, "You killed the thing that took Mom, too."

A broad spectrum of emotions pass over Dean's features. Surprise, fear, grief, and finally...

The corner of his mouth lifts in a boyish version of his typical cocky, smart-ass smirk. He squares his shoulders proudly.

"Of course, I did," he says with false bravado.

Sam shakes his head and looks over at you. "Before you ask, yes. He's been like this for as long as I can remember."

"Why am I not surprised?" You laugh.

"So... You're really Sammy?" Dean asks, approaching and peering up at him appraisingly.

"I'm really 'Sammy'," he confirms. "But it's just Sam now," he adds as a version of his brother straight out of his memories circles him.

"Nah, you probably complain about it, but you'll always be Sammy to me. Don't matter how old we get," Dean assures knowingly, all the while taking in Sam's appearance in amazement. "Geez, what the heck did I feed you?" He finally asks incredulously.

Sam laughs heartily at that.

"You're even bigger than Dad!" Dean declares in astonishment. "You mean to tell me I'm gonna get that huge?"

"Well... close...but not quite," Sam says with a smile.

Dean's jaw drops.

"No freaking way!" He cries. "You're taller than me?"

"Yup," Sam confirms triumphantly.

"Crap," Dean breathes and sags in abject big-brotherly disappointment. "This is what I get for always giving you bigger portions of everything," he grumbles to himself.

Sam's face instantly falls.

You can see that it just hit him...

It just really hit him that Dean - not as the tough big brother from his memories, but as this too-skinny little boy - regularly went without just to make sure that he was fed and cared for. This child had been his parent and protector, had always taken care of him first in everything. Looking down at him now, through the eyes of an adult, the cruelty of that unfairly placed responsibility is sinking in.

Dean glances up at his brother and, upon seeing the wounded look on Sam's face, his eyes widen guilty. With the ease of someone used to hiding their own feelings for the sake of others, he plasters on a smirk and says, "Bet I can kick your ass, though."

You cover your mouth with your hand and glance over at Sam to gauge his reaction. You're floored that this behavior had already been firmly engrained in Dean at such a young age, and that - even with Sam now towering over him and about 20 years his senior - he's still trying to protect him.

Sam winces in response to his brother's casual deflection, his eyes glittering tearfully in the low light.

"This where we live?" Dean wonders, eager to change the subject as he looks around himself curiously.

"Yeah," Sam answers hoarsely before clearing his throat. As always, he allows his brother the defenses he's put in place to protect a secretly tender heart.

"Sure ain't no motel room," Dean comments in awe, walking over and taking a seat on the mattress, giving it an experimental bounce. "Bed's freaking awesome."

"This is actually your room," Sam says.

"Sweet!" Dean says, nodding approvingly as he climbs back up onto his feet.

He walks around slowly, checking the place out. He runs his fingers over the handles of a few weapons. When he spots the time-worn photograph of him and his Mom together, he picks it up and smiles, running his thumb tenderly over her image.

After a moment, he frowns and looks over his shoulder at Sam.

"Where's Dad?"

A/N: Feedback = Love. :) Thoughts so far?