Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary: They grow up so fast. Sniffle.

Growing old wasn't so bad, not for any of them. Maybe they simply had good genes, Sam and Dean coming from a man who looked thirty-five when he was ready to hit senior citizen status, Sarah being regal enough in her classic beauty to somehow manage to appear more graceful, more at ease with herself the older she became. And Ava, well Ava was simply too much of a child at heart to ever be able to truly grow old.

And let's be honest, maybe they didn't train in the same severe way they had as children and young adults, but old habits are hard to break and semi-retired or not, a man always has to be at his best in preparation for what's to come. So they're still in shape, still look good, still feel good – aside from all those aches and pains from injuries long since past that flare up and take an even harsher toll now than ever before. But no one talks about that.

They live their lives, it seems, in much the same way they had ten or twenty years ago, waking at the same general hour, working just as hard as ever, if only on different things. Not being any more tired or haggard or listless than they had been in their twenties.

There's only one thing that can make them feel old. One thing and one thing only: the idea of their children growing up.

Sam, having two teenagers to Dean's one, had the unfortunate luck of being on the receiving end of many more they're so grown up, that must mean I'm ancient moments – like when unpacking the groceries and stumbling over multiple boxes of tampons. Or the time he found a bra, seemingly Sarah's, same size and all, with cartoon characters on it and he laughed and poked fun at her only to realize that the piece of underwear he held actually belonged to his youngest daughter. Or when Rachel learned to drive, taking every lesson so seriously right up until the moment she waved her new license in his face with a wide and joyful grin.

But those moments were typically quick and fleeting, a pause between the beats of his heart, a reminiscent ache in his chest.

This was different.

Oh sure, it had been funny and cute when they were young, grade school romances meaning nothing more than holding hands on the playground and crying over awful break-ups. Though, admittedly, even those were hard on Sam, the kids in question being his daughters and all. But real, actual dating, boys showing up on his doorstep putting on a nervous show, acting decent enough, responsible and kind enough to be deserving of his girls? That was painful.

Rachel, he only found out after the fact, had been turning guys down left and right for years, knowing she wasn't allowed to date until sixteen and not being particularly swayed enough by any of them to try and get around that rule. She'd told her mother, told her aunt, even discussed it on occasion with her uncle. But Sam never knew, never looked close enough to realize that his kid was hot. He never paid attention to the manly eyes that always seemed pointed at his daughter, or the nervous boys who'd hang around her on the few occasions he'd picked her up from school.

Whether it was a subconscious move on his part to be so blind, or simply part of his often distracted nature, Sam wasn't aware that Rachel was interested in guys until the day before she was set to go on her first real date. With a six-foot-two football player named Ray.

"Football? Seriously?" he had asked, a forced laugh in his voice.

"He's nice," she said quickly, seeming uncomfortable. "And he's smart. And I like him," she said, making his stomach turn.

The good news was, at six-four, Sam was bound to tower over any boy his girls brought home, even if he was one of the biggest kids in school. And really, whether he aimed for scare the shit out of the kid or not, he'd been in enough serious binds in his life to have that worn and weathered, unafraid look about him that would intimidate even the most confident of grown men. After meeting Ray, he knew that just enough fear had been instilled in the young man to keep him civil.

Not that it really mattered, their first date was also their last, Rachel declaring with a roll of her eyes that he was simply, "too boring and completely self-involved. And who cares about football anyway?"

She had more important things to do than get involved in serious romantic crises, she had told her parents once. And though she still went on the occasional date, dressed up for the occasional dance, she never really seemed serious about any boy.

Until now.

He was a year older than her and had pretty blond hair and pretty blue eyes that were just too pretty to spell anything other than disaster. And though he was a good two inches shorter than her – a thing that never went unnoticed by her uncle, Dean always asking after her little albino munchkin friend – he carried himself with such confidence and esteem when around her that it made Sam want to cry. Or simply beat him down a few notches.

But the worst, absolute worst thing about him, Sam realized only now – thinking before that the worst thing was that he simply had hands and other…things – was that he had a friend for Maya.

"No way in Hell," he hears himself say, not even realizing the words had formed in his mouth, his senses being too dulled by the idea of his fourteen-year-old baby wanting to go out with an 18-year-old…ruffian. "No."

"Dad," she sighs, only a hint of whine to her voice, "He's a really good guy. You'd like him."

Sam looks, wide-eyed, over at his wife, implores her with an all too horrified expression to say something.

"Maya," she starts simply, dropping her voice into that firm, no arguments tone, "Even if you were old enough to date, you still wouldn't be old enough to date him."

She rolls her eyes, shifts in her seat. "That rule's ridiculous. What is this, 1997? C'mon."

1997, he thinks, brows furrowing in confusion. 1997? That's when he was fourteen. She's using that as a time of antiquity?!

They tell her no again. No, no, no. They tell Rachel. They tell Hal – yeah, that's his name – when he comes by to hang. "Keep him away," Sam says low and dangerous, entirely without preface.

And later it almost seems funny. Almost. To Dean it seems funny anyway, his laughter filtering through the phone that night when Sam calls, having to relay the awful details to someone. "Dude, that's classic," he spits between guffaws. "Keep him away."

"It's not funny, Dean. Seriously."

He stops laughing just long enough to reassure his brother. "Aw, don't worry so much Sammy. If she does try to see him, I'll take him out back and shoot him," he says, just enough of a promise to his voice that Sam counts it as sincere.

"I mean," he says, moving on, "she's fourteen."

"Yeah, I was there for her birthday party," he chimes.

"She's a baby."

"Dude, I was fourteen the first time I got laid." There's a startled silence on the phone, Dean realizing just what he's said as Sam tries to keep his enraged words to himself long enough for his brother to apologize. "She's not me, though," he rushes out. "I mean, no way would she…she's not even allowed to date. And…like I said, the guy would be dead."

Sam shakes his head on the other end, a gesture that he's sure his brother can sense even if he can't see it. And he tries to write the whole thing off as Dean being a dick, not knowing how to get a grip on that whole mind-mouth barrier. But what he said is true. Hell Sam was only a year older than that when he lost his virginity – shh, don't tell Dean, he thinks it was two later with some blond in Nebraska.

"We are so old," he mourns into the mouthpiece.

"What?" Dean scoffs. "We are not."

He tells him what she said about 1997, but Dean doesn't seem to find it half as disturbing as he had, responding only with a psh and, "I'll knock some sense into that girl."

It occurs to him that maybe his brother doesn't see the gravity of all this because, though he's the older sibling, his kids are younger. It just hasn't hit him is all. "You won't be laughing when your kids start having sex," he grumbles out, the awful implication of those words nearly too much to bear.

"First of all, shut up. Second of all, they're not having sex. Maya wanted to go on a date and you told her no."

"And Rachel?" he asks, mentally slapping himself for putting the image in his head.

Dean's silent for a minute, ruminating over the best way to handle this. Because Rache and Hal have been together for almost six months and he can't imagine, man-whore or no, being eighteen and in a six-month long relationship and not having sex. "Rachel's smart," he says finally, all he has to say and all Sam needs to hear.

"Yeah," Sam sighs. Then, "I still say it'll be different when it's your kids. Especially if they're anything like you," he says with a coy grin.

Dean snorts out a laugh. "Like Michael, you mean?"

Sam chuckles himself, asks, "How many girlfriends is he up to now?"

"Dude's got a freakin' harem," he says with a smile. Easy to smile about it now, even at twelve, Michael's young at heart, a big goofy kid who sees nothing out of the ordinary in confiding in his father. Dean knows just how far all of his relationships have gone, the first kiss milestone just having been passed with a sweet little seventhgrader named Sally.

"He is quite the ladies man," Sam says with an audible smirk.

"Yeah he is," he agrees. "And then there's John."

Sam shakes his head absently, thinks about the talk he had with his eldest nephew just a few short weeks ago. "And then there's John," he confirms.

Dean didn't know about their little heart-to-heart, John had asked him not to tell, so he wasn't about to now, not even when Dean says, a mocking quality to his voice, "Just like his uncle."

And Sam smiles, realizing just how right he is. Because neither he nor John may be typical ladies men, neither has had nor particularly wants floozy women draping themselves helplessly in their paths. And yeah, the kid looks just about as awkward as Sam felt when he was his age, which was pretty damn awkward. But that doesn't mean either are as inept and inexperienced as Dean seems to think.

No one knows about Helen Reyes except Sam. No one knows that John's dating her – because of course, technically he's not old enough to date, the rule standing for all Winchester children regardless of gender, despite Dean's protests that when it comes to dating, certain considerations should be made. No one knows that he's already rounded second base with her, and only decided to hold off on bypassing third, heading straight for home, after talking to his uncle.

Because, "I really like her," isn't reason enough. And, "I might love her," implies he also might not.

Sam agreed not to tell Dean or Ava about his little tryst so long as he agreed to keep it in his pants where it belonged. And John, still tender enough to blush and cringe despite nearly looking the part of a man, had dropped his head and murmured an, "Okay."

"What was that?" Sam had asked, eager for actual confirmation.

The boy's head rose, eyes locking in somber sincerity with his uncle when he said, "We won't…do anything."

"And you'll talk to me, right? About whatever you need to or want to. About sex. Right?" Sam questioned in his most firm tone. And he decided, whether it was really his place to make that kind of decision or not, to keep the boy's romance a secret – his reason for the secrecy being so easy for Sam to understand, "They'll ooo and aaah and make fun." – the minute he nodded his head in absolute approval.

Normally, never trust a teenager was a rule to live by, for anyone. But if ever there was an exception to that rule it was John.

"He's a good kid," he says aloud, though the dreamy words were really meant more for himself. And Dean must sense it, must sense that there's something going on inside of their conversation that he's not been made privy to, because he makes no sound on the other line. Sam can almost hear his brother's eyes narrowing in that what aren't you telling me? fashion. So he changes the subject a bit with, "Ten years from now Samantha's gonna make you put a gun to your head. I can see it now."

Dean groans loudly, a wordless confirmation that yeah, duh. Because she's got a little too much of her father's cockiness in her and not quite enough of his moral barometer. She's spoiled freakin' rotten, can get away with murder, and she knows it.

"I can hardly wait," Sam laughs into the phone, feeling, for the first time all day, like a young man once more. Younger than his brother at the very least.