Author's Note: Thanks so much for the reviews!! Keep 'em coming. I love that other people thought that Missouri was too harsh with Dean. As I was watching that episode I kept thinking that that is how kids turn out like Dean. Anyway, hope y'all like this new chapter.

When Sam awoke, the first thing he did was look over at his brother's bed, hoping against hope that he would look over to find a fully grown man sprawling everywhere as usual.

What he saw however, was only a tiny lump and a bit of dark blonde hair peeking out from a pile of blankets. Sighing, he got up quietly. His brother never had been one for early mornings. In fact his brother had only ever gotten up in the mornings because Sam wouldn't leave him alone, jumping on Dean and pushing and prodding until his brother got up and got him breakfast.

Despite their current predicament, Sam had the impulse to wake the child-Dean up the same way this morning. He smiled and managed to stifle the urge.

Quietly, Sam made his way to the bathroom with fresh clothes in his hands. The hot water went a long way toward clearing his head, but a clear head only enabled Sam to worry more.

He missed his brother…his adult brother. He missed the feeling of protection, of safety that he always felt from his brother. No, he was never safe, their life wasn't safe, but Sam always had someone to turn to, he knew that Dean would do anything for him. Dean always looked out for him, always believed in him. Was this what Dean felt like? Having the weight of a child's life, hell, a child's happiness on his shoulders?

Sam missed the sight of his brother. How many times had Sam jacked off to the mental image of his brother in a shower just like this one? Not that he felt like doing that with his now eight year old brother in the next room, but even if Sam was conflicted about what else he felt for Dean, he definitely felt lust.

He wondered how the adult-Dean felt about the way he looked. Did Dean ever think about their mother, about Dad's words when he looked in the mirror or when a girl hit on him? Dean always seemed confident, proud of his looks, but then again, Dean also used them like a barrier. Like a shell, one could only get so close to the real Dean.

The Farafew…God, when he got Dean back Sam was going to have a lot of apologizing to do, but, in the meantime, the Farafew was likely to be going after Dean since he had already been turned into a child. And, if there was a human accomplice then Sam couldn't leave Dean in the motel room.

Sam would have to bring the kid with him when he went to interrogate the victims' families, which meant that he couldn't use any of their numerous badges to get into the house. Because what cop would bring a kid with him on a job? And before all of that, he had to get the kid some breakfast.

The thought of Dean as a little kid who needed care and protection still boggled Sam's mind. He had never thought of his brother like that, not even when they were kids. Dean had always been strong, the protector, the caretaker, the one in charge, the one that Sam could always count on.

Now Sam was having all kinds of new thoughts on the matter. Who had been there to take care of Dean? Who had soothed Dean's fears, Dean who had the weight of the preservation of their whole family on his shoulders. Now was the first time Sam had recognized how tiny those shoulders really were. Now he was seeing his brother with an adult's eyes instead of the eyes of a child who needed Dean, who needed his older brother to be strong.

Dressed, Sam exited the bathroom and walked between the beds to lay a hand on Dean's back.

"Come on, wake up, Dean."

The boy jerked underneath his hand and rolled to the side. Sam had been afraid that the child-Dean would react with fear at being awoken by an unfamiliar man. It was just another reminder that Dean had grown up in a constant state of fear, of readiness. There was a significant difference between Dean's childhood and Sam's own. Sam had had an atypical childhood, whereas Dean had experienced a traumatic event as a child.

As a four year old, Dean had had the veil of innocence ripped away. The world had never again been a safe place, instead of cause and effect, crime and punishment, for Dean there was only punishment and chaos.

Sam took a step back, allowing Dean some room to get his bearings and remember where he was. He knew when the child did, Dean's face transformed into a comically overdone scowl just as the adult version did in the morning.

"Get dressed and we can go get breakfast."

The boy managed to disentangle himself from the bedcovers and stumbled to the bathroom with one of the Wal-Mart bags.

When the boy re-emerged, he looked more awake but still subdued, like Dean was sulking.

"Hey, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," the boy mumbled. "When's my dad coming?"

Sam sighed, hating to have to lie to his brother even if Dean was currently out of it. "He'll be here soon. But in the meantime, we still have to take care of that thing that kidnapped you. You're gonna have to come with me while I interview people today, ok?"

At that news, the boy perked up.

"Really? I can come with you?"

Oh, thank God that Dad never took Dean on a hunt when he was this young. He knew that Dean had started young, younger than himself, Sam just didn't know how young. Dean had just always seemed to know everything already. But now Sam had to ask.

"So your father never took you on a hunt before?"

"Sometimes, but he never lets me do much. Makes me stand back with a gun or the bow." Dean scowled again, though Sam was fairly sure that his own expression was horrified. "He says I need to be prepared, that I need to see them so that I won't be scared, so that I can protect Sammy when Dad's away. Just cuz I got hurt that one time…"

"What?! What time?"

"I was really little then, I can do better now…"

As if the child wasn't little now. What was his father thinking? How could John have possibly justified bringing an eight year old child on a hunt?

"What happened, Dean? When?"

Sam loved how the child's face looked so sheepish and uncertain. This Dean was so much less skilled at redirecting attention away from the issue.

"Uhh, I guess I was five…"

"And what were you doing on the hunt?!"

Sam realized suddenly how loud and harsh his voice had gotten when he saw Dean stiffen and look at the floor. The child stammered and he hurried to explain himself.

"I wasn't supposed to leave the car, but Sammy was asleep and I heard Dad shouting like he was in pain. I got out and there was this freaky lady, a ghost…She threw me against a tree and I broke my arm. Dad still got it, I didn't mess up the hunt, but Dad was so mad…"

Sam couldn't imagine how scared his father had been in that moment. A five year old child, John's first born, flying through the air towards a tree, probably screaming and crying in pain. Sam knew well how his father's fear and concern could manifest in anger and shouting. And Dean, even at such a young age, wanting to save his father, like always.

Sam had seen his brother hurt many times over the years, too many times. He had seen Dean dragged back to the car or the hotel or wherever they were staying, Dean bleeding or broken, unconscious or cursing and spitting in pain. Sam had been there after both the Rawhide and the Yellow-Eyed Demon had put Dean in the hospital, watched the doctors telling Sam that his brother was going to die.

But in all those times, Sam had never thought about how young Dean was. Dean's body was a patchwork of scars that told the story of his whole life, some of them so old they were just barely visible, evidence of a brutality children shouldn't know even existed.

"When my arm got better, Dad taught me to shoot. I'm really good, got every can on the first try. Dad was…proud, I think."

"That would have made you six, Dean?"

Sam sighed long and slow, trying to get his frustration back under control. It wasn't aimed at Dean anyhow. The boy was still standing stock still, staring at the floor.

Awkwardly patting Dean's back, Sam spoke in a much calmer voice, "Never mind, I'm sure you're a very good shot. Come on, let's go."

It figures that Dean would have been a sharpshooter at six years old, like he had been born to it. Or like an act of will, anything to please their father.