This will be a collection of one-shots serving as snapshots over different experiences/events in Sam and Dean's lives. Some will be fluff, some will be hurt/comfort. If you have any requests, I will consider all.

This first one is a bit of fluff that takes place when Sam is 5, Dean is 9. Dean is in charge of Sam who is being silly and not listening because he's on a sugar-high. John comes home to find that they hadn't followed the rules/schedule he had left for them, and there is a bit of kid-level drama between the two boys. Sam is a little bratty, because most five year olds are a little bratty, and Dean is a little annoyed, because most big brothers are when their little brothers are being bratty.

"Dean is a buttface, Dean is a buttface!" Sam taunted, sticking out his tongue at his older brother and crossing his eyes in an attempt to make a silly face. He squealed when Dean rounded the corner of the cheap motel table, darting away from the sitting area and moving to the first of the two beds in the sleeping area, jumping up and down on the worn blue fabric blanket, "Stinky poopy buttface!"

"I'm going to get you, brat!" Dean threatened, lunging at the very naked five year old who was now scrambling to the second bed, "Dad's going to be back soon and he's going to be pissed if you aren't in bed. You know the rules, Sammy."

"You know the rules." Sam mocked, continuing to jump even though he could see Dean was far past 'amused' and heading straight to 'furious' in regard to his blatant refusal to get in the bathtub and get ready for bed. "I'm not going. Not going! Not going! Not going! Not going!"

"Shut up!" Dean shouted, completely out of patience and starting to worry about how much trouble hewas going to be in if Dad came back and found thishappening. "Come on, Sammy, stop being a little brat and just get in the tub."

"No!" Sam shouted, crossing his arms defiantly, "You're going to get water in my face!"

Dean knew the kid had a point, the chances of Sam getting water in his face while getting his hair washed was very high, especially since Dean was now in a hurry. He just didn't understand why Sam was so freaked out about the idea of water in his face. He liked swimming, wasn't in the exact same thing? With a sigh, he coaxed, "I won't get water in your face, I'll be very careful."

"You're lying!"

Again, Dean had to agree with the little brat. He hated when Sam was right. Trying not to appear as irritated as he felt, he decided to try to negotiate instead. Sometimes a bit of bribery went a long way with his little brother. "How about this, Sammy? If you take a really fast bath, I'll let you watch TV until we hear Dad pull up."

Sam eyed his brother suspiciously, knowing that Dean rarely broke their Dad's rules, and when he did, it certainly wasn't for something like staying up late to watch TV. After studying his brother for a few seconds, he stuck out his hand, "Pinky promise?"

Trying not to let his relief show, Dean quickly looped his pinky around his brother's, "Pinky promise." Sam darted off to the bathroom, a little ball of neverending energy, and Dean glanced at the clock with a groan. They were already cutting it really close to when their Dad said he'd be home, and there was a good chance that Sam wouldn't even be out of the tub by the time Dad walked through the door. It was always really hard to get Sam into the tub, but it was exponentially harder to get Sam out of the tub once in.

Dad's rules had been clear; after school Dean needed to do his homework, take Sam and the laundry to the small laundry facility adjacent to their motel, fix dinner, bathe Sam and himself and have Sam in bed by 8:00. The afternoon had started off smoothly, Dean had loaded up the laundry and brought his homework with them to work on while the clothes washed. Sam had entertained himself by reading out loud from Dean's history book which attracted the attention of this nosy old lady who was washing her laundry and couldn't help but marvel over Sam, who she called 'a tiny little reading prodigy'. He was incredibly proud of Sam's innate ability to learn, but he didn't like strangers taking interest in his brother, much less talking to him. He had gone to swap clothes from the washer to the dryer and in the two minutes that his back was turned, the little old lady had offered Sam not one, not two, but three candies from her purse. If that wasn't bad enough, she continued to slip him candies even after Dean made it perfectly clear that they weren't allowed to take candy from strangers and that Sam couldn't have too much sugar or he turned into an ornery, bratty bundle of energy. Sam, who trusted everyone because he had never been told about all of the dangers that existed on the fringes of everyday life, saw no problem taking candy from the sneaky old lady, which effectively derailed the rest of their plans. After the laundry was done, Sam wasn't interested in spaghettios at all because he had a tummyache from the nineteen pieces of candy he had been given by that old hag, and he was too hyper to settle down and bathe, much less sleep. Now it was 8:45 and no one had been bathed and Dad would be home in 15 minutes and Dean was going to be in a ton of trouble.

"Dean!" Sam called impatiently from the bathroom, "The water's cold!"

"If you would have gotten in an hour ago, it wouldn't be!" Dean scolded, "Now you have to deal."

When Dean entered the bathroom, Sam looked up at him with teary eyes, his bottom lip jutted out in a pout and his expression rivaling one of those pitiful animals at the animal shelter they had gone to look at a few times on their way home from school. Those eyes were going to be the death of him one day, Dean was sure of it.

"When you are bad, you have to deal with the consequences." Dean said firmly, doing a remarkably accurate impersonation of a lecturing parent, "You should have listened to me the first time."

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, because then the waterworks started. Within seconds, Dean found himself face to face with a sobbing, snotty mess of a (still naked) five year old brother. He sighed again, feeling pretty angry at the world in general. He hated his father for making him stay here and take care of Sam, he hated Sam for acting like a brat, he hated the old lady for giving Sam the candy that made him exceptionally bratty tonight and mostly, he hated himself for feeling this way about the situation. He knew Dad's job was important and hard and he was doing the best he could. He knew Sam couldn't help the sugar high he was experiencing (or now apparently coming down from) and that the old lady had meant well. But knowing all of that didn't help things at all when it was now 8:50 and Sam was still not in the bathtub and was instead getting snot and tears all over Dean's shirt as he clung to him.

"I wasn't trying to be bad." Sam wailed into Dean's shirt, "I'm sorry Dean!"

"I know." Dean sighed, patting Sam on the back and pleading, "Please stop crying, Sam. Please."

"You don't love me anymore!" Sam continued, as if Dean hadn't spoken at all, "You hate me and the water's cold and I'm hungry and you didn't feed me dinner and you are being mean to me and we didn't play at all today and Daddy's not home and it's dark and I'm scared and I'm thirsty and-"

"Sam! That's enough!" a booming voice came from the doorway. Sam instantly stopped whining and crying, though his was still loudly sniffling into Dean's side as he tensed in anticipation of a thorough round of discipline from their father. Dean, on the other hand, finally relaxed, knowing his shift of Sam-watching was over. He didn't even care that he was going to get his own punishment for not following the rules, it was nice to just have some backup now and not be responsible for this sniveling mess that had latched on to his side. Dean loved Sam, he really did, but it was a lot easier to be Sam's brother than it was to be Sam's caregiver.

"What is going on here?" John asked sternly, glancing from an exhausted Dean to a petulant Sam, "Didn't I give explicit instructions on what to do this evening, Dean? It's 8:55 pm on a school night, why is your brother still awake? And filthy?"

"I'm sorry, Daddy." Sam immediately replied, looking up at his father with a sad gaze, tears threatening to fall again but being held back with a great deal of determination, "I was being bad, not Dean. Don't make Dean in trouble."

"Get in the tub, Sam, and wash yourself. You have five minutes to finish and get dressed for bed." John instructed, dismissing the younger child in favor of getting to the bottom of the situation with the child he held accountable for the situation. He motioned for Dean to follow him and started to walk away, only to stop and return to the doorway when he realized neither boy had moved. "Do I need to have your ears checked, boys?"

"No, sir." Dean replied, pulling Sam's hands away from his shirt in an attempt to break free from his clingy second-shadow, "Let go, Sammy. Go take your bath."

"But-"

"Stop arguing and take your bath, Sam." John instructed once more, cutting off his youngest before he could start whining or complaining, "The clock is ticking."

Sam sniffed, turning away and staring at the tub with trepidation. After a few seconds of internally battling himself over whether he was going to get in or not, he timidly stuck his toe in, shivering slightly before actually climbing in. He looked back towards the door, but Dad and Dean were gone and he was alone. A tear fell down his cheek as he shivered again, the water chilly and wrong. He didn't like cold water; Dean usually made it just right and put bubbles and everything, but the bubbles had long since disappeared. He shouldn't have been so naughty, but he was feeling so silly and he didn't realize how carried away he had gotten. And now Dean was in trouble, too, because Dad's list didn't get finished. He scrubbed his arms, his stomach growling from hunger and reminding him that he hadn't eaten dinner. He didn't fail to realize this was also because he hadn't listened to his brother. No wonder everyone was mad at him.

He continued to cry as he washed his belly and legs, feeling cold and miserable and ashamed for his behavior. He didn't like being in trouble and he especially didn't like Dean being in trouble because of him. Dean was his best friend and the best big brother in the universe, there was nothing he couldn't do. And how did Sam repay him? By being a brat and not listening. It had been fun playing and being silly and loud, but it wasn't fun anymore now that he was cold, alone and in trouble. After he finished washing his body, he eyed the shampoo bottle warily. He hated getting water in his face and he never washed his own hair; Dean always helped to make sure he got it all and rinsed the soap out all the way. He looked in the direction of the door again, wondering if Dean and Dad were done talking. Not wanting to get in any further trouble, Sam whispered, "Dean?"

Of course, there was no answer, so he had to try louder, in his normal voice, "Dean?"

Sam strained his ears, trying to listen for his brother's voice, but all he heard was silence. Were they ignoring him because they were mad? Had they left? Shame rapidly transformed to terror and Sam burst into tears, covering his face with his hands and drawing up his knees to his chest in the cold water. What if they had decided he was toobad and they didn't want him anymore? What if they weren't just mad-what if they didn't even love him anymore? Worried that he would be alone forever, Sam yelled for his brother as loudly as possible, hoping that Dean would hear him and come back.

In the main room, John gestured for Dean to sit at the table. Dean did as instructed, his stomach twisted in knots because he wasn't sure what to expect. He always did what his Dad wanted him to do, things had never gotten as out of control as they did tonight. He really hoped he wouldn't get a spanking, and he shuddered at the thought.

"What happened, son?" John asked calmly, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the coffeepot that Dean had started earlier in anticipation of his arrival, "Did you run into trouble?"

Dean stared at his father, ashamed that he had been caught while Sam was in the middle of a tantrum, and shook his head slightly, "No, sir."

"Is that how the two of you normally behave when I'm not around?" John questioned, taking another sip from the coffee mug, "Is it a common occurrence for Sam to be so distraught?"

Dean shook his head again, "No, sir."

"So what was different about tonight?"

Dean watched his father for a moment, feeling like his Dad probably already knew. Dad always knew when they were misbehaving or when something wasn't right. It was like he was a mind-reader or like he had super powers. The nine year old leaned against the table, crossing his arms, and looking down nervously, "Sammy took candy from a stranger."

"Come again?"

"This old lady at the laundry room gave Sam some candies and I didn't realize it until he had already eaten them."

John looked furious, but held his tongue in hopes that his son would continue. When that didn't happen, he prompted, "And that's why Sam was pitching a fit, naked, an hour past his bedtime?"

"Well, yeah." Dean replied, glancing up at his father, then elaborated, "Sammy was really wound up from the candy, you know how he gets with sugar? We finished the laundry and came back to the room and he was bouncing off the walls and refusing to cooperate with anything I told him to do. I finally got him to go to the bath, but then he started having a huge tantrum over God-knows-what and that's when you came in."

John raked his fingers through his hair with a sigh, "I'm not happy that you couldn't maintain control tonight, Dean." Dean opened his mouth to defend himself, but John cut him off and continued, "But I am familiar with how difficult it is to wrangle a hyper five year old who has overindulged in sweets. Especially stubborn, hard-headed, silly boys like your brother."

Dean remained silent as John stopped talking to sip his coffee. Could he be getting off the hook? Was this going to actually work out without a grounding or running laps or a lengthy lecture? His eyes followed his father as he paced around the small kitchen area, unsure of what to expect because it was very rare that his father was this calm and patient when his rules had been broken.

"We're going to talk about this in the morning." John finally said, placing his empty mug in the sink, "The three of us: you, Sam and I. He needs to understand that you're in charge when I'm not here and that the rules are always in effect. He needs to understand that I gave you that power and that I am holding you responsible. He's a sensitive kid, if he thinks you're ass is on the line, he'll be more likely to do as he's told. Don't get me wrong, he won't just be thinking your ass will be on the line, it undoubtedly will be-"

John was interrupted by the sound of Sam's terrified shriek. In an instant, both of the older Winchesters had bolted towards the bathroom, Dean worried that Sam had hurt himself while John was more concerned that something had gotten in and was hurting his boy. Instead, they found the younger boy sobbing into his arms, calling desperately for his older brother.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted, skidding to a halt next to the tub and falling to his knees, "Sammy, what's wrong?"

"Dean!" Sam sobbed, flinging himself out of the water and onto his brother, holding on as tightly as he possibly could, "You're still here."

"Where else would I be, Stupid?" Dean asked, patting Sam's back while shooting their father a puzzled look, "What happened to you? What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"I thought you were gone." Sam cried into Dean's shoulder, "You and Dad are mad at me and it was really quiet and I called for you and you didn't come."

John reached out, ruffling Sam's hair, and reassured, "We're never going to leave you, Sam. You never, ever have to worry about that." he glanced at Dean, commenting, "He's crashing hard. This is the second reason why I limit the sweets you boys are allowed to have."

John was about to hand Sam a towel when he realized Sam's hair still was dry. Putting his hand on Sam's shoulder, he pulled his younger child back and chastised, "Sammy, I specifically told you to take your bath quickly. You know you have to wash your hair too."

Sam shivered slightly, the cool air of the room making the cold water on his body feel even colder, and he looked at his father with a confused expression, "I can't wash my hair. Dean helps me."

"What?" John asked incredulously, turning his attention to Dean, "You've got to start making him do things for himself, son, it's the only way he'll learn to be independent and resourceful. We'll address this in the morning as well."

He handed Sam a towel, then reached into the tub to pull the drain. Flinching at the cold water, he gave another hard to look to his oldest son, but only commented, "Make sure he wears socks with his pajamas, the last thing we need is him getting sick from being too chilled."

"You don't get sick from being cold." Sam replied, unaware of the silent exchange happening between his strict father and his guilty brother. "Ms. Thatcher says that's a myth. A myth is a story that isn't true. She says-"

"Go get dressed, Sam." John instructed, too tired from the hunt he had been on to put up with a chatty child, especially one he had been expecting to find asleep already. He turned to his older child, "You too, Dean. We'll continue this in the morning."

"But Dad, I'm hungry." Sam complained, his stomach growling loudly as if to confirm the fact, "I didn't get dinner."

Dean scowled at his younger brother, reminding him, "I fixed you dinner, but you said your stomach hurt."

"But it doesn't anymore." Sam complained, "I can't sleep if I'm hungry."

John nudged both boys in the direction of the bed they shared, instructing, "Get dressed for bed. I'm going to go to the soda machine near the lobby, and when I get back you better both be asleep, understood?"

"Yes, sir." the boys responded in unison. While Dean pulled back the bigger duvet off of their bed, Sam put on his underwear, then his pajama shirt. As he tugged the shirt down, trying to get it past his head, he declared to his brother, "I get the bottom blanket tonight."

"No, you don't, you have to take the big one."

Sam finally managed to get his shirt completely on, and then turned to his big brother with a pout, "I don't like the big one, it's too big. I like the little blanket, it is softer."

"You'll get cold if you don't have the big blanket, Sam." Dean reasoned, "Put on your pants and don't forget socks."

After tossing the thicker of the two pieces of bedding to Sam's side of the bed, he tugged on the thinner blanket and sheet for himself. There was a time where the two had shared the blankets, but as Sam got older, he had turned into a human-octopus hybrid (well, at least that was Dean's philosophy, because there was no way a normal human could move that much in his sleep) and their Dad had gotten fed up with them fighting over who was stealing the covers every night.

"But then if I have the big blanket and you don't, won't you be cold?" Sam asked, trying to wrap his mind around how this was possibly fair. He wasn't surprised when Dean ignored him.

After getting the blankets situated, Dean turned his attention to Sam, who was hopping around on one foot, trying to get into the pants that were getting a bit too snug for his growing body, "Come on Sam, hurry up. Dad's going to be back any second. He didn't yell at us tonight, but if we still don't listen he might start."

As Sam finished getting his pants on and now fumbled with his socks, Dean reached into his nearby backpack, pulling out a granola bar and tossing it to his brother, "Here, eat this. Hurry, and don't tell Dad."

Sam graciously took the granola and ate it in just a few hasty bites, then climbed into bed next to Dean. He rolled onto his side, asking, "Did you get in trouble?"

"I didn't do what I was supposed to do." Dean replied, "What do you think he did? Give me a prize?"

"I'm really sorry." Sam apologized, reaching his hand towards his brother, "I didn't mean to be bad today."

Dean squeezed the offered hand, the annoyance he had felt all evening towards his brother gone now that the night was finally ending, "It's ok, Sammy. Tomorrow will be better."

"Do you still like me?"

"Don't ask dumb questions, Sam."

"But do you?"

"I won't if you don't go to sleep." Dean threatened, "Go to sleep."

Sam blinked tiredly at his older brother, who had his own eyes closed in an attempt to follow directions. He wasn't ready to sleep, he was still cold and wasn't quite convinced that Dean had forgiven him. He scooted closer to Dean, poking his arm, "Dean?"

"I'm sleeping, Sam."

"No you aren't." Sam retorted, "Do you?"

"Do I what, Sammy?" Dean asked, his tone impatient and tired. He opened his eyes and flinched, not expecting his brother's face to be mere inches from his own. The closer proximity of Sam's hand to his face led Dean to believe that if he hadn't opened his eyes when he did, Sam might have tried to force them open on his own. "Dude, personal space."

"Like me." Sam asked, still inching closer to his brother, "Do you still like me even though I was bad?"

"Of course I do, you idiot." Dean replied with a yawn. He reached over and tousled Sam's hair affectionately, "There's nothing you could ever do that would make me not like you anymore."

"What if I fed all of your clothes to a crocodile?"

"Who would even ever do something like that?" Dean asked curiously. Sometimes his kid brother came up with the strangest ideas. "You could kill someone and I'd still like you."

"Me too. You're my best friend."

"Of course I am, who else would want to be yourfriend?" Dean teased, nudging Sam back towards the right side of the bed and closing his eyes, "Now go to sleep, you little twerp. I'm tired, chasing after you all night."

Three minutes later, when John walked back into the room, he found Sam curled up into Dean's side, both boys peacefully asleep.

TBC