AN: So uh, I'm writing another fic at the moment...but I'm kinda stuckish as of now. So until that gets going Imma write this for a bit of fun. Feel free to leave a review or something. Those are always great. Constructive criticism is cool, but it'd be kinda nice if it's not just totally ripping this apart...

Also there might be some mixed up stuff with timelines or whatever...but this is just some brotherly snippets of life with Sam and Dean. So far revolving around their childhood. Honestly, there's a lot of Dean being a mother hen in his own way. Also, sorry if this turns out OC or aspects diverge a little from the show. This is my first time writing Supernatural so I'm not confident there won't be any mistakes. Enjoy. (Hopefully.)

Disclaimer: Uh, don't own Supernatural. Or Scooby Doo for that matter. It'd be cool if I did though... Also, ah, no connection of any kind to instant ramen or whatever. While on the line of food, I don't have any claim over McDonald's, or their icon Ronald McDonald. Wendy's is out too. And I don't have ownership of DC, Batman, or Superman...

Sam is 5 and Dean is 9.

The shrill yipping from the Yorkie a few apartments over startled Dean, and the fork he was using to manipulate the stiff noodles clattered to the stove top. Flecks of boiling water splashed onto his skin and he grimaced as he wiped it off.

He could hear a few other dogs join the Yorkie. Yowling and barking aggressively they drew Dean's attention to the window, which was covered with moth eaten curtain left over from the last residents.

"Sammy, stay over there." Dean called.

"Kay!" A mop of curly hair sunk deeper behind the back of the couch as the boy turned his attention back to Scooby Doo.

Dean glanced at the door, confirming that the salt lines were still intact. He moved the dropped fork further away from both the burner and the pot that held their instant ramen then padded across the linoleum tile up to the window.

Careful of the salt lines around the wooden frame, Dean pulled back the dusty curtain and peered out of the gap. The yellowing glass warped his perspective of the outdoors but he was still able to glance around at the cracked asphalt of the parking lot. Nothing was out of place. No new cars. No suspicious shadows lurking around the office complex next door.

"Dean! It's bubbling!" Sam warned.

"In a minute." Dean answered, not looking away from an elderly woman as she hobbled across the street with a grocery bag. He eyed the bag.

"But Dean...my wamen..."

"I said in a minute Sammy!" The dogs had stopped barking with exception to the occasional yip and Dean decided that it was nothing. Probably just a random squirrel or a bird.

He turned around, prepared to return to the admittedly sizzling water and prod the noodles loose from the stiffened block they came in.

But then he saw his little brother reaching for the pot.

Dean moved faster than he ever had. "Sam, no!"

Sam jumped, whirling around to face his older brother with wide eyes and both a questioning and startled expression. Unfortunately, his arm knocked against the handle of the pot and sent the kitchenware flying.

Dean reached him just in time, flinging out an arm to knock him away from the water that cascaded through the air and splattered on the tile and the rusting stove. Sam landed hard on his elbow, far enough away that he was out of the line of fire.

Dean wasn't so lucky.

He hissed, letting a stream of air escape between his clenched teeth as his expression screwed up and his hands curled into fists. The water soaked through the calves of his sweatpants, which clung to skin and suffocated his legs in burning pain.

"Dean!" Sam cried out, scrambling forward.

"Wait!" Dean pushed himself up with his arms and wiggled forward, kicking away the soaked sweatpants in the process. They landed in the sprawl of noodles. "I'm alright Sammy."

Dean winced and moaned as he stumbled to his feat. He reached over and turned the burner off, careful to avoid the puddles of water cooling on the floor.

"I'm sowwy Dean." Sammy said. Dean frowned, looking down at the crestfallen face of his little brother.

"It's okay, Sammy." Dean glanced down. A red flush was spreading across his lower legs. "Are you okay?" Dean grabbed Sam's arm gently and led him away from the mess, eyeing his smaller limbs and soft face for any sign of injury.

"I'm fine." Sam answered obediently, staring up at Dean with watery eyes. Despite how much he would deny it, Dean felt his heart melt a little. He reached over and drew the younger into a brisk hug.

"Okay." Dean said, with Sam's shorter form squeezed against his chest. "Just don't touch anything near the stove again. Ever."

"I won't."

Dean held Sam for another moment before releasing him with a small shove that succeeded in sending Sam stumbling a foot away. "Come on, don't be a girl." Dean conveniently forgot about the fact that he initiated the hug. "Go watch some TV while I clean this up."

Sam sped back to the couch as Dean eyed the mess, legs still stinging.

"...Great."

Sam 7 years old and Dean is 11.

Dean ignored the sharp pang emanating from his stomach.

He wasn't that hungry.

"Dean..."

"What?" Dean snapped. He eyed the hurt flash in Sam's eyes and immediately tried again. "What's wrong Sammy?"

Sam hesitated. "I'm still hungry."

Dean sighed. Anything but that.

"Finish what's on your plate then we'll talk."

Sam looked dejectedly down at the canned corn that remained on his dish.

Dean opened up his comic book and scanned the page's, mentally cheering Batman on.

"Deeean."

"What?!"

Sam recoiled and Dean forced himself to take a deep breath. "What is it now?"

"I don't like veggies."

"They're good for you, Sam." Dean said, repeating what he'd heard countless adults say. He decided it didn't matter if most of the adults were mom's. "Eat up and you'll have a shot at growing. Maybe you'll even catch up to me-"

"Really!" Sam asked, astonished at the idea of meeting or surpassing his big brother in height.

"But hey, if you con't want the corn I'll take it off your ha-"

"I've got it!" Sam declared, clumsily spooning the food into his mouth and mashing it with his teeth ecstatically. Dean winced with every piece that hit the floor.

"Sammy, be careful." Dean warned, before grimacing at a sharp tang from his middle. He stood up from the table, leaving the younger boy to the remains of his meal.

He walked over to one of the only three cupboards in the house they were currently renting and opened the door. It creaked on it's cheep hinges. Dean eyed the remaining cereal box, which he knew only had enough for another bowl or two. Without milk. They ran out of that.

Further in among the cobwebs was a rusted can that held asparagus. Dean wasn't that desperate yet. Besides, Dad would be back soon. Then he could get the money for grocery's and Sam never had to know.

He wasn't that hungry anyway.

Sam aged 8. Dean 12.

Sam sniffles. He's eight. He isn't supposed to be crying.

Dean would call him a girl.

But Sam decides he doesn't really care, and he shuffles a little closer to the opposite bedside. The motel room their dad booked for the week is cramped but at least Sam get's his own bed while his dad is out on a hunt.

A hunt.

'Hunt' used to mean a guy dressed in camo and shooting deer in the woods. Now it's code name for killing monsters.

Just the thought is enough to prompt Sam to glance at the room's dark corner's wearily. He glances at his covers, which have pooled in a lump on the floor. Having his own bed had been great when he sprawled out and drifted off last night.

It wasn't so great when he woke up terrified and alone. With nothing but the bed's cold sheet's for company.

Some piping ticks in the walls and Sam jumps, automatically jumping up into Dean's bed. Immediately the older boy springs to life, eyes wild in the moonlight that leaks through the gap in the curtains. Sam watches fearfully as Dean's features twist into a snarl and his hand gropes under his pillow for something. Just as it seems Dean's found the something, his eyes light up with recognition.

"Sammy?" The alertness he'd shown previously slips away, replaced by grogginess and slurring words. "Wha's it?"

"I, uh, I'm..." Suddenly Sam isn't so sure. Dean always hugged him when he woke up in his younger years, but he's older now. Maybe something's changed.

Dean slowly comes to his senses, propping himself up on his elbow and scrutinizing Sam. His eyes widen with realization, and Sam doesn't have to say a word.

His older brother wraps a sturdy arm around Sam's shoulder's, sighing as his other hand pushed whatever was under his pillow below the bedframe.

"C'mere, Sammy." Dean leans Sam against his chest and wraps them both up in the cover's. It's scratchy and uncomfortable, but the warm rise of Dean's chest against his back makes it worth it. A moment of silence passes and Sam's uneven breathing slowly smooths out. "You want to talk about it?"

Sam shakes his head immediately.

"Sam." Dean says, and Sam's pretty sure that Dean won't push him if he doesn't want to say anything, but he can tell his older brother thinks he should.

"...was a nightmare." Sam mumbled eventually.

"Yeah?"

"Uh huh." Sam swallows. "You know the...hunting thing?"

It's Dean's turn to fall quiet for a bit, and while he's silent Sam thinks again about how odd it is to use the word 'hunting' like that. To change it and make it fit a new meaning.

"Yeah. What about it Sammy?"

Sam shakes his head, lips clamped tight.

"What is it, Sam?" Dean asks again. "I can't help if I don't know what's wrong."

Sam breathes heavier and Dean drags him a little closer over the thin mattress, until Sam's practically lying on his older brother. And Sam know's it's not the first time this has happened after a nightmare, but he's eight now. If he wasn't feeling so gloomy he would be embarrassed.

"C'mon, spit it out Sam." Dean orders, a little more insistent.

"...you di-ed." His words come out hitched with distress and Sam turns to burrow his face into Dean's chest. "You a-and Dad...I wasn't the-ere and you di-ed."

"That's what you're worried about?" Dean asks, and Sam's surprised to hear him so carefree. Like this isn't a real problem. "Sam, you don't have to worry about Dad. He's practically Superman without the kryptonite. A real life superhero, remember?"

"Yeah...but what about you?"

Dean scoffs easily, flicking Sam in the forehead. "I'm Batman. Nothing can touch me."

"...but what about me?" Sam asks hesitantly. "I'm not a s-superhero...what if the monster g-get me?"

Sam can feel Dean stiffen and he answer's immediately. "That's not going to happen Sammy."

"But why? I can't stop them Dean! They're monsters."

"Then I'll stop them." Dean says easily. "And Dad too. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"You promise?"

"Yeah, Sammy. I promise."

"...Pinky swear?" Sam held out his finger questioningly.

"Pff, what are you, a girl?" Dean grinned, but he reached over and wrapped their smallest finger's together.

Sam is 13, Dean is 17.

"Dean!"

Dean stabs the ghost through with an iron poker and she dissipates, gnarled fingers curled with green tinted fingernails poised to run him through.

"Sam!" Dean yells, whipping around to face his little brother. He'd backed into the corner, seemingly trying to sink into the wall. The old man, husband of Dean's ghost, is looming in front of him, head bent forward and teeth snapping almost animalistically. Sam's also weaponless. Defenseless. Scared.

Dean charges, wielding his fire poker threateningly and swiping it through the ghost's apparition. Without pausing, he scoops a yellowing photograph depicting the couple alive and startlingly young. His lighter snicks open, flame licking the paper and reducing it to ash. With the immediate danger handled, Dean sighs and turns to Sam.

"You okay?"

The younger nods shakily, fixing the collar of his shirt and looking down at his trainer's. "I'm good. Thanks Dean."

"Just doing my job Sammy." And as Dean slings an arm around his little brother's shoulders, leading him away from the house, he decide's Sam doesn't need to know he's not talking about the hunt.

He's talking about something much more important.

Sam is 11, Dean is 15.

It's not funny.

Sam wishes Dean would stop laughing.

Seriously, it's not like Sam took out the knife this time.

"Y-you-" Dean heaved in another gasp of air. "Oh, Sammy-"

Dean doubled over again.

"Dean! Stop it!" Sam pleads, feeling his cheeks begin to flush.

"Sam, I don't care if we're banned from that McDonald's for life, that was priceless."

"Dude! Seriously!" Sam protests. "I mean, you saw him, tell me he didn't look suspicious."

Dean considered, fighting a wide grin to speak. "Okay, okay, yeah, he was kind of suspicious."

"See!" However, Sam's declaration prompted Dean to start snickering again.

Sam irritably waited for him to calm down before trying to justify himself again. "He could have been a monster Dean. We might've been in danger."

Dean scoffed. "Sam, the only one in danger was that old man."

"...wasn't that old."

"That isn't the point and you know it."

"He was asking for it! I mean, dressing up as clo- as Ronald McDonald at McDonalds. Who does that?"

"Well, where else are you supposed to dress up as a clown?"

Sam glared. "Nowhere, preferably!"

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair, his mirth slowly fading. "Sam, either way, you can't just start throwing holy water at people if they give you the creeps. You've got to have an actual cause, okay?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yah, I know."

"...Oh wow, I just can't even..." Dean shook his head. "Next time just say Christo."

"I know."

Dean shook his head one last time, and shoved Sam forward with enough strength to make him stumble. "Come on, Sammy. We're getting Wendy's. Just don't start splashing any red haired girls."

AN: Okay, well, I'm done. If anyone was actually enjoying this, sorry it's short. If anyone's interested there's a possibility I'll continue with this... Okay, now if you actually stuck with this all the way to the bottom, please review! Those are always fun to get and everything...Thanks! Hope you enjoyed it!