A beam of bright blue light shot straight towards Dean as the crystal exploded.

"No!" screamed Sam, flinging himself across the room. He barrelled full-force into Dean, sending his brother crashing heavily to the floor and out of the path of the beam. His momentum was not enough to save himself however, and Sam took the full impact of the strange light in the middle of his chest.

To Sam, it felt like every single cell in his body was on fire. Dean was already scrambling to his feet when he heard the scream of anguish ripped from his brother's throat. The sound was cut off abruptly as Sam was then thrown with considerable force into the opposite wall. He slid down, unmoving.

"Sammy? Sam? Can you hear me?" Dean was at his side in an instant, indifferent to any lingering danger to himself, focussed only on the well-being of his baby brother. One hand placed on the pulse point in his neck and the other in front of his mouth, reassured Dean that Sam was indeed alive and breathing.

He quickly triaged the unconscious boy, relieved to find that there were no broken bones. At present, there was no evidence of internal bleeding either, but Dean knew he would need to keep his eye out for signs of clinical shock. The reason for Sam's unconscious state was immediately apparent – he had a knot the size of a golf ball on the back of his head, which was bleeding sluggishly.

"You're gonna have one hell of a headache, kiddo," murmured Dean, gently pressing on the wounded area to halt the bleeding, "possibly a concussion too."

Sam whimpered at the pressure that Dean was applying to the injured area.

"Sorry, Sammy." Dean palmed Sam's cheek gently, before moving his hand to his shoulder and shaking him softly. "Come on Lil Bro, it's time to wake up. Open those puppy-dog eyes of yours."

Sam stirred, but didn't open his eyes. His forehead creased as the intense pain assaulted his now awake senses.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, I'm here, kiddo. You really shouldn't fight with walls you know."

"It hurts," muttered Sam and Dean was taken aback as he noticed the tears slipping silently from the corners of his brother's scrunched-shut eyes. For Sam to actually cry, Dean knew that the pain level must be unbearable.

"I know, Sammy, let's get you out of here and then we can get you patched up and give you something for the pain. Think you can stand?"

Sam nodded, still keeping his eyes shut, as Dean helped to pull him up into a sitting position. "What happened to me?"

Dean paused in his movements. "You don't remember?" It sure looks like a concussion is on the cards he thought with a sigh.

"Uh-uh, the last thing I remember is going to bed. Is Dad back yet?"

Dean nearly choked. Yep, my little brother is definitely concussed he concluded. Deciding that informing Sam that their father was dead would not be a productive course of action at this point, he decided to play along while his sibling was in this confused state.

"Err, not yet Sam. Come on, we've gotta get you to the car."

Dean crouched down, placing one arm around his brother's waist and looping one of Sam's long arms around his shoulders.

"Okay, on the count of three. One, two…"

Sam slowly opened his eyes against the piercing pain that was lancing through his skull.

Dean felt himself shoved violently away at the same time that he heard his brother yell. In his stooped position, Dean totally overbalanced and inadvertently let go of Sam. Ever the hunter, Dean was on his feet again in a split second, the weapon that he had freed from the back of his jeans in position and ready to fire at this newest threat. It took a moment for Dean to make sense of the scene before him. Sam had scrambled halfway across the room on his hands and knees and was shouting "Get away from me!" at him! Sam's expressive eyes were also wide with fear as they looked at Dean.

Realising that there was no threat, unless you could count his confused brother, Dean quickly replaced his weapon. He held his hands up placatingly and spoke in a soothing voice, "Whoa, Sam, calm down buddy, it's just me."

Sam looked frantically round the room, obviously searching urgently for something. "How do you know my name? What have you done with, Dean? If you've hurt him, our Dad will kill you!"

Dean paused, momentarily at a loss of how to handle this new situation. Dean had witnessed many concussions first-hand and although confusion was common, he'd never seen anything like this. Sam apparently didn't recognise him!

A sob caught in Sam's throat as he eyed the stranger in front of him warily. He was sure that Dean had been right there with him, but when he had opened his eyes, he had found himself in the clutches of an unfamiliar man. Another sob escaped, tears running unchecked down his cheeks. Sam's head felt as though it was going to explode and he was terrified, finding himself alone in these unfamiliar surroundings with no idea how he got there. He just wanted his Dad and big brother. What if the man had done something to them?

"Please don't hurt me," he whimpered.

"Sammy, I'd never hurt you! I'm Dean…you've gotta trust me. You hit your head pretty hard, so you're not thinking clearly right now, but it'll all be okay, I promise." Dean had remained where he was, unmoving, unwilling to risk his injured brother attempting to take flight. He knew that he could manhandle Sam out of the warehouse if necessary, but was determined to only do that as a last resort in order to prevent the risk of further injury.

"You're not Dean. You're old…" Sam paused, for the first time taking a proper look at the man before him. There was something familiar about him, not just his features, but in the way that he held himself, that reminded him of his Dad.

"Gee, thanks for the compliment Samantha," muttered the stranger, rolling his eyes.

Sam was taken aback – that gesture, along with the girly nickname, along with the twinkling green eyes (that usually twinkled with mischief, but were now twinkling with concern) were definitely Dean trademarks. Except it was impossible, because Dean was thirteen! Sam's gaze dropped unintentionally lower, as a sharp pain lanced through his skull. Another whimper escaped his lips as he involuntarily clutched his head with both hands, although at the same time, his brain registered the familiar object that was hanging around the man's neck.

"Where did you get that necklace?"

"This aint no necklace, Sammy, only girls wear necklaces! You got it off Bobby and gave it me for Christmas. Don't you remember?"

Sam looked up, a glimmer of hope beginning to form in his eyes. "You really are Dean?"

"Yeah, kiddo. It's me."

"Tell me something that only Dean would know then," asked Sam, seeking final reassurance.

Dean thought for a moment. "Your first teacher was called Mrs Greenacre and you were totally in love with her…" Dean ignored Sam's indignant "Was not!" and continued, "…your favourite colour is blue, when you were six you got lost in the shopping mall when you decided to wander off to look in a bookstore – geek-, you're terrified of clowns…"

Dean's reminiscing was interrupted as Sam skittered suddenly over to Dean and kneeling up, flung his arms around his waist, hugging tightly.

"It is you," breathed Sam in relief, almost inaudibly, as his face was buried in Dean's t-shirt, "It's 'cause I hit my head that you look funny…right?"

"Err…yeah, that's right," replied Dean, assuming that Sam's vision must be blurry from the head trauma. His arms slid automatically around Sam, reminiscent of their childhood, when Sam had always been openly physically affectionate. It hadn't been until Sam had turned fourteen that he had decided that it wasn't 'cool' anymore to hug your big brother. Dean had at first really missed the daily physical contact.

"Come on, Tiger, let's get you out of here and sorted out," continued Dean, helping his brother to stand. Sam swayed as soon as he regained his feet and would have fallen if Dean had not had a firm hold on him.

"I feel dizzy, Dean, and my head won't stop hurting," sniffed Sam, as they shuffled slowly across the warehouse floor towards the door.

"I know, kiddo," soothed Dean, taking note with concern of the tears still rolling freely down Sam's cheeks, as well as his pale, drawn complexion.

Outside, the moon shone brightly, casting an eerie glow. Dean was thankful that the moonlight, along with the electric light blazing through the warehouse windows made it easy to see without a flashlight. The last thing he needed was to trip up while half-carrying his gargantuan brother!

It was a slow process, but eventually they made it outside to the Impala.

"I thought you said Dad wasn't back?" asked Sam, looking around expectantly after spotting the car.

"He's not," replied Dean, without skipping a beat, even though inside he was screaming. He couldn't deal with thinking about their father – the pain was too fresh, too raw. Dean opened the passenger door and carefully lowered Sam into the seat before closing the door behind him. He then walked around to the driver's side and got in.

"What are you doing?"

Dean turned immediately at the urgent, horrified tone in his brother's voice.

"What's up, Sammy? You okay?"

Sam was looking at him in confusion. A look that quickly changed to panic as Dean turned the key in the ignition and the Impala roared to life.

"Dean, you can't drive!"

"Of course I can, Sam." Dean used his most reasonable, calming voice, wanting to get Sam back to the safety of the motel room as soon as possible, so that he could decide whether his sibling needed a hospital or not. They'd both suffered concussions in the past, but Dean was growing increasingly concerned with Sam's bizarre behaviour and was beginning to worry that he might have a serious haemorrhage.

"'Cause you don't have a license and 'cause Dad'll kill you!"

"It's okay, Sammy, I do have a license, honest, and Dad gave me the car, remember? So he doesn't mind me driving it…" Dean didn't finish his sentence, as Sam fumbled with the door handle and before Dean could stop him, flung it open and tried to leg it away from the car.

Dean cursed under his breath and gave chase. Under normal circumstances, catching up to Sam would have been extremely challenging, as Sam's long legs literally seemed to eat up the ground. In his present wobbly state however, Dean caught up with him in less than a minute.

"Whoa, Sam," soothed Dean, catching hold of Sam's arm and forcibly halting him, "What's going on with you?"

Sam tried to yank his arm free, at the same time lashing out at Dean with his other arm. "Let me go! You can't be Dean!"

Dean quickly wrapped both his arms around his frantic younger sibling, pinning his arms effectively against his sides. Sam immediately retaliated by kicking viciously at Dean's shins. Dean cursed as one flailing foot painfully connected with it's intended target. Dean then wasted no time using his own feet to sweep Sam's out from under him. As the boy fell, Dean lowered himself in order to cushion his fall, which resulted in Sam in effect sitting on his lap. With Sam having a six foot four frame, this was by no means a comfortable position for Dean, but it did prevent Sam from any further kicking attempts. Dean kept his arms locked tightly around his agitated brother, pulling him back against his chest and unconsciously beginning a rocking motion that had always calmed Sam when he was a young child. "Shh, Sammy, it's okay. You've gotta calm down, buddy."

The fight suddenly went out of Sam and he turned slightly, burying his head in Dean's shoulder.

"I'm scared, Dean. What's going on?" The desperate edge in Sam's voice tugged at Dean's heartstrings. "I know it must be you 'cause you smell like Dean and you're wearing Dad's jacket."

Dean wasn't sure that he liked the idea of having a particular smell! But he was desperate to comfort his brother and asked instead, "What are you scared of, Sammy? You know I'd never let anything bad happen to you."

"Everything's different," Dean had to strain to hear Sam's muffled response, as he still had his head buried in Dean's shoulder. "I thought it was 'cause I hit my head that you didn't look like you, but that doesn't explain the fact that you can drive. And the car's not yours, it's Dad's. And when you caught me just now I realised that we're the same size and that doesn't make sense either."

Dean was puzzled, he had the feeling that this wasn't just concussed ramblings and that he was missing something important. "What do you mean I look different, Sammy?"

"Well, you're an adult, Dean."

"An adult?" Dean was confused. Of course he was an adult. "What am I supposed to be?"

"A kid like me. Well, not exactly like me 'cause you're older, but still…"

A perturbing idea began to form in Dean's mind. "Sammy, how old should I be? And how old are you?"

Sam finally lifted his head from his brother's shoulder, his eyes red and puffy from crying, locked on Dean's concerned green ones.

"You turned thirteen last week and I'm eight."

Could this just be inane rambling brought on by concussion or was Dean's emerging idea of amnesia a reality? Dean decided to try and test the theory. "Err, Sammy, can you tell me about my birthday?" At Sam's questioning look, he improvised, "I wanna check your bump to the head hasn't affected your memory."

Sam paused. "Dad was late home from the hunt. I was scared he wouldn't make it in time for your birthday, even though he had promised. He bought you a silver knife with pretty patterns carved on the handle and a new Metallica tape. He said the knife was for camping 'cause I'm still not supposed to know about hunting. Dad took us out for dinner and let you choose a cake at the bakery on the way home 'cause he hadn't had a chance to buy you a proper birthday cake. I made you a card. I drew the Impala on the front. Dad also promised he'd take us to the cinema as part of your present when a film comes on that you wanna see. Is my memory working okay?"

Dean swallowed nervously – Sam had remembered minute details that he himself had forgotten until he had just heard them mentioned again. He wasn't sure what to do – if this was genuine amnesia, then surely Sam needed a hospital, but if his brother started talking about hunting or ghosts or demons, they'd think he was nuts and lock him up. Another niggling thought had begun to surface at the back of his mind, something that with all of his worrying about Sam, he hadn't paused to consider – the exploding crystal. Could Sam's amnesia be linked to that and not the head injury at all? He had after all, been hit full force by the light beam that emanated from it.

Dean realised that Sam was looking at him expectantly, awaiting an answer. "Uh, yeah, Sam, your memory's fine. Can I just check your eyes?"

Dean fished in his jacket pocket for the mini flashlight that he always carried. He had been so intent before, on getting Sam to safety first and had intended to check his pupil responses back at the motel. Dean shone the torch briefly into each of Sam's eyes. Sam squinted against the glare and reflexively tried to turn his head away.

"Hold still," instructed Dean, placing two fingers under Sam's chin and turning his face back towards him. Both pupils were equal in size and responded normally to the light. Dean sighed – concussion would be a lot easier to deal with than a supernatural curse. He paused, thinking hard. Bobby had medical contacts and Sam evidently needed checking out, but what was he to tell a twenty-three year old who thought he was eight?

"Sam?" he said gently, "I don't want you to freak out, okay? Just remember I'm your big brother and that I've gotcha. You're safe. You trust me right?"

Sam nodded. "Always, Dean."

Dean felt a lump form in his throat as he looked at his little brother, who was now totally relaxed, still sitting in his lap and leaning back willingly against his chest, while gazing at him with absolute trust.

"The thing is, Sammy, your memory is fine up until you're eight, but you've forgotten a whole lot of stuff after that."

"What do you mean?" asked Sam in a small voice.

"Do you know what amnesia is?" An indignant snort and eye-roll from his younger brother informed Dean successfully that he did. "Well, I think you've got it. You noticed that we were both the same size? Well, that's 'cause we're both adults. We've both grown up, you've just forgotten. But don't worry though, 'cause I'm gonna fix it."

A smothered groan escaped Sam, as the bump on the back of his head decided to make its presence felt again with a vengeance.

"Come on, kiddo, let's get that noggin of yours seen to." Sam didn't resist as Dean hoisted him to his feet and placed a steadying arm around his waist.

As they made their way slowly back to the car, Sam voiced a question curiously, "Dean, if I've got amnesia, how old am I really?"

"You're twenty-three, dude."

"Wow, I'm old then, huh?"

"If you're old, then what does that make me?" asked Dean with mock indignance.

"That makes you a grandpa!" replied Sam with a giggle. It was a young and carefree sound, one that Dean hadn't heard since Sam had turned fifteen and his relationship with his father had slowly begun to break down.

The drive back to the motel was uneventful. Sam had closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the window for the entirety of the journey. As a result, he didn't notice the worried glances that Dean kept throwing at him. After pulling into the parking lot, Dean retrieved the first aid kit from the trunk, before helping Sam into the room and over to the bed furthest from the door.

"Right, kiddo, I've gotta check and clean the cut on your head. Okay?"

Sam nodded and valiantly bit back the whimpers that tried to escape in response to the extra pain that Dean's probing caused. He couldn't stop the tears from beginning to fall again however.

"Nearly done, Tiger," murmured Dean. He was being as gentle as possible, and even though he knew his ministrations were necessary, he still felt incredibly guilty that this was hurting his brother. Luckily, the cut wasn't deep and didn't need stitches – he knew Sam would definitely not appreciate having to have some of his beloved hair shaved off!

Done at last, Dean rummaged once more in the first aid box and returned to Sam with two painkillers in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

"Here, this should help a bit with the pain. I'm sorry I can't give you anything stronger, but it's not safe if you've got concussion."

Sam sniffed and glanced up from blowing his nose on a tissue from the box on the nightstand. He looked at the pills for a moment, but didn't reach for them.

"Errr, Dean, I can't swallow tablets. Do you have any medicine?" he asked hopefully. The pounding in his head was excruciating and he was desperate for anything that would relieve it.

"Sorry, Sammy, no." Dean wracked his brains. He couldn't bear to see the kid in such pain. What was it their dad used to do when they were little and they'd run out of kiddie stuff? A distant memory surfaced and Dean quickly retrieved two dessert spoons and crushed the painkillers between them. He then went to the mini fridge and poured a glass of milk (Sam would need it to take the disgusting taste away afterwards!), before adding a tiny amount of the liquid to the spoon and mixing it with the powder.

"Open up, Sammy-boy," instructed Dean, holding out the spoon and when Sam obediently complied, he quickly tipped the liquid concoction into his mouth.

"Eeurgh!" gasped Sam, immediately snatching the glass of milk from his brother and gulping it down. "That was disgusting, Dean!" he whined.

If the circumstances had been different, Dean would have found it hilarious and would have laughed at the face that Sam had inadvertently pulled at the taste of the medicine. As it was, Dean didn't find anything about the situation remotely funny. He was worried sick about the well-being of his baby brother. He needed reassurance that the 'amnesia' wasn't a dangerous threat to Sam's health.

Sam set down the glass on the nightstand and yawned. "Maybe this is all a dream?" he muttered hopefully to himself, obviously not intending Dean to hear.

Dean took in Sam's tired, drawn expression and pulled back the blankets on the bed. "Okay, bedtime."

Sam didn't argue. He simply shrugged off his jacket and kicked off his shoes, before climbing into bed fully dressed. Dean didn't comment, although he had expected Sam to get changed first – he had more pressing things to worry about than his sibling sleeping in his clothes. He carefully pulled the blankets back up to cover his brother and prepared to move over to his own bed. Sam's hand quickly shot out and grabbed his wrist.

"Please don't leave me, Dean," he pleaded. Dean knew immediately what Sam was asking – whenever Sam had felt insecure or afraid when he was younger, he always wanted Dean close to him until he fell asleep.

"Sure thing, kiddo," murmured Dean quietly, sitting down on the edge of Sam's bed. If ever the kid had a right to feel afraid and insecure it was now, with all of his memories erased Dean thought. Without realising it, Dean gently began carding his hand through Sam's bangs, just as he used to when Sam really was a young child and needed comforting.

It didn't take long for Sam to fall asleep. Dean cautiously stood up, careful not to wake the boy, determined to let him rest while he could, knowing that he would have to disturb his sleep at regular intervals throughout the night to make sure that he hadn't slipped into a coma from the head injury. Dean took his cell phone out of his pocket and stepped quietly into the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind him, not wanting Sam to overhear if he should awaken. He immediately rang Bobby's number.

Bobby answered on the fifth ring.

"Hi, Bobby, it's Dean…" He got no further, as Bobby cut him off.

"All right, what have you two idjits been up to now?"

"What makes you think we've been up to something?" asked Dean, automatically going on the defensive.

"Have you seen what time it is, Boy? I sure hope for your sake it is important and that you're not ringing at this unearthly hour for a friendly chat!"

"Sorry, Bobby, I didn't think of the time. It's Sam…"

Again Bobby cut him off, but this time concern was evident in his gruff voice. "Is he all right? He's not hurt is he?"

"Well…" Dean paused, unsure how to explain, "There's definitely something seriously wrong with him, but I'm not sure if it's medical or not. He seems to have amnesia, but isn't actually showing any physical symptoms of concussion. In fact, he's had much worse bumps in the past and been totally fine…"

Bobby interrupted again. "Slow down, Dean, I'm not following you. Can you start at the beginning?"

"Okay, we got the co-ordinates of a warlock's lair from a coven of witches. They were planning on using a spell to create some kind of entity that would do their bidding and wreak a lot of havoc, you know, the usual. But they needed something or other from this warlock's stash, so we decided to get in there first and stop them by taking it. Apparently, their spell wouldn't work without this orb of something or other…"

Bobby's snort of disbelief halted Dean in his tracks. "Don't tell me you two idjits just waltzed unprepared into a warlock's lair? Didn't your Daddy teach you anything?"

"What's the problem?" asked Dean, totally puzzled by Bobby's reaction. "It was just one male witch we needed to deal with, we've handled lots worse."

"Darn it, Boy! You're lucky you've both escaped with your lives! There are male witches all right, and they're just the same as your usual female variety, but a warlock is not a male witch!"

"They're not?" asked Dean, feeling foolish, "What are they then?"

"They're not something you should ever mess with, that's what! I personally know of eighteen damn good hunters who went after warlocks, and do you know how many lived to tell the tale? One! I can't believe that Sam, with his penchant for researching everything in sight, didn't know the difference between a warlock and a witch!"

"Errr, Bobby, what is the difference?"

"Well, you know witches are actually the servants of demons, either knowingly or unknowingly? All of their power comes from the demon's they serve, but the demon is always in control. Not so with a warlock. Warlocks do not serve demons, demons serve the warlocks. They are able to harness demonic power and use it for their own ends. How the warlocks actually achieve this is unknown and it's said that the secrets are only passed down through direct bloodlines. Now, what's happened to Sam?"

"We entered the warehouse, but it was empty of anything magical or supernatural as far as we could tell. We thought it was a bust and were going to leave when an old lump of brick on the floor kind of shimmered. When we looked again, it was a crystal and it started to glow. Then it exploded and Sam was caught in a beam of light that came from it. The force of it flung him against the wall and he hit his head hard and was unconscious for a couple of minutes max. But when he came to, he thought he was eight years old and has forgotten growing up. Of course he freaked 'cause he didn't recognise adult me, but I've managed to convince him I am his brother…"

Bobby clutched at the edge of his kitchen table for support. He cared about those boys more than he would ever admit and the shock of what could have happened washed over him. It was a miracle that Sam hadn't been killed outright! Warlock's magic was serious business and this crystal sounded like a trap. He realised that Dean was still speaking and forced himself to concentrate on what he was saying.

"…so I thought he needed to be checked out to see if it is amnesia or some kind of curse, 'cause figured we can't treat it until we know for sure. And having health professionals breathing down our necks is the last thing we need."

"Yeah, you're right, bring him to mine and I'll call in a couple of favours. I know someone at a private clinic that can run any necessary tests no questions asked."

"Thanks, Bobby, you're a lifesaver!"

"Don't thank me yet, we don't know the outcome. I'll start researching in the meanwhile, yah idjit, and you take care of that little brother of yours."

"Will do," said Dean, hanging up and running a tired hand over his face before exiting the bathroom quietly. He checked on Sam and then changed into a t-shirt and sweats, before climbing into his own bed. He set an alarm for an hour and a half later, knowing that he was in for a broken night's sleep.

Dean awoke first in the morning, which was unusual. He immediately jumped out of bed and went to check on Sam. He'd woken the kid at regular intervals four times during the night, on each occasion, being met with a grouchy, sleepy Sammy. Each time, Dean had quickly determined that no, Sam wasn't slipping into a concussion induced coma and yes, Sam still thought he was eight.

Sam definitely looked a lot better this morning, he had some colour back in his pale cheeks. Dean decided to let the kid sleep in after all he'd been through the night before. He quickly packed up their belongings, leaving a clean set of clothes out for Sam. His stomach rumbled and he had already picked up the Impala's keys and was halfway across the room before he realised what he was doing. Dean stopped, horrified! He had nearly gone out to fetch breakfast, leaving an eight-year-old Sam behind on his own.

Dean plonked himself down on the bed with a sigh. Breakfast would have to wait until his brother woke up. To amuse himself in the meanwhile, he picked up Sam's laptop and navigated to a certain site on the internet.

A stirring in the bed opposite alerted Dean to the fact that his brother was now awake. Two sleepy hazel eyes stared back at him.

"Morning, kiddo. How's the head? Once you're dressed, we'll go get some breakfast, okay?"

Sam yawned before answering, "Head's much better than it was, still got a nasty headache though."

Dean nodded and retrieved two painkillers from the first aid kit, before moving to fetch two spoons and some milk.

Sam watched what he was doing and grimaced. "No Dean, that stuff's disgusting! Can't we go buy some medicine?"

"Sorry, Sammy, there's nowhere nearby that sells stuff like that. So it's either this or suffer the pain I'm afraid. Your choice."

With an exaggerated sigh, Sam conceded. "Okay then, I'll take it." He glanced over at Dean's bed. "What's that?" he nodded at the computer.

"It's a laptop." At Sam's uncomprehending stare, Dean elaborated, "It's a portable computer."

"A portable computer? Wow! That's amazing! What does it do? And it's ours? Where did Dad get it from?" Sam slid out of bed and went over to examine the new toy. He caught sight of the screen and froze. "Uh, Dean, what are they doing?"

It took Dean just half a second to bound across the room and slam the laptop shut after remembering exactly what webpage he had been looking at. "Errr, nothing…..they were just being silly, Sam, it was a game. Now hurry up and get dressed so we can go eat." Dean swiftly changed the subject, blushing and cringing inside – that was definitely nota conversation that he wished to have with his baby brother! He knew for a fact that at eight, Sam was all innocence about such things. Their father had not explained to him about the 'birds and the bees' until the day after his tenth birthday. Dean made a mental note to avoid '' until his brother was cured.

Sam did not comply, instead he reached again for the computer. He knew what computers were of course, though he had never used one before, but he didn't remember ever hearing anything about 'laptops'.

"Uh-uh, little brother," scolded Dean, picking up the laptop and returning it to its case, "If you're good, I'll show you how it works later." He would have to make sure he had deleted his browsing history before Sam got his hands on it!

"You will?" asked Sam, his hazel eyes lighting up. "Did Dad steal it? It must be worth a fortune!"

Dean laughed at his brother's enthusiasm. "No, Dad didn't steal it. Actually, Sam, laptops are very common these days. Now being good, starts with you taking your medicine and then getting dressed, so if you do want me to show you how to use it…."

Fifteen minutes later, Sam was dressed and ready. After exiting the motel room, Dean unlocked the Impala and they dumped their duffle bags in the trunk. He then told Sam he could get in the car, while he returned the key to the reception desk.

On the way back to his baby, Dean paused, taking in the scene before him – his brother had gotten into the back seat. He shook his head in amusement, of course, eight-year-old Sam always rode in the back, only ever being allowed to ride up front as a special treat. The night before, Dean had physically placed his baby brother in the passenger seat and the kid hadn't commented then, as he'd been too overwhelmed and in considerable pain.

Dean tapped on the window and grinned when Sam looked up at him expectantly. "You can sit up front, kiddo."

Sam's eyes widened. "Really? I get to ride shotgun? Cool!" He quickly scrambled out of the back and into the front. "Does adult me always ride up front with you when Dad's not here?"

Dean nodded, ignoring the automatic tightening in his chest at the mention of John. "You sure do, Sammy. In fact, I even let you drive my baby sometimes."

"I drive the Impala?" squealed Sam with excitement, "That's awesome!"