Hey folks!

Thanks for the reviews, I really appreciate it. Now, lets dig into this. I'm really interested what you'll say to this chapter. I hope you'll like it ;)

Oh, and I just wanted to remind you: Something big is coming... I participate in a new master-project of darksupernatural *hugs*
A bunch of writers (Sammygirl1963, DancerInTheDark101, Soncnica, Blue Peanut M and M, Vonnie, V. R. Jennings, Merisha, darksupernatural and me) will make Winchester Singel Oneshots, in a sort a follow-up project on "Moments in time" (for all who've read that). So, I just wanted you all to get curious... and see what we'll come up with!

In the blink of an eye

Sam jolted awake, panting heavily. He was lying on his stomach on a bed. Looking up he immediately recognized the dimly lit room as a motel room.

Dean must have helped him back, although he couldn't remember a thing about how he got here. With a sigh he let his head fall back down on the mattress.

Touching his head, he groaned silently. It felt as if someone worked him over with a sledge-hammer... vision-like. But he didn't have a vision. He was sure of it.

"Dean?" he asked huskily, wondering where his brother was. He went rigid when he heard the cocking of a gun.

"One move Mister and you'll make my Daddy proud." a young voice behind him said threateningly.

Sam's mind suddenly started to work overtime. What the hell happened? Where am I? And more important, where is Dean?

Sitting up slowly and turning with his hands up he looked at his opponent and almost snorted.

The kid was no more then seven? Eight? Dean would love this. He'd never live it down.

"Put the gun down, buddy. I won't..."

"H-how did you get into our motel room!" the boy demanded, the gun shaking slightly in the kid's grip.

"I... dunno!" Sam answered, baffled by the kid's demeanour.

"Bull..." the boy replied, one hand leaving the gun and wiping at his forehead.

Somehow that movement seemed so familiar to Sam.

"Put the gun down. I won't..." Sam started again, pushing himself up, but stopped in mid-movement when the boy cocked the gun.

"I wouldn't do that..." the boy hissed.

Sam stopped at the kid's words.

"Before I went to bed, it was only me, my dad and..." the kid seemed to stop himself from going on further, eyes suddenly glistening. "DAD!" he hollered instead. "Where's my dad? How did you come in? What did you do with my Dad?!"

Sam saw the shudders that were running down the boy's frame, the gun wavering in his grip. His brain suddenly started to work on pure instinct and he used the kid's agitation as a distraction and pounced. With incredible speed he lunged forward, landing on his knees and using his forearm, he broke the boy's grip on the weapon. At the same time he grabbed for the kid, to stop him from falling.

He was rewarded with a high-pitched, agonized scream that made him flinch. The kid's eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped forward in Sam's grip, hanging limply over his shoulder.

"Kid?" Sam was flabbergasted. He didn't hit the boy that hard. Shaking the body of the boy gently, he could feel the unnatural heat radiating from the kid.

He grabbed the boy under the pits of his arms gently, leading him all the way down to the floor. He took the gun, clicking the safety in place and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans before his hands flew over the body, stopping as he saw something peeking out from under the rim of the boy's shirt.

"Shit..." he mumbled, pulling up the tee to stare at the claw-marks and suddenly something inside his head snapped. His eyes moved slowly up to meet the boy's face. Freckles framed with soft, blonde hair... the feature so familiar he didn't know how he could have NOT recognized him.

He tried to deny it with a shaking of his head, but that never works.

Sam let the kid be, moving away from him.

Dean was no kid. Dean was his big brother. Dean. Was. His. Big. Brother.

"Daddy... no. I... didn't mean it... please... No! Sammy...." Sam tensed while listening to the kid weep silently, not completely aware but not completely under either.

He didn't understand. What happened? This couldn't be Dean? How did he change into a little kid?

Getting his cell-phone out of his pocket, looking at the display he read "No signal".

Sighing again, he pushed himself to his feet, looking around for the room's phone.

Grabbing the receiver he dialled and waited.

"Yeah?" the gruff voice on the other end answered.

"Bobby? Bobby! Hey, listen it's..."

"Who the hell are you?!" the voice cut him off.

"It's me... Sam... see, I have..."

"Listen, you little bugger. Do you know what time it is? I don't know no Sam's. And now, make it like a tree... and leave me the hell alone!" and he hung up.

Sam stared at the receiver, disbelievingly.

"Sammy? Dean!"

At the soft voice Sam whirled around, grabbing for the gun and took aim, looking at the man who mimicked his actions immediately. The receiver hit the desk with a loud thud and Sam flinched.

They starred at each other as seconds passed by. And Sam felt reality slip.

"Dad?" he swallowed hard, tried to control his breathing, his gun pointing to the ground, when his shaky hands suddenly didn't seem up to do their job. His dad…

John let his weapon-arm sink, a slight smile passing his features before he grew serious again, seeing the small boy on the floor.

"What happened Sam?!" his father demanded, dashing forward and crouching beside the small... Dean?!

"Dad..." Sam repeated, like repeating the name would help to comprehend what was happening at the moment.

And then, as he followed John with his eyes… the way he carefully picked Dean up from the floor, mumbling nonsense into the boy's ear, understanding finally hit him.

He was somehow… as crazy as it sounded… back in time.

"'t is okay. Sleep. I'm here. I'm here..." Sam heard John soothe. He couldn't remember a time when his father ever did this.

Sighing and with a sad smile, John got up from the side of the bed, looked at Sam, and despite the sadness in his eyes suddenly something like hope lit up.

"Sam..." John said slowly, carefully, now concentrating fully on him.

Sam wasn't listening. He was beyond reasoning right now. He felt himself freaking out, all the while his eyes darting around searching for an escape-route. Here, there, everywhere but not to the man… his father… in front of him. Whatever happened, it couldn't be, it just couldn't be...he felt like being trapped in a very vivid, grotesque and absurd nightmare. But whenever his eyes stopped their wandering to rest on Dean... the child on the bed... his heart started to ache.

"Sammy..." John stepped forward but stopped only two steps away, trying to grab hold of the eyes that darted between everything in the room but him.

"Sam... I need help. Someone I can trust. Dean needs help - your help. So, please…"

John looked back at the bed.

And there it was. One word, his dad didn't use. And that scared Sam even more then the slowly settling feeling that his dad must have used a mighty spell to get him back in time; back into the past.

His eyes slowly stopped on his father's much younger face, but he couldn't suppress the flinch when his dad's hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"Please. If we don't find a way to help him, he'll die."

to be continued...

Thanks for reading!