Title: The Gingerbread Man
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple, open-and-shut hunt. Yeah, right. When did they ever go that easily?
Spoilers: None. Pre-series, Baby!Winchesters: Dean, 13; Sam, 9.
Rating/Warning: T. Mild swearing and mild violence later on.
Disclaimer: Dean, Sam, and John Winchester belong to Eric Kripke and the CW. I'm just borrowing them; I'll put them back where I found them, honest!
Author's Note: The only thing real about this depiction of Cranston, Rhode Island is its name. The original idea for this story was preschool ghosts. It then evolved into something more mature and a bit creepier. Seeing as I'm not 100 confident in this one, some concrit would be lovely.

"Dad, is there a rest stop anywhere around here?" Sam Winchester asked, a slight whine in his tone. As if to call attention to the fact that he was uncomfortable, he shifted position and leaned forward, resting his chin on the top of the front seat of the Impala and allowing the tiniest hint of a pout to show on his face.

John sighed and glanced over his shoulder at his younger son. "We're running out of daylight. Do you really need me to stop?"

Sam slumped back in his seat with a soft whimper. "No, not really. I just kind of need to walk around."

After consulting the road map that was lying open in his lap and some quick mental calculation, Dean informed his brother that they were only about thirty minutes outside of their destination: Cranston, Rhode Island. "Think you can wait that long?"

"Yeah, I guess," Sam said with a small shrug. After heaving a sigh, he turned his head to stare out the window.

Sam should have been accustomed to sitting in the car as his father drove up and down the interstates, but they had been heading north on I-95 for what seemed to him like days and he was way beyond bored. As the evergreens on the side of the road whizzed past the window, he blurred his vision, turning the individual trees into one fast-moving pine green blob. He alternated between that and focusing on one tree in particular to watch it speed from left to right. Even though he was now nine and, he felt, entirely too old to be playing games in the car, boredom still caused him to watch the trees or look for out-of-state license plates on the other cars on the road.

After a few minutes, even watching the trees became tedious. Sighing again, he leaned his head back against the seat and shut his eyes. For far too long, he'd been sitting in the same position, watching the same things. It didn't matter which direction they were traveling in; all the highways looked the same.

Sam fidgeted in his seat, trying to find a semi-comfortable position. His legs were cramped, he felt closed in, and his lower back was beginning to hurt. "Now how long is it until we get to Cranston?" he asked, opening his eyes. He cringed; the question had come out whinier than he had intended.

"About five minutes less than the last time you asked," Dean teased with a slight roll of his eyes. He twisted in his seat to face his little brother. "What's the matter?"

Sam just shrugged, sulking. "I really want to get out of the car."

"Feeling claustrophobic?"

With a shake of his head, Sam squirmed in the seat again. "I'm uncomfortable. And my back hurts."

"We're almost there, Sammy," John spoke up, taking his eyes off the road just long enough to glance up in the rearview mirror at his younger son.

Dean held his gaze on Sam for a moment longer before turning around and staring out the windshield. Rolling his eyes, Sam turned sideways and stretched his legs out across the seat. After a minute of staring blankly at the scenery outside the window, he leaned his head back against the window and closed his eyes.

For the next twenty minutes, he hovered on the edge between asleep and awake. He could hear the conversation his father and brother were having, but he wasn't paying attention to what they were saying. Instead, he was allowing their voices to lull him.

The Impala slowed to a stop and Sam's eyelids slowly fluttered open. Out the window, he saw the brown brick of a small motel. Finally! He excitedly packed up the few toys he had taken out during the trip, pushed the car door open, and climbed out, stretching his legs and arms as he did so. The kinks in his back would work themselves out in a few minutes; he had learned that a long time ago.

Just as he was getting ready to shrug on his backpack, he felt someone wrap an arm around his shoulders from behind. He gasped, startled, but when he felt knuckles dig into the top of his head, he knew exactly who had grabbed him. "Quit it!" he hollered at his brother as he pushed Dean's hand away and struggled against his grip.

"No chance, squirt." Dean tightened his hold on Sam and gave him one final noogie before releasing him.

All John had to do was give Dean an exasperated look. The older Winchester looked down at the ground and inched away from Sam, an indication that he would leave his brother alone. At least for the time being. "You boys stay here with the car," John said as he closed the driver's side door. "I'll be right back."

Once his father was out of earshot, Sam smacked Dean's arm. "I hate noogies." The teasing grin on Dean's face gave away the fact that he knew quite well of his brother's dislike for noogies.

The two brothers stood in silence for a minute before Sam turned to Dean, squinting against the bright August sunlight. "Why are we in Cranston? What's here that Dad has to go after?"

Dean shrugged. "He didn't tell me much, just that there was a house where people were getting hurt."

"Do you think he's going to make us go with him?" Sam asked as he leaned back against the Impala.

John had allowed them to tag along on hunts before, but the past few he'd had he deemed too dangerous for the children to come along, so the boys had been stuck in the motel room for days. At this point, Sam wasn't quite sure which one was worse: going on the hunt or being cooped up in the room. Dean was old enough that the hunt was a lot more exciting for him, but truth be told, Sam would rather have been doing the research part of the job. Sitting in a musty old library was infinitely better than being in the line of danger.

"Probably depends on how dangerous the job is," Dean answered, leaning back against the car with his brother. "Sounds simple enough, though, so I have a funny feeling we're working this one."

A soft whimper escaped Sam's lips as he shifted his backpack on his shoulder. The sun beating down on the top of his head was hot and small beads of sweat were already beginning to form on his upper lip. As he allowed his gaze to wander, he spotted a small inground pool behind a tall chain-link fence. All he wanted to do was jump into the cool, clear water, clothes and all. "Dean, look, there's a pool!" he exclaimed, pointing somewhat unnecessarily.

Dean followed his brother's gaze and gave his shoulder a small shove. "Now I know where you're going to be spending your afternoons if we don't get to go with Dad."

Sam just raised his eyebrows and grinned. The promise of being able to play in the pool was all of a sudden making him hope against hope that he and Dean would be sitting out this hunt.