Dad groaned as he slumped onto the bed. Sam stared, wide-eyed at all of the blood.

"Dad?"

"Sammy, get the first aid kit."

Sam shuddered and did as his father asked, fingers feeling rubbery as he fumbled the bag.

"Daddy?"

Dean's voice was small and scared. Sam swallowed. "Dean, go to the bathroom," he said. "I'll be there in a second."

Usually Dean did his own thing, no matter what Sam told him, but thankfully the five year-old obeyed. Sam hurried to the bed, opening the first aid kit.

"Now what?" he whispered.

His dad's shaking hand pointed to his leg. "I need you to stitch up my leg. Like we practiced on the orange."

Sam nodded shakily. He poured antiseptic over his dad's leg first, and then went back to the first aid kit. The gloves were too big for his hands, the needle too small. He leaned over the bloody mess and tried to find the beginning of the wound. The first jab of the needle made Dad hiss through his teeth. By the tenth, he had passed out.

It took forever for Sam to finish. He was crying by the end of it. He washed Dad's wounds one more time before patting them dry and bandaging it carefully. He covered Dad in a blanket and stood motionless. What else could he do?

"Sammy?"

Sam turned to see Dean staring at him, wide-eyed.

"Shh," he said. "Dad needs to sleep. He herded Dean back into the bathroom. The fluorescent lights made the blood on Sam seem too bright. "I need to take a shower."

Dean nodded, obediently flicking on the water for him. Sam tried to smile, but couldn't past his tears.

"Why you cry?" Dean asked, his own voice wobbling.

Sam sniffed heartily and wiped the back of his hands over his eyes. He thought about lying, but it hurt too much. "I'm crying because I'm scared."

Dean was wide-eyed. "You aren't scared of nothing."

"I'm sorry, Dean. I'm not trying to scare you." Sam stripped, stepping in the shower. The blood looked very very red as it trailed down the drain. Dad could've died. He still could die.

"Do you want a cookie?" Dean asked. "I saved mine."

"You got that for winning the race," Sam said. He felt weird . . . kind of numb and disconnected. "I can't take that."

Dean left, and Sam stood in the shower, shivering a little as the water got cold, but he couldn't bring himself to turn it off.

"Here." Dean proudly presented his cookie. "Eat it."

Slowly, Sam got out of the shower, wrapped himself in a towel, and took his little brother's offering. "Thank you," he whispered.

"It'll be okay, Sammy." Dean's small arms barely made it around him. Sam pressed his face into Dean's curly hair.

"Let's go to bed," Sam said.

The next day, Dad sat Dean down and told him about monsters and the Hunt. Sam stood by, thinking about the things in the dark, and the fear in his little brother's eyes, and suddenly realized that he hated hunting. This couldn't be all there was to life.

Dean looked up at him, something like distrust in his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to keep you safe," Sam whispered. "I'm sorry."

Dean threw down the newspapers in disgust. "Still no sign of Dad."

Sam was sitting at the motel table, resting his head in his hands. "He's sent us coordinates before, but he always picks up his phone. I don't understand why he would just—" His voice trailed off. Dean's heart clenched a little at the defeat in his brother's voice.

"You getting another headache, dude?

"It's nothing," Sam said, which in Sam-speak meant that yes, he was, and it was at nearly unbearable levels already.

Dean got off the bed, hunting through his pack until he found some motrin. "C'mon, Sammy. You've gotta take care of yourself."

Predictably, Sam's answer was, "I'm fine."

Dean ignored him, holding the pills in front of Sam's face until he took them.

"Where do you want to try next?" Sam mumbled.

"How 'bout the beach?" Dean grinned and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Seriously, Dean."

"Seriously, Dean," Dean mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "We should go, man. You haven't been sleeping well, don't think I haven't noticed.

"Says the guy who's getting sick."

Dean blinked, nonplussed. "I'm not getting sick."

"My superpower is that I can tell 24 hours before you're getting sick." One of Sam's rare dimpled smiles flashed across his face. "You are definitely gonna get sick."

"Am not," Dean muttered, crossing his arms. "And if I do, you're only damning yourself, because you always catch what I have."

"True enough." Sam stood, stretching. "We probably have just enough time to get to the beach before we both crash."

Dean fistpumped. "Yeah! Let's do this."

Usually Sam was the one who drove, but Dean managed to snatch the keys before his brother could. "Haha. I win, dude. And you have the headache anyway."

It was Sam's weary acquiescence that made Dean a little more nervous about Sam's condition. It seemed like all their lives, Sam had been a little more susceptible to getting hurt, diseases, or even stupid headaches. And it wasn't like Dean was incapable of taking care of Sam . . . it was that Sam was so used to being in charge and responsible and crap that he was terrible at knowing when he needed to slow down.

"Slow down, Dean. Geez."

Dean sighed dramatically and glared balefully at the radio. "I should get to pick what we're listening to. I'm driving."

"Oldest picks," Sam said absently.

"Well, when we were driving with Dad that was fine, because he had a decent taste in music. You . . . I mean, what is this? Classical music and talking and junk."

"NPR is informative, Dean, and—"

Dean hit the radio and AC/DC blared through the speakers. "With this, Dad will be the one finding us!" he shouted.

Sam flicked it back. "Dean, c'mon. Stop being so immature."

"I'm not even an adult yet. I'm allowed to be immature."

Dean reached for the radio again, but Sam seized his wrist. "C'mon, Dean. My head's still killing me."

"The great Sam Winchester finally admits a weakness." Dean subsided, letting his hand drop. "Fine, we'll listen to pansy music until you fall asleep."

After a short silence, Sam spoke up again. "It's been a whole three months since we last heard from Dad. What do you think happened?"

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. He stared out at the road. "I don't know, Sammy. I don't understand why he would deliberately ditch us like that."

"He loves his secrets," Sam muttered.

Dean thought about the many shouting matches his brother and dad would have concerning that topic. "He did the best he could. It's not like you've been so great about telling me secrets in the past yourself."

Sam flinched; Dean felt guilty for the cheap shot. "You know why I didn't tell you about hunting, Dean. You were far too young. And applying to college was ages ago, and it was a mistake. Are you really holding onto that?"

"I'm not holding onto anything. I'm just saying, you could cut the guy some slack. You two aren't so different."

If anything, Sam flinched even more at that. He didn't say anything, staring out the window until he finally fell asleep.

Dean sped up the car after Sam fell asleep, getting them to the coast in record time. It was a little early for beach season, so the packed sand of the South Carolina beach was practically empty.

"Wake up, princess," he murmured, gently grabbing his brother's shoulder. "We made it."

Sam blinked in the dying sunlight. "Wha—"

"Beach? C'mon, let's dip our toes in and then go find a motel before it gets any colder."

Dean nudged Sam, climbing outside and shivering a little in the brisk air. "Maybe not quite beach weather, huh?"

"Got the beach to ourselves, though." Sam stretched, groaning as his back cracked. Dean smirked.

"If you weren't such a giant . . ."

Without warning, Sam ruffled up Dean's hair like he was a little kid again. Dean shouted his outrage and Sam darted away, down to the water. Dean ran after him with a battle cry. They probably looked like a bunch of idiots; two full grown men (one overgrown, one with a little more growing to do) acting like five year olds on an empty beach. Sam managed to trip on his own feet and Dean tackled him, both of them crashing to the unfortunately hard sand.

"Ow," Sam muttered.

"Say 'uncle,'" Dean demanded.

Sam went still, and Dean waited for his brother's capitulation; without warning, Sam's octopus limbs lashed out and Dean was tossed over Sam's shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Dude, stop!" He squirmed, but Sam's hold was too good. "I give up. No!"

Sam took a few steps into the water. "Oh, I should stop?"

"Don't you dare! I will kill you!"

"Not threatening enough." Sam sent Dean splashing into the water. Dean came up spluttering, but while Sam was guffawing, he swept his brother's legs out from under him.

"Cheap shot." Sam spit out sea water. "We done acting like kids?"

The words somehow stung, and Dean had spit out a response before he knew what he was doing. "Seems like I'll always be a kid to you," he said.

Sam sensed blood, and cocked his head. "What?"

Dean flushed self-consciously and stood, feeling his wet clothes cling to his body. "I dunno. You always act like you're humoring me, y'know? With the beach and finding Dad—"

"Dean . . ."

"I get it, I'm not as smart as you, and you're the oldest, but would it kill you to treat me like an adult?" The words seemed to flow from Dean's mouth without his own permission. He shivered in the cold air and swiped a hand across his dripping face. "Look, I . . . never mind."

"You've got that stupid cold coming, c'mon, let's go get warmed up," Sam said softly. Dean was too embarrassed to meet his eyes, and traipsed up onto the beach with a heavy heart. They dried off in silence, making it to the motel before either of them said anything else.

Sam was the one to break the silence. "Dean. I don't think of you as . . . less. I mean, you'll always be my baby brother, you know? I changed your diapers, fought off bullies, taught you the alphabet. I don't think I'll ever be able to change that. But it is my fault for not . . . respecting you as an adult."

"Sam, enough. I was just tired, forget it," Dean said. He felt his ears burning.

"Hey." Sam grabbed his shoulder and forced him to turn. "Dean, we're in this together. Finding Dad, whatever's going on . . . I'm not leaving you. Not ever. And you can put me in my place. Hey, you should, y'know? Just like I put you in your place."

Dean wasn't fast enough to get away when Sam looped an arm around him and pulled him in for a hug.

"I have a big sister, not a big brother," he squirmed. "Enough with the chick flick moment, dude."

"You get me, Dean?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get you." He sniffed and grimaced. "Dang it, you were right, I think I'm getting sick."

"I'll make some soup." Sam held onto him for a few moments longer before releasing him.

A/N:

This chapter was a little sappy but it'll get more intense as it goes on lol.

I've loved the mix of responses! Rightly so some of you are a little iffy about going forward. Hilarious thing is, I actually have never cared for age swaps myself! I guess that's why it makes it so interesting to write. Keep on going forward! Input always welcome :)