I just wanted to thank everyone for reading again, and to warn you all that school starts tomorrow, so I won't be able to update as often. Just thought I should give you a heads up!

Shuffling. Something was shuffling around on the far side of the room. Sam opened his eyes and found that someone had turned on the lights in the motel room. He also noticed that his father and brother were nowhere to be found. The shuffling sounds were coming from the direction of the kids' room.

Sam jumped awake, fearing that maybe, in the darkness of the night, Jake had snuck in and begun his massacre. However, when he saw his father standing beside the bedroom door and his fears were allayed, he relaxed.

"What's going on?" Sam asked, trudging up to his father's side.

"Nothing much," John replied, "Sammy had a bad dream."

"A nightmare?" Sam asked, panic gnawing at his stomach again, "what happened?"

John shrugged. "Your basic 'daddy turning into a yellow-eyed monster and killing everyone' dream."

"He told you that?"

"No," John said, hanging his head for a moment, "that's what I overheard." He put out a hand and gently nudged open the bedroom door. "Your brother got there first."

Sam looked into the room to find Dean sitting on one of the bed, a small, shaggy-haired boy on his lap. He cooed softly, rocking the boy back and forth as best he could while stroking the kid's hair. The boy had a solid grip on Dean's shirt and was shaking almost uncontrollably, obviously still scared.

"He said I should probably stay out here," John muttered, closing the door as Sam glanced at the other bed, "you should probably get back to sleep. Should be well-rested if we want to find this demon of yours tomorrow."

"Yeah," Sam breathed, unsure of what was more shocking: the fact that Dean was coddling a six-year-old version of him, or that fact that ten-year-old Dean was sleeping through the whole thing.

This time, it was the clinking of a glass and the familiar sound of rummaging that woke Sam from his slumber. The bathroom light was on, and the door stood open.

"Dean?" he asked, standing in the doorway and looking in at his brother, who was searching for something, "whatcha looking for?"

Dean sighed, running a hand through his short hair. "Kiddie Tylenol. I don't think we have any."

Sam grinned. "Hate to break it to you, but I think you're a little old for the junior strength."

"Not for me, smartass, for you. Don't know if you heard, but little Sammy had a nightmare."

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "I heard. A murderous, yellow-eyed version of dad. Do you think-?"

"Don't even," Dean cautioned, "it's not happening again. I won't let it. Not to them. Not now. Found it!"

"How is he?" Sam asked as his brother rushed past him and back towards the bedroom.

Dean shrugged. "Well, he's still a little shaken. Wants me to sleep with him tonight. Oh, and he has a headache. Really bad from what I gather." He noticed the look his brother was giving him and abruptly turned away. "It's stress, Sam. Nothing more, nothing less. Can you blame him?"

The third time Sam woke up that night, it was because something was relentlessly tugging at his arm. He opened his eyes to find that the sun was shining through the windows and that the tugging was a certain six-year-old.

"Come on, get up!" Sammy pleaded, still tugging at his arm even as the adult sat up and yawned, "Dean's making waffles!"

"Oh, this I've gotta see," Sam grinned as he let the kid drag him from the lumpy couch and into the kitchenette, where John and his eldest son were sitting. Dean was standing by the grimy stove, blowing on his fingers as if he'd burnt them. Sam laughed.

"You may chuckle now, College Boy, but that's only because you've forgotten how good a cook I can be," Dean smirked, setting a plate of golden waffles drenched in syrup on the table.

Sam was speechless for a moment, until he saw the box. "Dude," he muttered, slapping Dean's hand away as he reached for a waffle, "leggo my Eggo. Seriously, though. You made toaster waffles?"

"Told you he'd find out," the ten-year-old smirked, grabbing a couple of waffles and sliding them onto his plate.

"Well, if someone had hidden the box like I told him to half an hour ago," Dean hissed, "he never would have noticed, would he?"

"What are you gonna do," the kid shot back, "ground yourself?"

John, who had been watching the scene unfold with mild interest, cleared his throat, effectively quieting the room. "So," he began, eying the waffles suspiciously, as if he thought Dean might have poisoned them, "this demon you were hunting, what's he look like?"

Sam shrugged. "Brown hair, blue eyes," he described through a mouthful of waffle, "shorter than Dean. Last we saw, he was wearing jeans, a dark shirt, and a black raincoat. And he's possessed, that should be a dead giveaway."

The eldest hunter nodded, seeming to think about something. "You think it's linked to the thing that killed your mother?"

"The Big Bad?" Dean asked, "we don't think, we know. That thing's been sending it's kids after us for over a year now. A couple of them almost killed us. Beat Sam's perfect face up pretty bad, too."

"Least I wasn't stupid enough to remind it I'd killed its family," Sam mumbled.

"What was that?" John asked.

Sam shrugged. "Dean killed a demon. Nothing big."

"You said he reminded it of something. What?"

The taller man glanced at his brother, who had flinched and averted his eyes, staring off into the room, as if searching for something. Then he looked at the kid, who seemed to know exactly what he was talking about, and was pleading silently with large eyes and a trembling chin.

"Just that you should never mess with a Winchester," Sam muttered, "now, back to Jake. You really think we can find him?"

The subject change didn't go unnoticed by John, who was gazing at Dean with deep suspicion, but he didn't let on. "I'm sure, as long as he stayed within the city. Let's face it, in order to get the job done and go back to your time before the wormhole closes, he'd have to stay close. We just need to draw him out. We need bait."

"What are we gonna use?" the ten-year-old asked, though by the way he was holding his fork, so tightly that his knuckles had turned white, everyone at the table figured he had a pretty good idea.

"It's after you kids," John said placidly, "we're going to use you as bait, Dean. Just you. It's too dangerous for Sammy." He looked at his son, whose face was clouded with uncertainty. "You can do this for me, right, son?"

The boy nodded slowly, his face paling. "Yes, sir," he muttered, looking down at his unfinished waffles.

"That's my man," John grinned, an expression that never touched his dark eyes.

"You know," Dean began, finally looking up at his father, "maybe we don't need bait. Maybe we can track him down. Maybe he's killed someone, left a trail. We might even be able to summon him to us."

John's eyes flashed. "Stop it," he warned.

"But, dad," Dean pressed on, "there are ways to summon these things, I know there are. We can call him to us, exorcise him, and push him back through the portal. Crisis averted. No one needs to be put in harm's way."

"I told you to stop it, Dean."

"Why? We don't need to endanger the kid's life if-"

"Just stop trying to protect yourself!" John finally shouted, "you can't change the past. You can't change yourself. You really think that a few days of normalcy will make a big difference in the long run? It won't. You're just hurting yourself, Dean. You're hurting all of us, messing up the timeline. Just stop it."

The room was suddenly silent. Sighing, John stood up and left, walking out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

"Thanks for trying," the freckled ten-year-old whispered after a pause, "no one's ever stood up for me before."

Dean hung his head, smiling slightly at what the boy had just said. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it. No one ever will again." He stood up and left.