Wow, I've been doing way too many fanfics lately. But how can I keep them to myself? Wait, that would be impossible anyway. There's no way to keep a story to yourself when your sister practically salivates at the thought of something new to read.

Anyway, this story happens somewhere in the fifth season. Don't ask me exactly when, it's not like I remember any of the episodes anyway. Just . . . use your imagination. Unless you don't have one. If you don't, you might want to look on Ebay or another popular site for a new one. If you've lost it somewhere, I recommend you look under your couch or in the refrigerator as soon as possible. Any longer than that, and it could be fatal.

Tell me if I've made any mistakes, 'kay? I'm serious. Tell me. I want to fix it. I NEED to fix it.

Misspellings or wrong words will require either immediate surgery for a new pair of hands or boiling my thumbs in a pot of Pizza Hut's finest.

Thank you.

"Sam!" Dean shouted. "What is it?"

"I don't know, Dean," Sam shouted back. "It could be nearly anything. We can't face it if we don't know what kind of monster it is, either, so don't you dare try it! I know that look, Dean! Just run!"

"You're no fun, Sammy," his brother complained, his voice slightly out of breath as they dashed through the dark forest.

It should've been just another job. Four people disappearing in little more than a week. It had seemed like something they'd get done as easily as anything else. They'd asked around, impersonated FBI agents, asked the grieving families, and gotten wind of a few leads that lead them to an abandoned factory in the middle of a shadowy forest.

They should've known that nothing's ever simple or easy when Winchesters get involved.

Dean leapt over a fallen tree and pulled two guns out of . . . nowhere, as far as Sam could see. He tossed one to his brother. "Get ready, Sam, we're gonna have to face it sometime."

They stopped running suddenly, turning to stand at each others' backs. The forest was silent for several moments, the only sounds heard the rustling of the wind in the trees and the crickets chirping.

After a few minutes, Dean flicked a glanced behind his back at Sam. "Think it went somewhere else?"

"Could be," Sam admitted. "But I don't want to deal with the consequences if we're wrong."

So they stood there in the stillness for a while longer before Dean finally relaxed his stance and Sam turned around. "Great. It's escaped."

Dean shrugged. "So we'll look for it, and if we don't find it, we'll come back later."

"What if it takes more people before we catch it, Dean?"

His brother sighed. "I don't know, Sammy. I guess we'll just have to get it before then."

"Yeah."

They stood there, quiet for a few seconds. Then Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder. "We'll figure it out in the morning. What do you say we get back to the motel, get some beer and watch bad late night TV?"

Sam smiled slightly. "Sounds good, Dean."

But they never even made it to the Impala before they were attacked from behind.

Dean blinked open his eyes, squinting against the darkness. He pushed himself up, the dizziness only lasting seconds before fading away. He rubbed his head and groaned.

What happened last night? He really hoped they hadn't gone on a bender. His head seriously wasn't liking him right then. He didn't remember embarrassing himself, but alcohol could do that to you. Who knows what he'd done while under the influence?

With his luck, he'd probably sang a few songs on top of a table, stumbled home, then latched onto Sam and poured out all his troubles to his emotional (and probably also intoxicated) little brother, who either dumped him some place or cried with him like two sisters who's boyfriends just broke up with them.

Oh, God, no.

He got up, looked down, and immediately forgot about his headache.

"What the hell?"

He was a kid. Why was he a kid?

Then he remembered the case, and cursed colorfully. The thing must've gotten he and Sam while they were walking back to Baby.

It had better not have scratched her up.

Wait, Sam. Where was Sam? Was he a kid, too? He really hoped not. One kid was trouble enough, but two?

Damn, he had to find his brother.

He was already to the door before he paused. He recognized this room. It was the room he'd had before his mother was killed by Azazel.

He was all of four years old, then. That would mean Sam was either five or six months old. Great.

But he couldn't worry about this now. His brother could be in trouble, hurt, or worse.

So he reached up and opened the door, leaving the room in search of Sammy.

The first place he looked was the nursery. He looked over the top of the crib, and lo and behold, there was his baby brother, sleeping like a . . . rock.

He really hoped Sammy wasn't as old, mentally, as he looked. He poked his brother in the arm. "Sammy. Wake up and remember me."

Sam opened his eyes, gazing up into Dean's young face. His little brother blinked big hazel eyes up at him, his expression soft in that way all small children seemed to have, and he finally spoke. Baby's first words.

"What the hell?"

Dean laughed in relief. "Surprise, Sammy."

"Dean, what's going on?" his brother spluttered. Except it came out as gibberish that, somehow, his brother could understand.

Dean thought it must a big brother thing.

"Well, aren't you cute, Sammy," he said, amused.

"Dean, why are you a child and why are you so big?"

"Look at yourself, Sam. You'll understand in a minute."

When Sam saw himself, he hissed out a breath. "It got us, didn't it."

"'Fraid so, Sammy."

"Was it a witch?"

Dean frowned. "Not sure. Probably. What else could de-age us and send us back to this house?"

"Something powerful. An Angel, maybe." Sammy pushed himself up to his knees. "This complicates things."

Dean snorted. "That's an understatement. What are we gonna do if people find us here? How will we explain how we got in? You're only at least five months old, Sammy. They'll think someone either left us or we hid here for some reason. It's not like we can tell them the truth."

Sam blew out a breath. "Yeah, you're right." He looked up at Dean. "We could call Bobby."

"Yeah, and how will we do that when we can't even reach the phones, which are probably all disconnected anyway?"

"I don't know, Dean, but we have to figure out something."

They both paused as they heard a footsteps. They were getting closer, and they didn't have any weapons to stop whatever it was.

The door was pushed open, and . . .

"Sammy? What's going on, baby?"

Dean forgot to breathe. It couldn't be, but it was her voice and this house and Sammy and how could it be possible?

He turned around, and saw his mother standing in the doorway.

"Mom?" he breathed.

Mary Winchester saw him standing there, and came closer. "Dean? What are you doing out of bed, honey?"

"I-I was checking on Sammy," he stammered.

"Sammy?" Her brow furrowed. "Is something wrong with him? Is he sick?"

"No, no," Dean assured her. "He's fine. He's . . . I just wanted to see him."

She smiled at him, the same smile he remembered from before the fire, and knelt down in front of him. "Why don't we get you back to bed, then?" She reached out to take his hand. He let her, but resisted when she tried to pull him away from the crib. She looked surprised. "Dean?"

He shifted on his feet. "Where's Dad?"

She smiled crookedly. "Dad, is it? Are you too old to call him Daddy now?" she teased.

He smiled back uncertainly. "Yeah, no, but . . . Dad?"

"He's still sleeping," she told him, her tone lovingly exasperated. "Wouldn't budge an inch when I shook him." She looked down at him, her eyes soft. "Are you ready to go back to bed yet, baby?"

"Just let me talk to Sammy for a moment, okay?" Dean said. "I want to . . . tell him goodnight."

"Of course you can, Dean," Mary said, another small smile gracing her lovely face. "I'll just stand over there, shall I? Give you privacy," she added delicately. There was playful affection in her blue eyes as she stood back to stand beside the door.

Dean turned back to Sam, who looked up at him with uncertainty in his hazel eyes. "Dean . . . was that . . . ?"

"Yeah," he said, glancing away. "It was Mom."

"But how . . . ?"

"I don't know, Sammy."

There was a moment of silence.

"She sounds beautiful," Sam admitted quietly.

"She is." Dean paused. "Dad's still alive. Should we . . . ?"

"We'll figure this out," Sam said firmly. "For now, go with Mom."

"Sam," his brother began.

"I'll be fine, Dean," Sam interrupted. "Trust me. I'll yell if I'm not."

Dean looked back at Mary. "Okay. But I'm coming to get you the second I wake up."

"I'll be here," Sammy said firmly. "Now go. Mom's waiting."

Dean cast him one last glance before walking over to Mary, letting her take his hand and lead him back to his bedroom.

Just before she left the room, she whispered to him, "Angels are watching over you, Dean."

He was haunted by nightmares for the rest of the night.

Dean opened his eyes and blinked against the sunlight.

It took one a moment before every came rushing back, and he jumped out of the bed to run out of the room and crash into one John Winchester.

He father steadied him with a hand gentler than he remembered. "Whoa, slow down, buddy. Where are you running off to this early in the morning?"

"Dean."

He looked up and saw Sammy being held by John, and immediately held out his arms.

John shifted Sam on his shoulder, looking perplexed. "Do you want a hug?"

"Sammy," Dean instantly said.

"You want to hold Sammy?"

Dean nodded, his arms still held out.

"Well, alright. But don't drop him," John cautioned before carefully placing his little brother in his arms.

"I'd never let Sammy fall," Dean told him. John looked at him strangely. The words sounded strangely like a promise long held, but not to him. He shook his head and decided it was just his imagination. "Let's go see Mom," he said to his son, smiling down at him in a way he'd never done after Mary died. "She's making pancakes for breakfast."

Dean shifted Sammy in his arms. He'd seemed to stop complaining the moment John gave him over to his big brother. John wondered about that, but Dean looked so . . . comfortable, holding Sammy. As if he'd done it many times before. It gave John pause, and at the same time made him want to hold his son, because Dean was already so much the big brother it made him smile to imagine what it'd be like in a few years.

"He kept talking like I was as young as I look, Dean," Sam said as they walked into the kitchen. He sounded slightly disturbed by the fact. "It was so awkward."

Dean snorted. "Only for you, Sam. You'll have to remember that."

John glanced down at him, and smiled slightly. "You can understand what he's saying, Dean?"

Dean looked at him. "Yeah. He thought it was really awkward the way you kept talking to him like he's five months old."

John chuckled, and Dean smirked as he told the complete truth. Sam slapped a small hand against his shoulder. "Dean," he protested.

His brother glanced at him. "Calm down, Sammy. I'm just telling the truth."

Sam sighed. "Yeah. It's not like anyone will believe you, anyway."

Dean patted him on the back gently. "See? You're thinking my way already."

They sat at the table as Mary put pancakes on plates and placed them in front of John and Dean. She picked up Sam from Dean's arms and settled him in a kid's chair before putting syrup in the middle of the table and getting some pancakes for herself. She slid into a chair and looked up to smile at her boys. "Good morning."

Dean nodded. "Morning, M-mom." He stumbled over the word, glancing at Sammy, and got a look back that held years of reassurance.

"I'm Mom now?" Mary asked, smiling.

"Why stop just because we went back in time?" Dean mumbled.

Mary gave him a puzzled glance. "What was that, Dean?"

He snapped out of it, sitting up. "Nothing."

"Are you sure?" She was looking at him with concern now.

"I'm sure," he said, smiling at her because she was his mother even if she wasn't, and you didn't worry your mother for a reason you couldn't tell her.

"They don't seem to understand me no matter what I say, Dean," Sam said.

Dean looked up at him. "Don't worry about it, Sammy. It'll probably even come in handy."

Mary glanced between them curiously.

John smiled. "It seems Dean understands what Sammy's trying to say now."

Her smile was brighter than her husband's, more painfully familiar to Dean than his own father's. Of course, there hadn't been a lot to smile about after she'd died. For Dean, Sam. But especially for John. He'd collapsed in on himself after she was gone. He'd put himself back together, but he couldn't heal the cracks created by her death.

Mary looked at Dean expectantly. "What's he saying?"

"He told me that you don't seem to understand anything he says," he replied.

She laughed. It was beautiful. "I can imagine how that would be a problem."

Dean chuckled. It was a sound that gave John and Mary pause. Not many children laughed like that, and they'd never heard it from Dean before. "You have no idea."

Mary smiled as she got up to give Sammy his breakfast, sitting down again and leaning over to hold a spoon of . . . something to Sam's mouth. Dean didn't even want to know what it was.

"Dean, she's trying to feed me what looks to be the insides of a small dog," Sam said, a bit of panic in his voice.

This time Dean barely stopped himself from choking on a pancake as he laughed loudly.

"It's not funny, Dean," Sammy hissed as he tried to get away from the spoon that was currently terrorizing him.

"Yes, it is," he chuckled. "You can't tell me you wouldn't be laughing, too, if our places were reversed."

"No," Sam admitted, holding a hand in front of his mouth. "I can't."

John and Mary paused, watching the interplay between the two. It was slightly unsettling, the way Dean really seemed to understand his little brother.

"It can't be that bad, Sammy," he said without batting an eyelash at the lie.

Sam shot him a Look. "Yes, it can, Dean. Yes, it can."

"So is there anywhere you want to go today, Dean?" John asked. "The park, maybe?"

At that moment, a thought occurred to Sammy. "Dean, the Roadhouse."

Dean looked at him, startled. He hesitated. "The Roadhouse?"

"Dean," Sam urged, "if Mom and Dad are alive, then what about . . ."

Dean stared at him, having the same realization as Sam had just seconds before. "Sammy, you're a genius."

"I know," he said without vanity or pride.

"The Roadhouse?" John asked, perplexed.

Dean glanced at him. "Yeah, Dad."

"'Dad'?"

"Focus," Dean reminded seriously, making John blink. "The Roadhouse. It's a bar."

"You want to go to a bar?"

"Yeah. I mean. Not right now, but Dad, just. Listen. Listen," Dean said again, capturing John's full attention at his four year old son's sober tone. "I just want to meet some people there. I saw them at the park," he added, belatedly. "They were real nice. I doubt they remember me, but. I just want to meet them."

"Tell them you had a dream about them," Sam said. "Tell them about Ellen and Jo. No, just Ellen. And the explosion. Don't tell them any names, act as if it was just a nightmare."

"I had a dream about them," Dean told John and Mary. "I dreamed that Ell-the lady died. And her husband. I just want to make sure they're okay."

"Dean, you could be a professional actor," Sam murmured.

Little did they know that, no, Dean. You couldn't.

In the end, they agreed to go the day after. Apparently, they couldn't resist Dean's big, green, teary eyes of doom.

Of course, the next bit also helped.

"I don't know, Dean," Mary said, but he could see that she was wavering.

"I won't ask for anything else."

"Well . . ."

"Please," he said simply.

"It's a bar . . ." she trailed off.

"We'll be perfectly safe," Dean assured her. "You'll be there and other people will be there. Besides, Sammy wants to go, too. Don't you, Sammy?"

Sam tried his best to smile innocently. It worked like a dream.

"See?"

"I'm not sure," John began, then stopped as both Sam and Dean both turned sad, stricken looks on him. "I . . . Uhh-"

"It was a terrible dream, Dad," Dean said pointedly. "Terrible. There was an explosion and me and Sam were there and we had to watch it. There was fire and stuff. We couldn't do anything for the poor lady inside. With the explosion. You know, the one she protected us from. All we could do was watch. As the building exploded. With her inside. It was so sad. I almost cried. In fact, I feel a few tears coming on right now. Dad. I almost cried." He turned to his mother, looking up at her imploringly. "Mom. Please?"

Mary completely fell for it. "Oh, let's just take them, John. It won't hurt any. Look at Dean, he really wants this. Look at him. Oh, honey, You don't have to worry about anything," she assured her son. "We'll go. Of course we will. We'll go even if it takes days of cheap motel rooms and greasy takeout food and bags of money. Right, John?"

He kept silent.

"John. Right? John. JOHN."

Dean's big, teary eyes, Sam's young, hopeful face, and Mary's threatening tone?

He didn't stand a chance.

(Besides, Mary's scary when her little boys don't get something they really want.)