Well, hello there. Didja miss me? :D

Sorry, I'm so sorry. My life has not been my own since the start of the year. Hopefully I've figured out a balance now and I'm back. I can't promise that I won't go away again, but i will try my hardest not to make it so long. I know I haven't replied to any reviews or comments in the longest time- again, I'm sorry. Thank you for hanging in there with me. Special thanks to Jenmm31, who always keeps encouraging me to come back to what I love and what helps me feel whole.

In this story, Natalie is three. Please see profile page for disclaimers.

Kneeling before the bed, Dean fastened the last Velcro strap on Natalie's shoes. "Alright, Squirt, there you go," he proclaimed with a little tap on her toe. "Ready to conquer the day?" he asked, standing up straight. They needed to get on the road to their next case, and he was chomping at the bit to be behind the wheel instead of stuck in the motel.

"Yeah!" Natalie cheered, jumping off the end of the bed with a giggle. But instead of racing around the room in triumph at being fully dressed as she usually did, she stopped and stared at the shoe that Dean had just put on her.

"Something the matter?" Dean asked the three year old. In answer, she held her foot out to him, an accusing look on her face. "What?" Dean said, trying to stifle his amusement at her little outraged glare.

"I don't like it," she answered back sternly. She immediately plopped on her butt on the thin motel carpet and began trying to pull her shoe off.

"Natalie, leave your shoe on."

"I don't like it!"

"Yeah, well, too bad. You have to wear shoes."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because I say so."

"Why?"

"…It's the law."

"Oh."

"Good. Glad we cleared that up."

"I don't like the law." She immediately resumed tugging at the tiny sneaker.

"Natalie, don't-!" was all Dean got out before she yanked the shoe off, tossing it behind her. He sighed heavily and went to retrieve it. He had no idea where this habit of chucking anything she didn't immediately like across the room came from, but he hated it as much as she apparently hated her shoe. When he came back, the child had practically bent herself in half, examining her sock as closely as she could. He reached down and scooped her up from the floor.

"Hey!" she shrieked in indignation.

"I told you not to take it off, Natalie," Dean scolded, sitting down on the bed and putting her firmly in his lap. "Time to re-shoe this wild pony."

"NOOOOOOOO! I DON'T LIKE IT!" she wailed, struggling to get out of his arms.

Dean was shocked, to say the least. Natalie never put up a fight getting dressed. Occasionally she wriggled playfully, laughing at him or Sam as they struggled to shove the toddler's arms and legs through the appropriate clothing holes, but this was different. She was actively fighting against him and he had no idea why.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean said, setting the shoe down and gathering her flailing limbs in close. "Settle down, kid, settle down," he said in a firm but gentle manner, patting her soothingly. She stopped struggling and looked into his face, wide eyed and innocent. "What's your problem with your shoe?"

"I don't like it."

"Yeah, I got that. Can you be more specific?"

"No."

Dean sighed internally. Sometimes he forgot that she was only three and couldn't just explain herself at his whim, no matter how advanced her vocabulary was. He looked down at her other foot, still encased in its sneaker. "Well, your other shoe seems to be fine."

"Yes," she said, nodding vigorously. Dean's forehead crinkled in confusion.

"So…" he said, trying to puzzle it out. "So you just…don't like THIS shoe," he clarified, pointing at the discarded shoe on the bedspread.

"It hurts."

"It…hurts."

"Yes."

"Okay. So you're saying…the shoe…hurts."

"Yes. I said that."

"Yup. Yeah. Got it. Is it too tight? Like are your toes getting pinched at the ends of the shoe? Is that what makes them hurt?" Dean reached down to squeeze the toe of the shoe still on her other foot. Nope, plenty of room. And there was no way one of her feet was that much bigger than the other. She reaffirmed his thoughts immediately.

"No."

"So what hurts?"

"The bump."

"The…what now?"

"The bump. In the sock. It hurts." Dean just blinked at the three year old, at a loss. Natalie patiently extended her sock clad foot and pointed at the toe. "There. The bump hurts there."

Dean reached down to gently feel the side of her foot. Did she get hurt or something, and he hadn't realized it? Suddenly feeling like the world's worst father for not realizing that his child was hurt, he carefully probed her toes. When she didn't cry or yell as he gingerly touched them, the guilt slowly was replaced once again by confusion. Her foot was fine. So what the hell was a 'bump in her sock' and what the hell was he supposed to do about it? In answer to his cerebral question, Natalie reached down and began pulling off her sock.

Dean grabbed her hand, halting her progress. "Hey," he said sternly. "You already took off your shoe, you ain't losing a sock too."

"Need to show you the bump!"

Summoning every ounce of patience he had left, Dean closed his eyes and gathered himself. "You can do that without taking off your sock."

"No I can't!"

"Natalie."

She knew when Daddy said her name once, real quiet like he just did, she better shape up or she was gonna get in big trouble. She whined, not understanding why showing Daddy where it hurts was such a problem. He always made the hurts better. "But…but…" she stammered, her eyes filling with tears of frustration.

"Just point to where the bump is, kid," Dean said, rubbing his thumb in a circle on her arm. It was the only thing he could move to soothe her without releasing the tight grip he had on her. No way was he letting this little speed demon out of her trap. She freed her arm enough to run it under her nose, then point to the edge of her foot.

"There," she said miserably, before batting the tears from her eyes in anger. "The bump is there." She turned in Dean's lap, looking him in the face. "I can fix it, Daddy?" she questioned, since he didn't want her to get rid of the offending sock.

Dean sighed but nodded his head. "Go ahead. But don't you dare take off that sock, you hear me?"

"Yeah."

"Nope- what do you say to me?"

"Oh. Yes, sir. I forgot that."

"It's okay. Just…fix the…bump. But don't take your sock off or you're gonna get it."

Making a pouting face, Natalie reached down and tugged at her sock. Dean craned his neck a bit to watch her and see what the hell she was talking about. When she yanked on the seam on the top of her sock, it finally clicked. The inner part of the seam must have been pressing and rubbing against her little toe, and apparently, that was the end of the world to the three year old.

Having readjusted the seam, Natalie sat back against Dean's chest. She stretched and flexed her foot a bit, tilting her head as she examined her handy work. "I fixed it, Daddy!" she finally announced, twisting in his lap again. She wanted to see him be proud of her.

"Good job, shorty," he said, squeezing her and kissing her on top of her head.

"I did it! Now I can do my shoe!" Natalie squealed gleefully. She wanted to make her daddy happy and obviously the shoe was the crux of the entire issue. "I can do it, wanna see?"

No, he didn't. He wanted to get the shoe on her so they could get out of this damned motel room and get on the road. Her trying to put her own shoe on was going to waste time. But even more than he didn't want to waste time- he didn't want to crush her spirit. He had realized a while ago that he could sound an awful lot like his own father when he was tired or frustrated. And Natalie didn't deserve that lack of patience, anymore than Sam had at her age. "Alright, show me what you got," Dean said gamely, plopping her down next to him. He was instantly rewarded with her thousand watt smile, making his irritation drain away seeing how happy she was.

Natalie stuck her little tongue out, concentrating as hard as she could. She pulled her shoe on…wait, no, that didn't feel right. She shifted it, turning it around…well, now the hole was on the other side and she couldn't get her foot in. Grunting to herself, she turned the shoe back the right way and wiggled her foot into it. She had it…no…she…wait…okay, she got it! She thrust her foot out in front of her and pointed. "Lookit!" she shrieked happily, as if Dean wasn't sitting right next to her watching her every move already. "I did it!"

"Yeah, you did!" Dean said, quickly fastening the Velcro before picking her up and tossing her into the air. As she screamed with laughter, he felt relieved that he hadn't shut her down in his temporary lack of patience. Man, this 'dad' thing was so much harder than he'd thought it was going to be. He made a huge deal about plopping her back down on the edge of the bed, causing her to giggle. He tapped her toe again.

"Alright squirt, how's that?"

"Good!"

"No bump?"

"Nope!"

"Glad to hear it. Let's blow this gin joint." He swooped her up in his arms and headed out the door, where Sam was loading the trunk.

"UNCA SAM!" Natalie hollered as soon as she saw him, busting Dean's eardrum in the process. "I did my shoe!"

Sam was smiling when she yelled his name, but wrinkled his forehead in confusion at her proclamation. He looked to Dean for translation, but Dean just shook his head, rolling his eyes at her childish amusement. "Well, good job Bug," he said encouragingly. Natalie squealed at the praise, and tried to tip herself out of Dean's arms to reach Sam. Being used to her throwing her little body around with no care whatsoever, Sam slid Natalie out of Dean's arms smoothly.

"I'll do a final sweep of the room, you strap her in," Dean said, ruffling Natalie's hair before turning on his heel and heading back. Natalie brushed back her mussed hair, annoyed. Once she was done with that, she patted Sam on both cheeks, wanting his undivided attention.

"Yes?" Sam said, happy to give it to her.

"I will do my clothes alone now since I did my shoe," she declared triumphantly.

"Oh. Well…okay. That's good to know. When your dad comes out, you can tell him and see what he says," Sam replied, thinking there wasn't a chance in hell that was actually going to happen.

He should have known better.

*SPN SPN SPN*

Having learned the hard way that no matter how late they got in- the toddler would be awake at the first hint of daylight- Sam and Dean drug their tired butts out of bed after hearing her morning giggles. This was typical- get up, make the coffee, get the kid dressed and fed, try to drink the coffee at some point while keeping her from killing herself, and start on the case.

So the sight of every piece of clothing they owned strewn about the room was new.

"What the hell?" Dean asked as he looked down after putting his bare foot into a pile of his underwear heaped next to his bed. Ugh. Well, at least they were clean. His eyes narrowed as they tracked around the room, taking in the tornado of clothing. How the hell had this kid accomplished this in the two minutes since they'd heard her first giggle this morning? It suddenly occurred to him that there was no way she could have done this in only two minutes- that she was QUIET for the amount of time it had taken her to cause this destruction. She was quiet DELIBERATLY. "Sam," he moaned. "She's getting even smarter." He flopped back on the bed as the implications of that hit him square on.

Sam was more judicious about it all, slowly picking his way across the flannels and jeans and henleys and socks and boxers and tee-shirts to where the kid was sitting in the middle of the floor, wrapped up in one of his flannels. "Bug, what are you doing?" he asked with every ounce of patience he had inside him.

Natalie giggled and stood up. She had managed to remove her own pajamas and was clad in nothing but his way-too-big-for-her flannel. She had it over her head with the arms wrapped around her body, looking like some strange hunter tribal garb. "Lookit, I'm YOU!" she said, before falling over and laughing at her hilarious joke. "See Unca Sam?" she asked in between gasps of air from laughing so hard. "I wear your fannel shirt!"

Sam couldn't help the chuckle that escaped as he knelt down. "Yeah, and it almost fits you," he teased back. "They're called FLANNEL, Bug."

Instantly, Natalie stopped laughing and popped up, pushing herself off the ground and meeting Sam's eye. Her gaze narrowed in concentration. "How's it said?" she asked very seriously.

"Flannel. There's an 'L' in there that you're missing."

"Again," she said, pointing at his mouth and focusing.

"Flannel," Sam said, his grin threatening to crack his face in two.

"FLA-nnel," Natalie said carefully, looking up at Sam so seriously that he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from outright laughing at her.

"That's right!" he said cheerfully, reaching out for her to scoop her up. Natalie squealed in joy and threw her arms around his neck.

"I did it!"

"Good job, Bug. Now how about we take this flannel off you and get you dressed so you can learn more words?"

"NO!"

The sudden vehemence in her voice made both boys freeze. She shook her head stubbornly, then patted her own chest with her open palm. "I do it, Unca Sam," she declared, nodding once as if that settled everything.

Trying to be diplomatic, Sam squeezed her a bit but didn't let her down. "Well, you can do it but how about I help you?"

"NO!"

"Natalie," came Dean's voice from his prone position on the bed. He rolled over and made eye contact with the three year old. "You don't tell Uncle Sam no."

She whined, throwing her hands to the side. "But Daddy, I do it!" she insisted. "I did the shoe and now I do it!"

Wiping the sleep out of his eyes, Dean sat up with a groan, stretching out his back as he did so. "Squirt, why in the holy hell did you have to take all our clothing out?" he asked, hoping to distract her.

"I needed to see it."

"But you don't wear these clothes. You wear YOUR clothes."

"Needed to see it!"

Taking a deep breath, Dean struggled to remind himself of the lesson he learned only yesterday. Don't crush the kid's spirit- something good will come out of it. Suddenly realizing that this would probably be incredibly entertaining, he swung his legs around to the front of the bed, missing the pile of boxer briefs this time. "Alright, fine. You needed to see it. So you wanna dress yourself, is that it?"

"Yes! Yes please!"

"Cool. Go to it."

"YAAAAAAAY! Unca Sam, DOWN!"

"Uh, Dean?" Sam asked, willing his brother to look at him as the three year old furiously smacked his arms to let her down. "Do you really think this is a good idea?"

A wicked grin cracking across his face, Dean pushed himself up and made his way to the coffee pot. "Oh no, Sammy. I don't think this is a good idea. I think this is a fuckin' GREAT idea."

"Yeah! A fu-" Natalie began. Sam clamped a hand over the child's mouth as quickly as he could.

"Don't you dare even think about repeating that," he hissed at his niece, who sighed at him once again ruining her fun. Once he was satisfied that the three year old wasn't going to start dropping F-bombs, he removed his hand and turned back to his brother, who was busy pouring water into the coffee maker and whistling a bit. Sam's eyebrows flew into his hairline- since when did Dean whistle in the morning?

"Wait- you actually want to let her do this?" Sam asked, confused at Dean's sudden about faced attitude.

"Sure do."

"But…but…" All kinds of scenarios ran through Sam's panicked mind- from her getting hurt to the entire town being burned down. He looked at his brother, helpless.

Dean grinned. "Trust me, Sammy. Just trust me." He turned around, leaning against the counter, and looked at the wide-eyed three year old as Sam set her on the floor with a sigh. "Alright kid. Go to it. Show us your threads."

Natalie's head tilted adorably in confusion. "What is threads?" she asked carefully.

"It means get dressed."

"Okay! I will thread!"

"Close enough."

Natalie gathered up the giant flannel around her like a ball gown skirt and started traipsing around the room. She tapped her lips as she examined all her clothes everywhere, eventually forgetting to hold on to the flannel while she walked. Stark naked, she picked up one of her favorite Batman shirts and a pair of leggings with dinosaurs on them. "These!" she declared loudly, holding them up in triumph. "I gonna wear this shirt and this pants!"

"Good call," Dean said, pouring two cups of coffee. He walked back towards his bed, handing one cup to Sam on his way.

Sam still wasn't sure about any of this. He took the cup absentmindedly from his brother, his eyes never leaving his niece. "THESE pants, Bug," Sam corrected. Natalie whipped around immediately, her eyes focused on Sam's face.

"These shirt and these pants," she said.

"Not quite. THIS shirt and THESE pants."

Natalie groaned dramatically, rolling her eyes to the heavens, before trying again. "THIS shirt and THESE pants. I do it right?"

"Yup, that's it Bug."

"Good. NOW I thread."

"Dean, do you honestly think this is a good idea?" Sam whispered so Natalie couldn't hear.

"Yup," Dean said, leaning against the headboard and inhaling the glorious scent of the morning brew.

"But what if she tears something? Or gets hurt?"

"Quit worrying and drink your coffee."

"Yeah, but Dean…"

"SAM! Shut up and drink your still hot coffee while she's doing this."

It dawned on Sam that he hadn't been able to enjoy a full cup of hot coffee for…well, definitely since before Natalie had been born. He quickly took a sip. Oh. Oh man. That was….he had forgotten the simple pleasure of a hot cup of freshly brewed coffee while sitting down. Dean saw the realization and the bliss cross his brother's face, and grinned smugly.

"Exactly," he said, crossing his feet. "Now, we watch the show." Well hell. If Natalie's father wasn't going to worry about this, then neither was he. Sam leaned his lanky frame against the headboard and sipped his coffee, watching.

Natalie was examining the shirt as if it was a science experiment. She flipped the shirt around, knowing her head went through the top. Seemed like a logical place to start. She shoved her head in from the top, then stopped, confused. Why couldn't she see? Where was all this other fabric coming from? She ripped it off, then held it in front of her, examining it with a scrunched-up face. Dean snorted a tiny laugh, which of course caught her attention immediately. She shot him a bitch face for the ages.

"Sorry. My bad. Carry on," he said, holding his hand up in apology. Natalie sighed her dramatic three-year-old sigh again before giving her attention back to her shirt, which of course made Sam bite the edge of his cup to keep from laughing this time.

Natalie carefully examined the arm holes- her head didn't fit through there, she discovered after multiple attempts. She opened the bottom of the shirt. AHA! Familiar territory. She wriggled and pulled and pushed with all her might, but she couldn't figure out how to make her arms NOT go out the top. This went on for about seven minutes. After much further thrashing about, she came up with a brilliant solution.

She laid the tee shirt on the floor and crawled into it.

Slithering carefully up through the bottom, she managed to make the sleeves stay flat enough to get her arms through them. Her head got stuck but only for a moment. She flopped around on the floor like a fish, trying to pull her head through. She managed to pull the bottom of the shirt down enough to poke her eyes over the collar. Finding a second wind in her near success, she wriggled and pulled until, at last, she was wearing her Batman shirt.

Both Sam and Dean had to look away, keeping their laughter as silent and contained as possible, but this was better than the three stooges. Dean caught Sam's eye at one point and grinned at him, which Sam returned wholeheartedly. Dean had been right. This comedy of errors along with a fresh cup of hot coffee was the best way to start a day ever. By the time Sam looked back at his niece, he was shocked to find her head stuck inside one of the legs of her pants.

"Bug, are you sure you don't want any help?"

"I DO IT!"

"Ooooookay, then."

Roughly ten minutes later, Natalie had succeeded in putting her leggings on backward, but by God they were on. She threw up her hands in triumph, running around the room in a victory lap.

"I DIIIIIIIID IIIIIIIIT!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. Since no one started banging on the walls next to them, Dean let her enjoy her moment. He set his now twice emptied coffee cup down in the sink, then picked her up and tossed her into the air once she circled by him again.

"Great job, kiddo, you kicked it in the ass!" Natalie continued to cheer excitedly while he bounced her. "Okay, now for shoes and socks."

Natalie stopped cheering immediately. She placed both hands on either side of Dean's face and looked him dead in the eye. "Nope," she said. "Too much. I am TIRED from this shirt and these pants. YOU do shoes and socks. No bumps, okay?" she commanded, before dropping her hands and pointing her foot out.

Dean snorted another laugh. He sat her down at the edge of the bed and put her socks on, just like yesterday before all this started. Natalie thought deeply about life as he did this.

"Now I can hunt, Daddy," she finally declared.

"And how do you figure that, shorty?"

"I did this shirt and these pants. Shoes and socks are tomorrow. Then I can hunt."

"Well, let's say you're one step closer at least. Okay?"

"Okay!"