So, I had this idea anyway, but I went ahead and threw in Halloween themes to make it seasonal. And because I couldn't fully decide between pure De-Aging, body-swapping, or age-swapping...it'll be age-swapping-ish [possibly with slow mental de-aging/re-aging], and there'll be a bonus, one-shot chapter at the end with some either body-swapping, or 'life' swapping of our favorite Winchester boys 3 Hopefully I do the concept justice, because all these de-aging fictions with little Sam or Dean talking baby talk scare the crap out of me. XD I dunno, I guess the idea of them being babies is strange to me, unless they have their adult minds, which probably makes ME strange. Baby talk just freaks me out. _ But I digress! XD Weechesters, unite!~ P.S. I think I got the date right...Dean=17, Sammy=13?

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October, 1996

Sunny skies, fresh air, and the promise of a date with a bombshell named Jessica Lynch at the big Halloween Bash. Some block-party affair that was considered a big deal in this sleepy town. Things were looking up. Well, until the incident that had earned seventeen-year old Dean Winchester his thirteen-year old brother's ire.

"I can't believe you, Dean! What were you thinking?"

Dean rolled his eyes as he walked alongside his twerp of a brother, although admittedly, he'd done some considerable growing the past year or so. "Uh, gee. Maybe that some dickbag was picking on my little brother and I should kick his ass for it?"

Sam shot his older brother a seething look. "I told you to leave it alone!"

Dean's lifted a brow. "Yeah, thanks for that, boss-man." Humor and sarcasm laced his tone till he grew a bit more serious. "...I don't get why you're so pissed. You're the one that's all 'no fighting in front of civilians'. That ain't my problem. Me keeping my little brother from getting wailed on, is."

"I had it handled, Dean. You know we're supposed to keep low profiles. And now, thanks to you, everyone's gonna think I'm some sissy who needs his brother to come to his rescue. "

"Well...ya kinda are.." Dean said with a faint grin that faded as Sam shot him a baleful look and moved to walk ahead. "Sammy, come on...don't be like that, man." Yeah, Sam's attitude was pissing him off, but he didn't like Sam being genuinely angry at him. What was he supposed to do though? Just let Sam get his butt kicked 'cause he didn't like to fight in front of civilians? A phrase borrowed from John Winchester, and sure-Dean got the idea, but that didn't mean that Sam needed to take a punch for it. Or do his little side-stepping routine and just end up with more idiots after him.

Dean and Sam were spending a few weeks in the sleepy little town of Ashbury, somewhere in Connecticut while their dad worked a case. Dean was attending Loftland High, while Sam was attending the basically right-next-door Ashton Middle School. Being that it was a small town, everyone's kid brothers and sisters attended that middle school, and all their older Icounterparts attended the high school. Nothing went on at either school that the other school didn't hear about. Such as the eighth-grade dickwad Lenny Markowitz picking a fight with his little brother. Dean had shown up and crashed the party, knocked out Lenny's older brother Travis, and his cousin Daniel, before putting-without laying a hand on him-the fear of Dean into Lenny. All in all, he'd done good.

Well, he thought so, at least.

"Sam...Sam, come on!" he caught up to his little brother and set a hand on his shoulder as he forced the other to face him. Sam glared up at him and he sighed as Sam shrugged off his hand and crossed his arms. "Dude...look...what do you want me to say? I wasn't gonna just let you get hurt."

"I'm not a kid, Dean! I don't need you to fight my battles."

"I'm not sayin' you're a kid. But you are my little brother."

"So what?"

"What do you mean, 'so what'? So I'm not gonna let you get hurt." Dean gave his little brother a duh look, and he shook his head in growing exasperation as Sam only seemed more irritated by his response.

"I can take care of myself."

"That right? Well too damn bad. 'Cause taking care of your bitchy ass is my job." Dean hoped that putting in that little 'bitch' endearment [recently promoted from 'brat' to 'bitch', in fact] would alleviate some of Sam's wrath. But instead, the boy just shot him a death glare and stormed ahead again. "Don't worry, Sam," he called, annoyed, "I don't blame you, you can't help just hitting puberty. PMS is a given."

Sam, in a move that impressed Dean even as it made him want to throttle his unusually snarky little brother, flipped him off and kept walking.

Dean fought the urge to smile as he shook his head and followed his brother back to the motel.

...

"You sure you'll be alright? You were a little...moody earlier."

"I'm fine, Dean. Just go on your little date." Sam made a shooing motion.

Dean had already planned a little 'alone time' with Jessica for the night, and then Saturday would mark Halloween, and the day of the big Halloween bash. Sam had already been invited to a...'young adult gathering', so he'd be covered there.

Dean frowned as he stared down at his little brother. Even now, several hours later, Sam's agitation hadn't eased up, really. And now, he was reluctant to leave. "Sammy..."

"Just go! Really, it's fine. Please go." Sam just wanted to be by himself for a bit anyway. Not to mention, his brother's hovering was going to drive him to fratricide.

Dean looked uncertain, because unlike most boys his age, his first instinct wasn't to ditch his brother and go off on his date. It was all protective, big brother instinct baring it's proverbial hackles.

"Dean. If you don't go, I will find a gun, and I will shoot you." Sam tried to sound more exasperated than angry, which he was at that point.

Dean's lips quirked but it didn't quite reach his eyes as he set his hand on Sam's head and ruffled Sam's hair, which he tolerated if only because he thought it might encourage Dean to leave. "Sammy, I..." he trailed off and struggled with his words a split second before he lowered his hand. "Be careful, squirt. Call if-"

Sam resisted the urge to punch his brother at the nickname. "-if I need anything, or if anything happens, you'll ring twice," John would ring once, "Got it, Dean. I'm good."

There was approval in his expression but Dean still hesitated a moment before he nodded. "Alright then. Later, kiddo." Dean left before he could see Sam bristle at the comment.

As he left though, Dean was already making mental notes to keep his phone close at hand just in case. And he'd go ahead and make sure the date wasn't too long, not that they ever were. Sam had always been a little moody, but the past week or so, he'd been an out and out piece of work. Dean had tried to divine the problem, tried every sneaky little tactic that he could think of, but Sam had just been...difficult. And then today, he'd gone and blown his top. Dean had snuck a silver spoon in with breakfast, and even a touch of holy water to his water, just in case...but Sam was Sam. So he couldn't figure out what the problem was, and that was both rare and troubling. He was Sammy's big brother, it was his damned job to know his little brother inside and out.

Well, Sam could just try and keep it a secret. Dean would figure it out and fix it. He always did...

When Dean was finally gone, Sam sighed and slumped in his chair. It had been a long day, and Dean wasn't helping. He knew, he really did, that Dean meant well. But Sam was tired of being treated like a kid, and tired of his own physical troubles. Sam was finally having a growth spurt, but for his age, he was still pretty small and the other kids let him know it. Dean teasing his size had been okay once, just brotherly crap. But since Sam had skipped the genetic phase of maturity that his classmates had reached at least a year prior, it wasn't so tolerable. Now it was just like pouring salt into a wound, insult to injury. A reminder.

A reminder of the fact that Dean had already been hunting [sort of] by his age, and John stuck to research mainly with Sam. He took it to mean that John didn't think he was capable, both physically and just...in general. And with all that he did for their crazy family, that rankled. Sam hated being different, being a 'freak', but he still did his best for the Winchester family and it just didn't seem to matter. He never did enough. So even though he knew that Dean meant well...his 'babying' Sam just drove the point home further and made it seem like neither Dean nor their father thought he was capable. It made him feel useless, underappreciated, and...well, if he didn't belong with normal people, and he didn't belong with his own family then...well, where did he belong?

...

A neon sign flickered overhead, two of the letters were completely dimmed, and there was a stale, acrid scent in the air like burnt rubber. Ashbury was a decent enough place, but every place had it's...questionable areas, and didn't it just figure that, as usual, that's where their motel was? But seedy areas meant less questions and less attention, so it was convenient even as it was a bit...unsavory.

Sam had a knife in his pocket, just in case, but he wasn't too concerned. It was ten p.m. or so, and he was confident that he could take care of himself. Whether or not Dean or John thought he was ready to hunt, Sam had definitely been trained hard enough to take on a 'civilian', at least. Sam just needed to get out, get some air, that sort of thing.

There was a small park in a lot half a block from the motel with a crappy little playground set up. But rusted up or not, the idea of just...sitting in a swing and taking a moment to himself was appealing so that was where he set off. The playground area was partially concealed beside a brick-wall that separated a little grilling area, and as he passed the wall-he saw a man on the swingset just before he heard the singing.

"Tura lura lural...tura lura lie...tura lura lural...hush now, don't you cry..." The words were sung with a lilting Irish accent and a bit slurred, courtesy no doubt of the whiskey held loosely in the man's hand, but still...the song was almost...haunting. He was leaned heavily against the chain of the swing, and he appeared to be asleep but for the singing until his eyes, visible beneath the dim park-light above, found Sam's own startled ones.

"A wee bit late, innit? Fer a wee lad to be about?" The man took a long swig of whiskey as he eyed Sam, who let his hand fall cautiously to his pocket where the knife was. Running wasn't good-it might incite the man to chase him. Best to just calmly get away, defuse the situation and-

"I'm not a 'wee lad'. I'm thirteen. I'm a teenager." Sam heard his own voice, huffy and a bit lofty, and he was surprised at himself. Now why had he gone and said that?

"Issat right?" The man eyed him before he motioned to the swing beside him. "Well, I'm justa tired old fella, meself. But ye look weary too, so pull up a swing, eh?"

Sam recognized the Irish accent, but the dialect was...a bit outdated, if he didn't miss his mark. And by this point, all kinds of alarms should have been going off in his head, but instead he found himself drawing closer to the other, and standing at the edge of the swingset. The man wore rather ragged clothes, a bit outdated as well, and a plaid-design hat hung low over his face. He had a bit of scruff and appeared to be in his forties or so, well-kept, all things considered.

The man smiled, a bit ruefully, but his tone was kind as he spoke. "Aye, best to stay a bit back...good sense, that is. But I be meaning ye no harm. Truly, I am more enemy to myself than ye."

Sam wasn't sure what to say to that, but he was spared a response as the man continued after another swig of whiskey.

"Somethin's a'troublin' ye. Tell ole Jacky wot's the matter."

Sam hesitated a moment, but as he found the man's pale, blue eyes on his own, he felt compelled to speak. "It's...my brother...and my Dad...just, everything..."

"Aye?"

"...They just...like today, my brother knocked two kids out and harrassed another, just because they wanted to fight me. I told him not to but he never listens, he just keeps treating me like a kid...Dad's the same way, they don't trust me. They don't even give me a chance. And I'm just...tired of not growing up...it's bad enough being in my family, but especially when I can't...measure up." Sam had never said it so bluntly before, Heck, he wasn't sure he'd ever thought it so clearly. But he found himself saying so all the same, and wasn't it true?

'Jacky' paused to consider that a moment before he murmured. "Issit really s'bad? Havin' a family'at cares?"

"...I don't know if 'cares' is the right word..." That was harsh, and probably not even true and he knew it...but it was hard to feel loved when he was being smothered. He didn't want to be carried around like a burden, he wanted to be brought around because he mattered.

"'An y'think if you got growed up, that'd solve yer problems, eh, lad?"

"Anything would be better than this." Sam found himself saying. He wasn't even sure how he felt about it all, actually, but he'd thought so before.

Jacky took another swig before he rose to his feet. Sam had thought him drunk, but he moved easily, almost too smoothly for a man his age. Jacky slipped the bottle into his long cloak and removed an odd little trinket from his pocket that, if he was seeing right, appeared to be a glowing...turnip?

"Yer a good lad. Ye got a shine to ye, brighter than anything I seen in...years. Bit tarnished though, wot with all yer sad thinkin'. Be a shame if you lost yer spark. I'll tell ye this," he said as he drew himself to his full height and gazed down at Sam with a bitter little smile that was, nonetheless, kind. "Family's got more worth than all the world. Best remember that." Jacky tossed his glowing turnip into the air and caught it without so much as a glance, and as he did-

-Sam's vision faded to black as all sense left him.

...

"Sammy...Sam...Sam! Open your damn eyes!"

Sam felt his body being shaken and he groaned as Dean's voice rumbled from above him. He sounded panicked. Was it time for school already? But why would that make Dean panic? His eyes cracked open and found Dean's anxious face above him, illuminated by the street lights above. The park was several feet away, and he was lying back-down on the pavement.

Dean slid an arm around his back and lifted him, and Sam's brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what had happened. "Dean...what...?"

"Are you alright? What happened, Sam?"

"I...don't know..?"

Dean's brow furrowed. "You don't know? What do you remember? Were you attacked? It's like two in the morning, I've been calling for hours, man."

"Two?" Six hours had gone by? What the Hell? Lucidity began to slowly return to Sam as he pulled forward and out of his brother's grasp. Sam rubbed his head before facing his now angry-rather-than-anxious brother. "I went for a walk."

"You went for a walk." Dean repeated, and he seemed almost stunned by the easy simplicity of that statement.

"Yeah, I went for a walk. That's not a crime." Sam muttered as he tried to piece together what exactly had happened.

"No, but it's definitely stupid. What were you thinking?"

Sam's gaze flicked to Dean's as annoyance flared and he leaned away from Dean's arm. "It was a walk, Dean. It's not a big deal. You're the one who left me to go out with some floozy."

Dean's earlier patience was gone as his jaw visibly clenched and the brothers stared each other down a moment before Dean lifted and jerked Sam up by the arm.

"Ow, hey! Let go of me!" he tugged his arm away and glared up at Dean. "What's your problem?"

"My problem? I came back and you were gone. No note, no answer on your phone. Do you have any idea how freaked I was, dude? I thought something happened!"

Guilt welled up in Sam at those words. He knew better than to go off, but he'd done it anyway. And for Dean to be that blunt about it, well, he had been more than freaked, he'd been worried. "I didn't mean to be gone so long, I don't what happened...I went for a walk, and then I woke up with you...I swear, I wasn't trying to mess with you, Dean. I just needed to...clear my head."

Dean's frustration ebbed a little at that, but his anger hadn't quite quelled. "You think..I dunno, something got to you? Or, I dunno...some people just pass out, right?"

"I don't have narcolepsy, Dean."

"Yeah, well...narco-whatever or not...something's up if you're telling me you've been passed out this whole time in the middle of the damn sidewalk."

Sam didn't have an explanation for it, or a good answer, but he was spared needing to as Dean began scanning the area. He took a few steps towards the park and examined the area a bit more, but his search turned up nothing and set his hand on Sam's back to push him forward a bit. "If something did mess with ya, it's gone now. How do you feel?"

"I feel fine. Pretty good, actually." Sam noted as he flexed his hands a bit and focused on his body. But really, he felt fine.

Dean watched his brother for a moment as he considered it before he gave a brief nod as he set a hand on Sam's back to push him forward in the direction of the motel. "Let's get back to the motel. " No sense in standing outside trying to figure out the issue.

"Alright." Sam agreed, and he let Dean keep his hand there for the time being. He wasn't letting the grown-up thing go, not by a long shot, but he did feel guilty for scaring Dean like that. That wasn't okay. A pain sometimes or not, Dean was still his big brother, and Sam didn't like...to worry him. Which tied in to his wanting to be a more equal member of the team: a better partner for Dean, and for their father.

If only, right?

...

Back at the motel, Dean's attentions began anew.

"Knock it off!"

"Just lemme see!"

"I'm fine!"

"Well, then I won't see anything, will I?" Dean griped back as he man-handled his brother a bit in order to peel off his jacket and then lift his shirt to check for any possible disturbances. Bites, bruises, marks, that sort of stuff. Sam had refused to do so willingly, so Dean had taken it upon himself to enforce his big brother rights and see for himself. Maybe it was a little overkill, but he couldn't be too careful. Sam had been being...bitchier than usual, and then he'd apparently passed out in the middle of dead-endsville, so something was up. But one very agitated little brother later-there was nothing visible, and he wasn't about to yank his little brother's pants off-nor would a monster likely have, in his experience. Also, just in case something had gotten to Sam, he could make sure that this was his Sammy.

"All clean." Dean announced as he released his squirming little brother, who promptly socked him in the stomach.

Dean winched and doubled-over somewhat, damn, the kid hit hard.

A flushed Sam jerked away and shot Dean a fierce glare as he tugged his shirt down and snatched up his jacket. "You can't just...jerk me around because you're bigger!"

"Yeah? Apparently I can, 'cuz I just did." Dean growled as he rubbed his offended stomach and decided he'd let his brother off for it-this time. Mostly because he felt a bit bad about rough-handling him, but he'd had to make sure just in case it was something supernatural playing in his brother's skin. Could never be too careful. And Dad would kick his ass if he missed something like that-actually, if he let Sam get hurt at all-he was so screwed. But he had no intention of letting his brother get hurt-ever-so there wasn't a problem. "Big brother rights and all that. Sorry, squirt." he shrugged as though it couldn't be helped. "You'll get over it."

Sam's fists clenched at his sides. "You're...a dick."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "You wanna run that by me again?"

Sam hesitated slightly before he jutted his chin out defiantly. "You heard me."

Dean's jaw clenched slightly before he growled. "Just go to bed, Sam. I'm tired, man, I'll kick your ass tomorrow if it makes you feel better."

"If we did fight, I might win, you know." Sam pointed out.

Dean lifted a brow as he let an all-too-infuriating smirk curve his lips as he deliberately mussed Sam's hair and pushed it down a bit to emphasize the height difference. "Sure, kiddo, whatever helps you sleep at night."

Sam flashed his brother a glare as he pulled away. For a moment, the brothers stared at each other, and Dean's gaze was almost challenging, daring Sam to do something. But in the end, the younger Winchester turned away and headed to his bed in silence where he promptly curled up and went straight for sleeping. Or rather, angrily lying there and contemplating the consequences of spiking Dean's food with laxatives.

Dean watched his brother's every move with a smug expression that was entirely for show and faded the moment that Sam stopped looking. He wasn't sure what had crawled up Sam's ass and died, but his brother's growing attitude, particularly in the past few days, was wearing on him. Fighting with his little brother in fun was fine, and Heck, the occasional spats and stuff were normal enough. But fights like these? And over stuff like Dean having Sam's back? What the Hell was up with that? They were brothers. And more importantly, Dean was Sammy's big brother. Dean's job was to watch out for Sam, hadn't their father even always said so?

Dean didn't think of Sam as a kid, contrary to his popular belief. Truth be told, he thought Sam was some kind of amazing. A Hell of a lot smarter than Dean had been at that age, and nearly as good a shot and fighter. Grade A kick-ass material. He was a sharp kid and Dean was proud of him. But he did think of Sam as his kid brother, his to protect and watch out for, and that wouldn't change no matter how old Sam got.

So when had Sammy stopped seeing it that way?

Dean tried to push the thoughts from his mind as he slid into bed and switched off the light. He could try and brainstorm this crap in the morning [and possibly 'kick' Sammy's ass]. Nothing like a good brotherly brawl, right? But that was morning's problem. Tonight? Dean was going to sleep and dream of all those new tricks with whip-cream Jessica Lynch had taught him.

And the one's he'd taught her.

Oh, yeah, Dean Winchester infinity, chicks of the world, zero.

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So...Sam's a little pissy right now. Like...uber pissy. But I think they're still in character. And really, is a pissy teen [especially with Sammy's angst-that unusual?] XD And correctly time-placed. Hopefully. XD I'm trying to have this fic finished by Halloween. So that's why I'm pushing a bit and you have thing long-ish and somewhat bunchy first-chapter. By the by, Tura Lura Lural is an Irish lullabye. /watch?v=aw9B49epS_M here's a lovely version by Bing Crosby. Props to anyone who can guess our mystery man, who I have tweaked a bit for my purposes. XD Next chapter: The 'fun' begins. Poor Dean. And John will be showing up in time to get in on the action...eventually. XD Enjoy! And leave me verbal hugs and favorites and such, because they bring intense joy to my soul. Especially when I'm at work and I find them on my phone during break. XD -Witchy~