Awesome! People actually read it. Well, this chapter's a little better than the last, I think.

Thanks for all of the kind reviews!


Dean groaned and rolled over. Sunlight was streaming into the room through a crack in the curtains, blindingly bright as it reflected off of the new snow in the parking lot. The hunter trudged to the window and stared out at the winter wonderland. At least three more inches had fallen since he'd gone to sleep, and someone was busily at work clearing out the motel's parking lot.

Sighing, Dean turned back to his bed, realizing that it was Christmas Eve and his brother was bound to be in a sour mood.

That's when he noticed it. The bed. Sam's bed. Empty, save some rumpled sheets and a lump that was probably a pillow.

Sam's shoes were still by the door, his bag still unpacked, and the bathroom door still hung open. All that amounted to was a lot of confusion for Dean, who couldn't imagine his brother leaving the room barefoot in the middle of a Colorado snowstorm. But if he wasn't in the bathroom, where was he?

Beginning to worry even though there was no logical reason to (nothing supernatural in the town meant that there was nothing to kidnap Sam, right?), Dean called his brother's name. The lump under Sam's sheets began to stir. Odd, considering the lump couldn't be more than three feet long, and Sam was twice that height.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, reaching a tentative hand out to the squirming mass of blankets.

A little head popped up from under the covers, dark unruly hair sticking up in an odd assortment of angles, green eyes tired and confused. "Huh?"

Dean fell back onto his bed, startled. He recognized the little boy in his brother's bed. He knew the kid. But it couldn't be. No, that was impossible.

The boy stared at the hunter, eyes slowly clearing as he woke up, and the hunter stared back. They sat in silence for about five seconds before the kid bolted from the bed and sprinted toward the door. Dean jumped up and blocked his escape, and the boy turned on his heels and ran for the bathroom, locking the thick door behind him.

Dean sighed, heart pounding, and scratched his head as he trudged to the bathroom door. He leaned up against the wall beside it and slid onto his butt.

Sam. That kid was Sam. No older than six, but still his little brother. Now his very little brother.

Muffled sobs could be heard through the closed door. "Sammy," Dean said softly, "you all right?"

"Why would I be all right?" a little voice answered. Dean had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Sam's voice was so squeaky! "You kidnapped me!"

Dean's face fell, all laughter dying on his lips. Kidnapped? Shit. Kidnapped. He didn't remember, actually thought he was a little kid. Sam didn't even recognize his own brother, which was kind of a kick in the teeth for Dean, who had practically raised the kid.

"I didn't kidnap you," he replied slowly.

"Then why am I here? Who are you, and where's my dad? Where's Dean?"

The older man smiled. Sometimes he forgot how much his brother had really needed (no, wanted) him as they were growing up.

"Well?" Sam's squeaky little voice pressed, and Dean could tell by the volume that the kid was either curled up in a corner or sitting in the shower, staying as far from the door as possible.

He sighed. There was a choice to make, two options in front of him. He could either tell the kid the truth, admit that something weird had happened, though he had no idea what; or, he could tell a lie, say that he was one of their dad's friends who had come to the rescue after an accident had left the elder Winchesters in the hospital.

"Your dad's… kind of busy." Because telling the kid that his dad was dead was probably a bad idea. "And… kid, I know this is gonna be hard to believe, but your brother's here. I'm Dean."

He heard Sam snort. "Sure. My brother's ten. You're old."

Dean grinned. Not the reaction he'd expected, but at least he had a better idea of his brother's current age, and the kid was willing to talk to him.

"I'm twenty-seven, dude. It's 2006."

"Liar. Why'd you take me? When my brother gets ahold of you-"

"What am I gonna do," Dean asked, "kick my own ass?"

"Ha! That proves it. You can't be Dean. He doesn't cuss."

"Not when dad's around," the older man countered, "but when it's just you and me… you think it's kinda funny."

"How-?"

"And you're afraid of the McDonald's clown, but you laugh at me when I freak out about Elmo."

Dean could hear tiny footsteps padding across the tile on the other side of the door. Good, he was getting through.

"You don't like Big Bird, either." The voice was closer.

"Blame Alfred Hitchcock for that one," Dean grinned.

"I still don't believe you, though."

The elder nodded. "I totally understand. In your position, I probably wouldn't believe me, either. But I've been skeptical of you before. Remember when," he paused. It hurt to drudge the memory up, embarrassed him more than anything else, but he was sure it would convince his brother. After all, they were the only two who knew the secret. "Remember when you helped me out… for you it would have been last year? Even though I didn't think you could? Man, you sure got those teachers off my back… saved me an awkward moment or two with dad." He paused again. Damn, this was hard. He still hated to admit it. He'd been nine years old and had to turn to a five-year-old for help with the simplest of tasks. Truthfully, it wasn't even his fault. It was his father's. They'd moved around so much those first few years, and Sam had just picked it up faster. "Remember when you taught me to read?"

The door creaked open and Sam stuck his head out. "You already knew a little," he muttered, "mom taught you some. I didn't help much."

"Don't sell yourself short, kid. You saved my butt."

The door opened all the way and the boy stepped out, staring at Dean with wonder. Finally, he nodded and sat down, half-in and half-out of the bathroom. "We're still hunting," he muttered sadly, gazing around the room.

Dean bit his lip and looked over at his brother. Great. Far more powerful than the puppy-dog pout was the cute-little-kid-puppy-dog pout. And Dean had never been able to deny that face anything, even if it meant lying a little. "No," he said, "we're not. I am. You just took a little break from school for the holidays."

"I'm still in school?"

"College," Dean nodded, "Stanford. Just a hop, skip, and jump form the IVY League, kiddo."

Sam inched closer, obviously interested. "Really?"

"Oh yeah," the elder grinned, "full-ride, too."

"And dad?"

"Proud of you."

"Where is he? You said he was busy."

"He's, uh… on a demon hunt. Won't be back for a while."

Sammy nodded. "He's never here. Sometimes I don't even think he cares."

"He's just trying to keep us safe," Dean defended, not liking where the conversation was headed. He stared down at the kid, finally getting a good look. It was definitely Sam, the lack of a haircut was proof enough for that. He was wearing the same baggy red t-shirt he'd worn to bed the night before, only now he was swimming in it.

Dean stood up, brushing off the seat of his pants, even though it wasn't necessary in the nice room. "You know what you need?"

Sam shrugged. "An explanation?"

"That'll come later," the adult grinned, "I hope. Right now, though, I'd settle for fitting clothes if I were you."

He walked over to the duffel bag that had been thrown onto a chair their first night in town and began digging through it. Finally, he found what he wanted and tossed it to Sam.

"What's this for?" the boy asked, standing up to inspect the old black sweatshirt.

"It's Christmas Eve in Colorado," Dean explained, pulling on his boots and coat, "it snowed about half a foot last night, and all you've got is a baggy t-shirt. Trust me, you'll need that."

"It's Christmas Eve?" Sammy asked, pulling on the sweatshirt (which was still about 20 sizes too big) and clumsily following his brother to the door.

"Yep," the elder nodded, wrenching open the door and staring into the parking lot. It was snowing again, lighter this time, and there was a thin layer of white powder on the blacktop.

Dean glanced down at his brother. He might not have been smart enough to get into Stanford, but even the experienced hunter knew that snow and little bare feet didn't mix well. Sighing and pulling his car keys out of his pocket, Dean reached down and grabbed Sam, settling him into the crook of his arm to carry him to the Impala. He got the sudden feeling that it was going to be a long holiday.