~Chapter One~

In Which Dean Kisses A Frog

Try to Tell Me What I Shouldn't Do.
You Should Know By Now, I Won't Listen to You.
Walk Around with My Hands Up in the Air,
'Cause I Don't Care.

Gonna Freak Out.
Let It Go.

~Freak Out, by Avril Lavigne

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

Location: Outside of Lazy A Motel in Springfield, Illinois

Time: 7:32 PM

August 16th, 1992

"Can I keep him?"

"No."

"But, Dean –"

Lifting his shoulders and huddling further into his coat, Dean pulled out his shiny, silver Zippo. Flicked it open with this fingernail and clicked it shut again after lighting a new cigarette ("Cancer stick," Sammy fussed at him). "Let me rephrase that – fuck no."

"Curse words really shouldn't be used in the place of adjectives, Dean," Sam scolded in his high, pre-pubescent voice. Green eyes trailed scanned his older brother who, at thirteen, had become quite attached to the F-Bomb.

And Marlboro Lights.

Girls, too…

It was almost like Dean had been replaced by – Sam gasped – aliens!

"Words shouldn't be used to distract other people from saying FUCK NO to their little brothers, Sam," Dean retorted but worriedly glanced at his brother, hearing the gasp and pondering how long it took to die from lung cancer. Longer than being ripped apart by Hellhounds, probably.

"Besides, like Dad said, I'm in charge, and I say no!"

"But, Dean! I haven't even explained yet how I rescued him," Sam whined, put out by the lack of attention to his heroics. Maybe PETA would give him an award!

Fingers still wrapped around the cigarette, Dean waved his hand at his little brother. He leaned back against the brick wall of the dirty, old motel. "Fine, Princess Sammy, do tell."

"Ugh, I'm not a princess, Dean," Sammy griped at him with his Bitch Face, and in the light of the barely flickering neon motel sign, his forehead read Lazy, since both the A and Motel had burned out. Dean smirked.

"Then what's up with the frog, Cinderella?"

"Dean, Cinderella didn't kiss a frog!"

"Okay, okay! Sleeping Beauty!"

"Tiana," Sam corrected.

"Whatever, Princess," Dean dismissed him with a wave of the hand not holding his precious cigarette. He finally dropped it to the ground and put it out with the worn-out sole of his big boots. "Put Frogger back in the swamp and let's head back in. I'm making fish sticks for dinner!"

"But I hate fish sticks," Sam whined at his brother, although his bottomless pit of a stomach growled at the thought of food, "and I'm not just leaving him here to get eaten!"

"Fine, fine, bring him along, but if you don't want fish sticks, the only alternative is frog legs," Dean casually remarked to his little brother as the pair of boys started the walk back to their small motel room.

"DEAN!"

"I'm joking, Sammy. You know I wouldn't eat Kermit…"

The Winchesters walked to the front of the building and turned the corner, where Sam bumped into his brother and caught the toe of his dirty sneaker a crack in the sidewalk. Suddenly, Sam went flying with a yelp. He landed, face-first and palms thrown out to catch himself.

"Ow…"

"All right, Bambi?" Dean teasingly asked, but his facial expression showed his concern. He reached out, helped his baby brother to his feet, and examined his scraped knees – little bit bloody, but not too bad.

"I'm fine," Sam mumbled around his tears. The youngest Winchester hated crying in front of his big brother because it was so uncool, but gosh, it hurt! "Chance!" He suddenly exclaimed, looking all around for the green amphibian. "Where'd he go?"

"What kind of name is Chance?" Dean asked him, just happy that Sam wasn't crying anymore, and helped look around in the bushes beside the sidewalk. Found him! "Why didn't you name the frog after those weird little fighting animals of yours?"

"Pokemon, Dean, and Chance isn't really a Politwhirl-kinda-amphibian," Sam lectured the older boy. He loved Pokemon. Dean could keep his car magazines! "Besides! Frogs are considered good luck in some places, like China!"

Here, Sam lowered his voice to a whisper and guiltily rushed, "And…I might have wandered off while you were calling Dad from that payphone and I found him by the Chinese takeout place and I thought he might be special!"

Making a mental note to give his little brother The Talk (about not wandering off, not the other one), Dean grumbled, "Only special thing around here is you…" He finished wiping his knees with the sleeve of his plaid shirt and kissed them both to make his baby brother feel better. "Right. Did I get 'em all?"

The Baby Winchester smiled shyly up at his big brother, adoration glowing in his green eyes, and lifted the little frog in front of him, hands tucked under his little froggy armpits. "Chance hurt his nose!"

Dean stared at him, measuring the seriousness of his nine-year-old demands. "No. I am not kissing the frog."

"But, Dean! Look at him! Chance's going to cry," Sam protested, big hazel irises glittering with unshed tears of their own. A wobbly, pouty lip completed the picture. Yep. Definitely Bambi…

"Dude," Dean whined, his voice squeaking in the middle, though the older boy would refuse to ever admit it. "What if I get, I dunno, warts or something? It'll look like I have herpes on my mouth!"

"Myth," Sam countered these words with his books smarts and, sensing his big brother caving in, pressed Chance closer to face. The Baby Winchester let out a couple of well-timed crocodile tears for good measure. "Please, Dean!"

Dean poked him in the forehead and sourly muttered, "You so owe me. You're doing the dishes for a month, Sam!" Glared at him with shiny green eyes.

"M'kay," Sammy immediately agreed. Unlike John and Dean, Sam liked cleaning up. The boy also liked playing with stray animals, like dogs and cats and frogs and – okay. So maybe Dean was on to something with the Disney Princess thing…

Without further ado, Dean leaned forward, with face scrunched and lips puckered, and barely touched them the nose of the frog, and then –

POOF!

"Bloody Hell! Thanks for that. I was really beginning to wonder if I would be stuck hopping about like Trevor for the rest of my days!"

Both Winchesters leapt back – Dean adopted his favorite fighting stance; Sam tripped into the vending machine and rubbed at the back of his head while whining about his gangly limbs. "I hate being tall…"

A teenage boy with wild black hair and big green eyes climbed to his feet (standing at just short of 5'6") and blinked at them through a pair of thick, round glasses. Swiped his shirt sleeve over a dirty lens and blinked again. "Wouldn't know much about that, but I do know I prefer being taller than a toad!"

"Uh…" Sam gaped at him, but before the boy could shake himself out of his stupor, Dean squealed like a girl and began furiously scrubbing at his mouth with a strange desperation.

"Oh, God, oh, God! Fuck! I kissed another boy! Fuck, fuck, fuck," Dean spat the words out in time to the sleeve wiping down his tongue again and again and again.

It could've been because of his fear of boy cooties, but the Baby Winchester didn't really believe in those kinds of things and instead rationalized that it must be because his big brother had gotten fuzzles in his mouth…

Amidst giggles, Sam faced the other boy and smiled at him.

"Thanks again for getting me out of that kerfuffle! I really should know better than to mess with Hermione. She gets miffed, but I can't quite help myself sometimes," The British teen explained with a shrug of his thin shoulders.

"You were turned into that frog?" Sam gasped out in shock, and Dean stiffened. The Baby Winchester, Dean suddenly remembered, had been left out of the loop in regards to the Supernatural…

"Yep," The British teen chirped and smiled widely at them, "She's the brightest witch of our age, and I might have – sort of, okay, definitely – charmed her hair to sing the Barney Song to Ron. And 'Mione didn't much appreciate my sense of humor…"

"That is so cool," Sammy declared, practically gushing. Even Dean had to admit that would've probably been funny to witness, but still…

"It was wicked." A glimmer of mischief lit in his brilliant green eyes. The British teen glanced down his front and began fiddling with a strange-looking necklace; it looked like a small hourglass to Dean. "It's been fun, but I really do need to be going –"

"Hey! W-Wait a minute! What's your name, anyway? Can we stay friends?" Sam protested, bouncing forward with both hands out in front of him. Dean bit back a sigh. It would be too soon if he heard the words "Can I keep it?" again in this lifetime.

"I'm Harry – Harry Potter," The Brit introduced himself with a mock bow, letting the strange necklace dangle down in front of him. Doing so gave the boys a view of the little charm spinning in place. "Now, be a good brother, Dean, and help Sam back to your room."

"Dude. We didn't give you our names," Dean slowly voiced his observation, with furrowed brow and narrow green eyes. The Hunter-in-training slipped his hand down his coat pocket, searching for his trusty lighter.

"No need for that, Dean," Harry tutted at the older of the two. He wagged his pointer finger in his face, and while Dean debated biting him, Harry faced the younger of the brothers. "Don't worry. We'll be seeing each other again, Sam! Just give it a couple of years."

POP!

The Winchesters stood staring at the spot for some time. Sam finally shattered the silence and loudly exclaimed, "Cool!" with hero worship glowing in his big eyes.

Dean, however, rubbed his face and tiredly muttered, "I hate Witches…"

***Author's Note***

HI! :)

I welcome you to the prequel to The-Hard-to-Kill Club, another crossover story with Harry, Dean, and Sam. This story takes place in the early 90's, but Harry is, of course, off causing mayhem by using a Time Turner. He just couldn't resist going back in the past to meet the Baby Winchesters. :D

There will be three chapters to this one, just like in The-Hard-to-Kill Club.

Up Next: In Which Dean Plays Fetch with a Werewolf

PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!