Chapter 2:

Dean watched Sam surreptitiously as the kid ate his pancakes covered in chocolate syrup with gusto. His brother had been talking nineteen to the dozen ever since they had stopped at the diner for breakfast. No difference there between child Sammy and adult Sammy, thought Dean with a smile. He had however forgotten, that at eight, his giant sibling had not yet turned into a health freak, so he had been rather taken aback at the kid's choice from the menu.

Dean carefully took note of Sam's complexion and vigilantly watched his movements, trying to ascertain Sam's overall well-being. The twenty-three-year old showed no symptoms relating to head trauma as far as Dean could tell. In fact, with the exception of having lost the memories of almost two thirds of his life, he seemed perfectly healthy.

Sam glanced eagerly at his steaming cup of coffee now that he had nearly finished his pancakes. He still couldn't believe he was being allowed to have some – his Dad certainly wouldn't allow it! Dean however had merely casually asked Sam if he wanted any when the waitress took their order. He had been surprised at first, until it dawned on him that the adult version of himself probably drank the beverage all the time.

Sam reached carefully for the cup of coffee and took a big gulp. His eyes widened in shock a split second before he spat the entire contents of his mouth back into the cup.

"Yeurgh! How can you drink that?"

Dean watched his little brother's reaction in disbelief, which quickly turned to mortification when he noticed the curious stares of the other diners.

"Sam! Where are your table manners?" he scolded quietly, not wanting the curious onlookers to overhear.

At Dean's disapproving tone, Sam turned his wounded puppy-dog gaze onto his brother. "Sorry, Dean, but it's bitter and horrible. How can anyone like it?"

"That still doesn't mean you can spit it out!" continued Dean, finding it incredibly difficult to remain stern under the onslaught of that gaze, even though he was extremely aware of the especially condemning looks from an elderly couple seated at the next table.

Sam suddenly noticed the stares of those around them too and began to blush furiously. He dropped his gaze to the table cloth with another muttered "sorry".

Dean's own embarrassment at the situation disappeared in an instant in the face of his little brother's discomfort.

"Hey, it's okay. I know you didn't do it on purpose. Don't worry about thinking before you speak, just think before you spit next time."

Dean had to lean forward to hear Sam's whispered reply. "They're all staring at me, Dean."

Dean had forgotten how shy Sam had been when he was younger and how much he hated being the centre of attention.

"Ignore them, kiddo, they're just a bunch of nosey old bags." Dean cast a withering glare at the couple at the next table, who quickly looked away.

Sam continued staring at the tablecloth.

Dean tried a new tack. "Would you like some orange juice instead?" He was rewarded by Sam raising his head and nodding.

"Yes, please," he replied with a small smile.

Dean snapped his fingers at a passing waitress and when she paused at their table, he gave her a winning smile. "Hello, Sugar, can we have one super fresh, super cool orange juice please? No, wait, make that two."

"Of course, coming right up," replied the pretty brunette, flirtatiously flipping her long hair back over her shoulder.

Dean forgot who he was talking too for a moment as he watched the waitress move away with a sexy swing to her hips. "Boy, is she a sight for sore eyes! I'd sure like a bit of that!" he whistled.

Dean noticed that Sam was staring at him like he had two heads and inwardly cursed himself for not watching his big mouth.

"You mean you think she's pretty? But she's a girl, Dean. And how can you have a bit of her?"

In a way, Dean was relieved, as he knew that he could easily have said something even worse that would have been impossible to explain away. "Trust me, Sammy, in a few years you'll think girls are pretty too. I just meant I wanted to carry on looking at her….'cause she's so pretty and all."

Sam accepted Dean's explanation with an eye-roll. "You're nuts you know. And I swear I'll never like girls."

Dean smirked, but didn't contradict his little brother, wanting to keep the peace. He was careful to keep his expression and replies perfectly neutral and polite when the waitress returned a few minutes later with their drinks.

By the time that they stopped for a late lunch, Dean had realised that it was going to take far longer to get to Bobby's than he originally thought. He also thought that his father deserved a medal! He was finding it tiring driving with one young kid in the car, goodness knows how his old man had coped with two!

Sam chattered virtually non-stop and was just so enthusiastic about everything he saw! He had begged to stop and look at an unusual rock formation and as Dean had never been able to deny Sam's pleading puppy-dog look (unless Sam's well-being would be in question!), Sam had got his way. That had put them half an hour behind schedule.

Another unplanned stop to look at a field full of lamas of all things had increased the time lag to an hour behind schedule. Then throw into the mix the fact that Sam couldn't sit still for extended periods and so Dean took quick breaks at gas stations just so that the kid could get out and stretch his legs before his constant fidgeting totally drove Dean up the wall.

There was a general store next to the diner, so when they had finished their lunch, Dean decided to pick up some snacks to eat in the car as he didn't plan on stopping (except for leg-stretching breaks, which he feared would be numerous!) again until they booked into a motel for the night.

Sam looked longingly at the books on sale, but didn't make a move towards them, knowing that money was often tight.

Dean noticed his brother's wistful expression and gave the tall boy a gentle shove towards the bookshelf. "Go on, kiddo, choose a few."

Sam turned back, torn between wanting them and not wanting to upset the family finances. "Really? Can we afford it?"

"Yeah, don't sweat it. Get yourself four or five." Dean grinned and waved his brother in the direction of the books. He hoped that maybe Sam would fidget less in the car if he had something to read.

Dean stocked up on junk food and a number of soda cans. He was also careful to purchase a substantial variety of children's medicines, just in case. He had noticed Sam unconsciously rubbing his temples during their lunch break and knew that the kid was ready for another dose of painkillers.

Once back in the car, Dean measured out the required dose of medicine for Sam.

"Here you go, kid, open up. It smells like strawberries, but anything would beat the taste of crushed up pain pills, right?"

Sam tentatively swallowed the spoonful of red liquid. He was relieved that it tasted sweet. His headache had gradually returned over the last hour, but he didn't want his brother to think that he was a wimp, so he had kept his mouth shut. Sam quickly drank down the second offered spoonful too.

Before they set off, Sam insisted on showing Dean his five new books. Dean couldn't help smiling at the kid's enthusiasm. Happiness was written all over his younger brother's face and Dean felt warm and fuzzy inside, knowing that he had helped to put it there.

"Where's Dad and when'll he be back?"

Even though it shouldn't have, the question caught Dean completely off guard. He couldn't possibly tell his brother the truth, but neither could he endure a prolonged conversation about his father either. Dean took a moment to gather his scrambled, panicked thoughts, bending to change the cassette tape that was playing as a ploy to gain more time before answering.

"Not sure, Sammy, he's off following an important lead on a cockatrice, but it could take a while." Dean knew it might take some time to cure his sibling and needed to make sure that the kid wouldn't be expecting their Dad to turn up at any minute.

"How long?" pressed Sam.

"A couple of weeks? Maybe longer…" Dean didn't miss how Sam's face fell at this news. In a way, he knew it shouldn't surprise him – at 8, his little brother had still hero-worshiped his old man, but he had gotten so used to the constant friction between his father and brother that the expression of disappointment on his brother's face was disconcerting.

"But he never leaves us for more than three or four days…." began Sam and then stopped himself, continuing quietly, "…oh, but we're adults now."

Dean was desperate to remove the dejected look off his little brother's face, but before he could say anything, Sam spoke again. "He'll check in with us though won't he?"

Dean thought fast, needing a valid reason for no contact and also wanting to reassure. "Sorry, kiddo, he's out in the wilderness and there's no access to any phones or anything. But don't worry, Dad can take care of himself." Unless he's making deals with demons! he thought bitterly.

"Is he on his own?" asked Sam, worriedly.

"No, he's with Caleb and Pastor Jim." Dean silently congratulated himself on comforting Sam while effectively removing any possibility of him expecting to hear from these deceased family friends. However, Dean couldn't help his gut clenching in anguish and pain. That damn yellow-eyed demon had been directly or indirectly responsible for taking nearly everyone that he had ever cared about!

"Oh, I'm glad…..Dean, are you alright?"

Dean glanced over and met the worried hazel eyes of his brother. He also realised that he was gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles had gone white. "Err, yeah, Sammy. I've just got a bit of a headache, that's all," he lied. Darn, he'd forgotten that Sam could intuitively read people well even from a young age. He'd have to be extra careful to control and hide his emotions when the kid was around.

Dean leaned forward and cranked up the volume on the car stereo, anxious to prevent any further discussion.

Not to be deterred, Sam simply raised his voice to be heard above the din. "Won't this make your headache worse?"

"Nah Sammy-boy, a bit of classic rock never hurt anyone!" Dean replied with a forced grin.

"Err, Dean….what's a cockatrice?"

Dean groaned inwardly. How could he have forgotten Sam's penchant for constant questioning? This was going to be a long drive…

Sam literally bounced onto his motel room bed, which was furthest away from the door. Dean wondered where the kid was getting his energy from, because he could sure use some too.

He rummaged in his duffle for the salt, so that he could lay a salt line. They didn't usually do that when staying in motel rooms, because it was too difficult to clean up properly afterwards and would raise too many questions, but he wasn't prepared to take any chances with his little brother being in this vulnerable state.

Dean straightened up after salting the window and door to find Sam staring at him, with his head tilted on one side thoughtfully.

"What? Have I suddenly sprouted horns or something?"

"I'm just trying to see the real you in the grown up you."

"Dude, this is the real me!" he teased, knowing full well what his little brother meant, "So what's the verdict?"

Sam tilted his head to the other side, still contemplating Dean unwaveringly.

"Well, your eyes are still the same, but your freckles have faded a lot. If I look real close I can tell that it is you in there. And you're really strong-looking and muscly now like Dad. And your hair's the same colour and it still looks like you stuck your finger in a plug socket," he finished with a mischievous smirk.

"Oh is that right, junior? Well you look like you have a mop on your head!" Dean teased back, reaching out and lightly swatting Sam on the thigh, instead of his usual to the back of the head due to his injury.

At Dean's words, Sam suddenly realised something and jumped off the bed before darting into the bathroom. "I don't know what I look like."

Dean followed with a grin and halted in the doorway. This he had to see!

Sam was leaning forward, anxiously studying his face intently in the mirror. He fretfully ran his hands over his cheeks, his eyes widening in shock when he felt the slight bristly sensation.

"Dean?" he questioned, panicked. Seeing a person in the mirror that he didn't recognise was freaky enough, but feeling the light shadow of stubble and taking a moment before his young brain could compute what it must be, had frightened him further.

Dean could read his baby brother like a book and although the kid hadn't explained his thoughts, Dean knew that he was close to freaking out.

He quickly stepped into the bathroom behind Sam and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, Sammy," he soothed, "I've gotcha. I know it's weird, but trust me, it'll be okay."

Sam swallowed nervously, but immediately began to calm down – he trusted Dean implicitly, so if Dean said everything would be okay, then Sam believed him.

Dean, desperate to remove the worried expression from the younger boy's face tried a distraction technique next. "Anyway, Sammy, look on the bright side, with the way you look now you're a complete chick magnet."

Dean's words had the desired effect. Sam swung round to face him, an indignant pout now firmly in place. "Ewww gross! I don't want nothing to do with no girls!"

Dean laughed, "But Sammy, with your handsome face and big muscles, they all want to marry you."

"Dork!" said Sam, giving his annoying older brother a shove.

Unfortunately, Sam's twenty-three-year old body was a lot stronger than an eight-year-olds. Equally, Dean wasn't expecting the push, or he would have braced himself. The result was that the momentum from the initial thrust sent him crashing into the side of the bath. It was only Dean's years of extensive, arduous physical training that enabled him to regain his balance enough so that he didn't plant face first in the tub itself.

"Dean! I'm sorry! Are you okay?" Sam moved immediately to Dean's side, worried that he had hurt him and wondering if his brother was going to yell at him.

Sam relaxed when he caught sight of Dean's face as he righted himself. His older brother was laughing, even though he was rubbing his shin gingerly with one hand.

"Don't think you know your own strength there do you, Samantha? But be warned, that's the last time you'll ever catch me off guard," he teased, reaching out and ruffling Sam's unruly locks.

As expected, Sam ducked away from his hand with an indignant, "Hey!"

Dean was relieved and pleased to see that the rising panic had completely faded from Sam's eyes.

Sam turned back for a final look at his adult self in the mirror and froze, his expressive hazel eyes widening as he looked from his own reflection to Dean's and back again.

"What is it, Sammy?" asked Dean worriedly.

The next moment, Sam doubled over laughing and Dean rested a gentle hand on the boy's back wondering what on earth was causing this reaction. "Sammy? You okay, buddy?"

Sam straightened up, still giggling and pointed into the mirror. "Look! I'm taller than you. You're a shorty!" he managed to choke out between the giggles.

Dean shook his head, relieved that his brother wasn't upset again. "I'll have you know that I'm not short, young man! You just happen to be exceptionally tall!" he replied with a mock pout.

"Am I taller than Dad too?" asked Sam, finally managing to control his giggling.

"Yeah, Sammy, you are. Now if you've quite finished mocking me, would you like me to show you the laptop now?"

Sam literally bounced on the spot in excitement. "Please, Dean."

Dean asked Sam to sit at the small dining table while he set the computer up. In reality, Dean used this time not only to delete his browsing history, but also to set the search engine to the highest, safest security settings – he didn't want his now innocent sibling to accidentally find anything inappropriate while browsing the web.

Dean let Sam play on the computer for 45 minutes. He couldn't help grinning at the kid's awed expression at what the laptop could do. It made Dean realise how much he took modern technology for granted. How had hunters in years gone by managed without the internet, not only for researching, but also for communicating with each other?

"Okay, Sammy, my turn now. I've gotta do some work on it," said Dean, realising that left to his own devices, the kid would play on it all night.

Sam reluctantly handed the laptop over. "I can play on it again tomorrow can't I?" He turned his puppy-dog eyes full force on his brother.

"Yeah, Sam, you can," replied Dean shaking his head in amusement, while changing the search security settings to their lowest level – the majority of the information he needed would be filtered out if he kept the safe search option on.

Sam looked casually around the room as if trying to decide what to do next.

"Why don't you go and get cleaned up and ready for bed?" asked Dean, nodding towards the bathroom.

Sam began to rummage in his duffle. After a few minutes fruitless searching, he turned in bewilderment to his older brother. "Dean, where are my pjs?"

Dean looked blank for a moment, before his brother's question sank in. "Adult you sleeps in sweats and a t-shirt, not pyjamas." He reached over Sam's shoulder and pulled out the afore-mentioned items. "Here you go."

Sam grinned in thanks, flashing his dimples, before disappearing into the bathroom.

Dean typed the word "warlock" into the search engine and pressed enter. A moment later he looked up in surprise at the closed bathroom door. That wasn't the sound of the shower…Sam was running the bath! Of course, 8 year old Sammy never took showers. Dean grinned to himself, wondering how on earth his humungous sibling was going to fit comfortably in the tub.

Sam had loved baths when he was younger. He frequently used to read while soaking, which had resulted in a few soggy books over the years. Dean suspected that Sam dropped them in on purpose so that he could keep them, because it was always library books that went swimming and never his own. Libraries didn't like books that had been dried out and had crinkled pages, but Sam didn't mind them as they were still perfectly readable. However, when Sam had hit his final growth spurt at eighteen, it had become impossible for him to fit with any degree of comfort into the tub and had woefully swapped all his bathing experiences for showers.

"Err, Dean?" came a query from the bathroom.

"Yeah, Sammy? What's up?" chuckled Dean, convinced that Sam was going to say something about the size of the tub.

"Do we have any bubble bath?"

Dean did a double take and then had to choke down a laugh before replying. "Err, no, Sammy. Sorry, we're all out of that at the moment."

It was nearly quarter to twelve when Dean's cell phone rang. Sam was sprawled on his bed watching a TV channel that was showing comedy re-runs. Knowing it was past the watershed time of 9 o'clock, Dean had been extremely careful to choose a channel where there would be no chance of anything with any adult themes being shown. The thought of innocent eight-year-old Sam witnessing anything like that made him shudder!

Dean looked up from the laptop, where he had been alternating between researching warlocks and amnesia for the last couple of hours. The caller ID said "Bobby" and he flipped open the phone.

"Hi, Bobby! Any news?"

"Just thought I'd call and let you know I've got the medical tests set up. Doctor Monroe is the niece of a hunter friend of mine, so I've been able to make her aware of the whole situation. What time will you be here tomorrow? I've arranged for the tests to be the day after if that's okay? Figured you'd wanna get Sam sorted ASAP."

"Yeah, Bobby. Thanks. We should be there by lunchtime….if we don't have to make any more unscheduled stops that is."

"Unscheduled stops? What do you mean?"

Before Dean could reply, a commercial came on and Sam looked up from the TV. "Is that Uncle Bobby? Tell him I say Hi!"

"Errr, Bobby, Sam says Hi."

"Oh, he does does he?" replied Bobby gruffly, inwardly pleased that the younger Winchester had acknowledged him. He couldn't believe the soft spot that he had for those two boys – they were the only chink in his infallible armour. "Tell him I say Hi back."

Dean rolled his eyes in amusement. "Sammy, Bobby says Hi back."

He was then distracted by a snort on the other end of the phone. "Bobby?" he questioned.

"I was just thinking it's a good thing that that's not really eight-year-old Sam 'cause have you seen what time it is? Do you remember what Sam was like as a kid when he was tired and hadn't had enough sleep? I remember him having a full on tantrum in that diner one time when he was nine." Bobby sounded amused as he reminisced.

Dean looked over at Sam, who was laughing quietly at something that had just happened on the screen. Sam had needed a good ten hours sleep a night when he had been younger. In fact, when considering that fact, Dean found it amazing that his adult sasquatch of a sibling could now function so well on just a few hours a night.

The possibility that having a mental age of eight could mean he might need as much sleep as a real eight-year-old had never entered Dean's head.

"Surely not, Bobby. I mean come on, he's twenty-three."

"I hope for your sake you're right," replied the older hunter with a gruff laugh, "Anyway, I'll expect you tomorrow around lunchtime unless you let me know otherwise. Night Boys."

"Night, Bobby. See you tomorrow."