Author's Note: So sorry for the long delay to this chapter. It took me a while to come up with the actual story for the sequel, something that would allow me to continue to explore Dean's childhood while also exploring the brothers' changed relationship. I've also had to date these stories, so this takes place in season two before the yellow-eyed demon's death, before the deal, before hell…Hope y'all like this one as much. To Be Young Again locked me into an age. I couldn't deal with anything that might have happened in their lives after Dean was eight years old, so this one allows me to comment on any aspect of their childhood, but is more dependent on Sam's memory of those days. Review Please and tell me if you like it.

Sam carded his fingers up through the short hairs at the back of Dean's head, staring at his brother's profile. He figured he had maybe five seconds before Dean protested being stared at. Dean hated being stared at and he always knew. Sam swore that he could wake Dean up by just staring at his brother.

This time though, Sam could tell Dean's attention was elsewhere. Dean's eyes began darting around and he sat up a little straighter in his seat. Sam shot a glance out the windshield but didn't see anything out of the ordinary.

"Dean..?"

"Oh my God, Sam, I knew this town sounded familiar."

Dean's eyes left the road to glance at Sam's face, his green eyes bright and amused.

"Dude, we lived in this town. Don't you remember? God, what was that girl's name..? Tiffany, she had this great rack and wore these tiny…"

Dean trailed off in his rambling reminisces as he glanced back at Sam's face, no doubt seeing the annoyed, jealous glower that the younger Winchester was shooting him. Dean pursed his lips and looked back at the road. Sam could practically see Dean gathering his courage, lowering his walls before the elder hunter reached across the seat and squeezed Sam's thigh, keeping his eyes ahead as he always did when he was anywhere in the neighborhood of being emotionally vulnerable.

Sam recognized the effort that simple move had taken and he appreciated the sentiment. And Sam made sure to reward or at least acknowledge his brother's effort. He squeezed Dean's hand quickly before it was removed and then moved closer to his brother on the bench seat. Sam's left hand continued to stroke through the dark blonde hair.

"How old were we?" Sam asked.

"I was sixteen, you were twelve. It was right after that werewolf."

Sam did remember that. Dean had gotten thrown around a little, funny how Dean never remembered that part, but Sam always did. Dean had had to attend his first day of school in this town with half his face a rainbow of colors and stitches in his left thigh that made the older brother walk stiffly.

They had stayed in the town three months, not really long enough for it to have made much of an impression on Sam, not enough time to make friends or join clubs.

They had moved less as Sam had gotten older, long enough for Sam to go to the soccer championships, long enough to be in a school play. They had been able to stay because Dean had been older, a teenager, old enough to take care of everything, to sign or forge Sam's school forms and make sure Sam's records from the last school were there, old enough to keep CPS off their backs. Just one more thing that Sam had been given because Dean had given up his own life.

"So what's going on?"

"In the last seven years, five male teens have committed suicide."

"Sam, I hate to point this out but that happens all the time, teen angst running rampant and all, it's sad but..."

Sam huffed, he just couldn't help himself. "But these seem to be in addition to the number you'd expect, and all five died in the same way, identical cuts on their wrists. Hey, turn left here."

They pulled up to a yellow two story house on a slight hill. It was a far cry from the neighborhood where they had stayed when they had lived in that town.

They had already put on their suits, having stopped the night before only two hours away from their destination. Feds were the only thing the brothers could think of that might investigate this kind of thing, or at least the thing that most people wouldn't question.

A man in his late twenties answered the door, average looking, brown eyes, brown hair, jeans and a t-shirt. They already had their ID's out and Sam was opening his mouth to speak when he realized that Dean recognized the man.

"You're FBI?" The man asked with almost a smirk on his face.

Sam looked to Dean who was pursing his lips in surprise and confusion, obviously not thinking that the other man would remember him, but as always the elder brother recovered quickly.

"Dean right? Dean Winchester, like the gun." The man extended his hand.

Dean smiled right back, extending his own hand as if nothing was wrong at all. Sam himself was just glad that the man had spoken before they had introduced themselves using fake names. Now he hoped that the man wouldn't look too hard at their ID's to notice the name discrepancy.

"Yeah, uh, Jim…Jimmy Roth. Didn't know whether you'd remember…"

Jimmy laughed. "It's a small town, and you caused quite a stir."

Sam was intrigued. Dean, despite that he seemed to hate being the center of attention, had a way of making himself memorable and not always in a good way. When Dean entered a room, everyone watched the hunter, either because Dean was beautiful or because he looked like trouble depending on the circumstances. Sam himself didn't think that he would be recognized. He knew that he looked a great deal different than the chubby twelve year old that he had been in this town.

"Yeah," Dean's voice seemed less than enthused about the idea of being remembered so vividly. "Oh, this is my partner, John Bonham."

Sam held out his own hand which the man shook firmly.

Jimmy's attention quickly focused back on the elder brother though, as he gestured for the two men to come inside, not even questioning what the Feds might be there to investigate. "You know I'm not surprised that you'd become a Fed. I mean, you definitely knew how to fight. I remember how easily you took down Ricky that time, even injured…"

Jimmy's voice trailed off as the man led them to the living room. He seemed suddenly contrite, as if he realized that he was about to tread on a sensitive subject. The man gestured for the two brothers to sit in two lounge chairs.

"Look, I'm sorry about how we treated you back then…"

Sam didn't have to look to know that Dean's body had stiffened in response to the man's words, and when Sam did look over, that self-deprecating smile was back on Dean's face. That smile that said that Dean didn't think that he was worth apologizing to, that he was used to being treated like that and expected it.

"Nah, it was just kid stuff."

Jimmy, and suddenly Sam was feeling less benevolent toward the man, nodded but continued. "I know, but really, we should have been trying to help you, not teasing you. I mean, your family situation…"

All traces of a smile had disappeared from Dean's face as he answered. "My father didn't beat me, Jim."

Dean spared a glance at Sam, a look that said that Dean wished that Sam wasn't here for this, that Sammy wasn't hearing this.

Meanwhile, Sam was honestly surprised that anyone had thought that their father abused them, or at least abused Dean. Neglected, yeah, but abused? He had known that CPS was always a worry in the back of their father's mind, that they had occasionally left a town simply because of the threat of CPS investigating them. Fortunately, CPS was, in general, loathe to take children away from a parent without substantial evidence.

Sam himself had certainly been to high school with bruises, embarrassed at looking like he'd been in a car accident, which actually had been their most used excuse, but Sam hadn't been injured as badly or as often or at as young an age as Dean, hadn't even been allowed to participate in a hunt until he was fourteen. And Jimmy seemed so sure, so vehement…

When Sam looked back at Jimmy, disbelief was written all over the guy's face. Still when the man spoke again his voice was purposefully soft, gentle and Sam hated the idea of anyone pitying his brother.

"Yeah right, Dean. We saw the marks all over you and the way your father acted, when he came to get you from the principle's office…Sorry but we were all waiting outside. We all wanted a glimpse of the infamous John Winchester. And he was so intense. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had hit you right there."

Dean looked into Sam's eyes again, before he turned back to the man in front of them. "You're exaggerating. Look, we're here about Ted. He committed suicide?"

Jimmy's face seemed to crumple in on itself and just like that the previous conversation was forgotten. Apparently Ted had been Jimmy's younger brother. The two Roth brothers hadn't been terribly close due to the difference in their ages, but the teen's death had still hit the family hard. Jimmy was staying at his parents' house for a few days to help out.

"Can you tell me when he started to seem depressed?"

"That's just it. He wasn't. Ted was fine, I mean, he was a teenager, but he didn't seem depressed."

"What did he do in the week before his death."

Sam busily wrote down every place the teen had gone, everyone he had talked to, everything he had done in the week prior to his death.

As they drove to the next house, Sam couldn't keep from thinking about Jimmy's words. He knew that their father hadn't hit them, hadn't hit Dean. Dean would never have been able to keep something like that secret.

Sam was only now discovering exactly how much he had been shielded from the worst of things when he had been a child. Their father had definitely treated them differently.

Sam had always been a needy child; sullen, screaming, pouting, crying, the youngest Winchester was just difficult to ignore. John responded in kind; screaming right back when they were fighting, but the great hunter had also been occasionally gentle, consoling when trying to explain, to coerce his youngest into accepting the life they led.

Like the surprise phone call that led to Sam walking out on Dean before the scarecrow incident. Dad had talked to Sam, tried to get Sam to understand, to agree. John's voice had started out consoling, sympathetic about Jessica's death, asking if the brothers were alright…but then had turned harsher at Sam's defiance.

By the time Dean got the phone however, Dad had just ordered his eldest to obey. Dean never got any explanation, never heard his father's concern over their health. Of course, what would that concern have meant to Dean anyway, after Dad had failed to call when Dean was dying of heart failure?

Dad had taken Dean for granted, had probably been only too thankful not to have to worry about his eldest. John had an entirely different tone when speaking to Dean, quiet but intense, disappointment dripping off the words when upset, words that burned like acid and frustration that sounded too much like disdain.

And Dean just accepted the blame, shouldered the burden as always no matter how difficult to bear. Dean was supposed to be perfect and Dean had tried to be.

Yet Dean had loved the man unconditionally. Dean had a very different relationship with their father, more of a soldier and his general, of two adults. Because John had treated Dean as an adult for as long as Sam could remember. Dad had needed someone to help, had needed Dean to be responsible for Sam, had needed Dean's help on the hunts and so Dean's childhood had been taken away.

Not so for Sam. Sam was not expected to take care of anyone else. He hadn't started hunting until he was fourteen because Dad already had someone to watch his back when Caleb and Pastor Jim were busy or when John had had a falling out with his friends.

Dean had been there when John had first been finding out about the supernatural. He had been there as John had learned what it meant to be a hunter, as John had seen other families ripped apart by the unimaginable just as their own had been, as he had learned that not everyone could be saved…Dean had learned those things too, except Dean had been a child.

And Dean had loved John not just as their father, but as a friend and confidante. The two oldest Winchesters could spend hours talking about ghost killing strategies and new tools for the hunt.

Sam had always believed that their father loved Dean more, because Dean was the obedient son that Sam could never be. Now he knew that John had seen his two boys totally differently. Dean hadn't had it any easier, certainly hadn't had any more of their father's love.