One of the longest times they ever spent alone when they were little kids was in Florida. Their dad was hunting a demon—one he thought might have some answers about their mother and, unwilling to chance missing a possible opportunity, he left them for over a month.

Normally he would've taken them to their Uncle Bobby's; but Dad said there wasn't time or the trail would run cold. So he rented them a little house just outside of Orlando, gave Dean enough money to cover the rent for two months—as well as some 'emergency funds,' stocked the fridge, drilled each of them on the rules (separately, because even though Sammy didn't know it, they followed different ones), and headed out.

Dean was eleven and Sammy was seven. And, as far as Dean was concerned, this was Sammy's last year being just a kid; though he didn't know it at the time. Later that year—on Christmas—Sammy would find out what their father really did for a living, and things would never be the same after that—not between any of them.

Seven was a big age for Sammy; their dad started his physical training—and left Dean to make sure it got done. Sammy was also learning how to take apart and clean weapons, even though he wasn't allowed to shoot them yet. (Which, by the way, was a tantrum trigger because Sammy never forgot anything, and he knew that their dad had let Dean start shooting when he was six). This annoyed Dean because Sammy didn't even really like shooting; he just didn't want to be excluded from something he knew Dean was allowed to do.

Seven was also a year that Dean would keep Sammy close to him; ever since the incident with the shtriga—which had only been about seven of months ago—he didn't let his little brother out of his sight for very long at all. There was no way he was going to risk Sammy getting hurt again, by anything. And there was no way he'd ever disappoint or disobey his father again by blatantly disregarding orders. He'd never forgive himself for what happened to Sammy—and if anything else ever did, he didn't think he'd be able to deal with it.

"I don't wanna run laps—I wanna go to Jake's house."

"Come on, Sammy, you know we have to do this."

Dad wants you to train because he doesn't think I can protect you anymore. Dean knew that wasn't true, but oh God it felt like the truth; especially when their dad looked at him, like he was the biggest disappointment in the world. Well, never again. Dean would never let his father down again, and he'd never let Sammy get that close to danger again. Never.

"But why, Dean? None of the other kids in my class have to." Sammy hated working out. He hated running. So far, he hated everything that Dean had come to know as part of his regular routine—and their father did not approve.

"How do you know?"

"Because when I mentioned it they thought I was a freak."

"Sammy," Dean ruffled his hair, "you are a freak."

Sam gave him a dirty look, shoving him gently. "Can I go to Jake's house after we're done?"

"Is your homework finished?"

Dean didn't know why he was even asking—it was like the first thing Sam did when he came home. His little brother actually enjoyed doing homework. Dean didn't have the heart to tell him that no matter how much he liked it, it didn't matter; their futures were already planned out for them and there was nothing they could do about it.

Dean remembered once when he was nine and an army man came to their school and was talking to them about joining the air force, and Dean was really excited about it. He remembered thinking about how cool it would be to fly an airplane. He remembered mentioning it to their dad. He remembered their dad telling him that he couldn't do it.

When Dean asked why, their dad said it was because they had a responsibility to help people in other ways—that Dean would have to go into the family business, because it was the right thing to do; that he knew it wasn't fair, but because of what had happened to their mom, Dean had to see the bigger picture.

Dean had initially been pretty upset; sad and mad, because their dad was right—it wasn't fair. But eventually, after he thought about it, he understood—at least enough to let it drop. Besides, you just didn't argue with John Winchester. Dean wasn't really mad at his dad; he remembered what it was like for both of them after his mom died, and how hurt his dad had been. He also realized just how vulnerable Sammy was now, and if this was the only way to set things right, protect his brother, and make his dad proud of him, he would do it. It seemed like a small price to pay, even though it sucked.

"Yes, Dean—you know my homework's always done."

They stretched, did their basic workout—which winded Sam pretty easily right now, so Dean went slower than he was used to. Dean told himself that it was because Sammy was new to it, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was because Sammy's endurance had gone down since the 'incident.'

They started running; having a running partner was new to Dean. He was used to the quiet, calm air, nothing to do but think—that was before Sammy. Sam wanted to spend the entire time talking; talking about school, talking about how much he hated moving, talking about his new friends. Dean mostly just listened, commenting when necessary, but usually just nodding. Sammy didn't seem to notice, really.

"So can I go?"

"Are his parents home?"

"I dunno," Sam answered honestly, already breathing heavily.

Dean considered it. "If his parents are home, yes. If not, then no. But he can come over to our place." Dean pictured the shtriga's hands around Sammy's little body, its mouth open wide, sucking the life force out of his little brother slowly.

"But Dean...I'm old enough."

"Sammy, you're seven."

"Seven's old enough."

"No, it's not."

"Dean—"

"Do I need to call Dad so you can ask him?" Typically Dean didn't need to pull that card—in fact, Sammy probably listened to Dean better than he listened to their father. But for some reason just the threat to call Dad was pretty effective these days.

He could hear the scowl in Sam's voice. "No."

Dad probably wouldn't have even considered Sammy going at all. For some reason, his dad was having a difficult time knowing how to treat his youngest. Dean had been forced to mature earlier than normal, so it wasn't like he had another kid to compare Sammy to. This meant that Sammy was often babied more than Dean had been—on the other hand, their dad didn't know how a kid his age was supposed to act, so he put a lot of restrictions on Sammy's activities—or he let Dean decide.

When they finished running, they went home and Sam called his friend. Turned out the kid's parents weren't home, but they were perfectly fine letting their seven year old stay by his self. Dean thought it was crazy until he remembered when he was seven and how often he'd been without supervision, but it seemed different somehow when it applied to him. He didn't remember being that small and vulnerable when he was seven.

"He says he can't come over because his parents wouldn't know where he was."

"Sorry, Sammy."

"It's not fair. Dean, he's got a new puppy," Sam pouted.

Dean ignored Sam's inevitable whining. It's not fair was becoming one of his little brother's favorite things to say. Only, Sammy had no idea what not fair really meant yet, and it was starting to cause some problems between their dad and Sammy, but Dean always just ignored it. He thought about telling their dad to do the same, but Dean knew there was no way his temper would allow it.

"You need to get cleaned up anyway, dude. You stink from the run."

Sam gave him a dirty look, his bangs wet from sweat. He wiped them out of his eyes with the back of his hand. "No you do."

"I'm gonna take a shower, then I'll get you a bath ready. Watch T.V. or something till I get out, kay?"

"Fine," he grumbled.

It didn't take Dean long to shower—baths always took a long time because he was playing with or helping Sammy get washed off. Now that it was just him, it didn't take long at all—but it was more boring. Even so, Dean liked taking showers; it made him feel a little more grown up.

After he was finished and dressed, Dean ran Sammy some bathwater, making sure it wasn't too hot or too cold. Sam had started insisting, about three weeks ago, that he was big enough to take a bath on his own; their dad agreed. Dean was bummed by it a little, but he'd never admit it out loud. He acted relieved in front of the two of them when the decision was made, like that was what he'd wanted all along anyway.

When Dean got out, Sammy was sitting in front of a television that was turned off, his nose deep in a book. He rolled his eyes, knowing Sam wouldn't see him. His little brother was such a dork. Still, maybe this was a good thing; maybe Dad would let Sammy be do all the research and then Dean wouldn't have to worry about him going out on a hunt and getting hurt. Dean knew that he and his dad could handle it without endangering Sammy, but he also knew he had a better chance of raising his mom from the dead.

"Water's ready, kiddo."

Sam grinned, held one finger up to indicate he needed another minute, and continued reading. Dean smiled back—apparently he wasn't mad at Dean anymore. When Sam was done he dog eared the page he was on, dropped the book onto the couch, and grabbed his Batman, Robin, and Joker action figures. Dean told him to make sure he left the door open; Sam did, but rolled his eyes.

While his little brother was in the tub Dean decided he'd make dinner. He looked through the freezer, happy to see that his dad had bought them a couple of frozen pizzas. Sammy was going through some weird phase right now anyway where he said he wanted everything Dean was eating, even if he didn't really like it. Their dad said it was normal, but Dean thought it was annoying.

He popped the pizza in the oven and set a timer, listening every so often to the sound of Sammy threatening the Joker with a pow. The couch was comfortable but it smelled weird, and Dean was careful not to lean to far back into it or stick his fingers between the cushions. Who knew what was lurking there? Instead he flipped on the T.V., smiling when he found one of his favorite Clint Eastwood shows on.

"Dean, I'm ready!"

Dean didn't say anything, just checked the pizza and made his way to the bathroom. Sammy was still playing with his toys when Dean walked in. He grinned at Dean, a gap in his teeth from where he'd lost one a couple nights ago. Dean smiled back. He was remembering how happy Sam had been when he'd found a quarter under his pillow the next morning, thinking that the tooth fairy had left him money—nope, just Dean. Dean would tell him there was no tooth fairy, of course, but not until he ran out of quarters.

He put a drop of shampoo on Sam's head and watched as Sammy rubbed it in, trying his best to get it everywhere. Dean waited till he was finished, then went back over the spots he'd missed, while Sam yammered on about how Batman was the coolest superhero ever cause he was so smart and fast. Dean thought Superman was better cause he was the strongest, but he didn't feel like arguing his point right now.

Sam closed his eyes and mouth and leaned his head back, like he'd done it a million times before—and they had. To Dean, giving Sammy a bath was as routine as tying his own shoes or cleaning a gun. It was comfortable and easy, and Dean didn't really mind doing it.

"Get dried off, I'm gonna go check on the pizza."

"Cool, pizza!"

They rarely got pizza; most of the time they cycled through cereal, T.V. dinners, spaghetti, or grilled cheese. And, being seven, pizza was one of Sammy's favorite foods. Dean cut the pizza and dropped a couple of pieces onto their plates. He frowned when he saw the big slices of onion dotting the surface—Sammy hated onions. Dean started picking them off both his and Sam's pieces. Dean liked onions, but Sammy wouldn't eat if they were on his pizza—but he'd try to force himself to if he saw Dean eating them.

Sammy came in a couple minutes later, plopping himself down onto the chair. He glanced at his apple juice and frowned. "Do we have chocolate milk?"

"Nope. Besides, fruit's good for you."

"Apple juice isn't fruit, dumbass," but Sam was grinning. He'd heard Dean cuss a million times now and loved to do it when Dad wasn't around. Sometimes Dean let him, but he didn't want it to become a habit so young. Dad would be pissed.

"Watch your mouth. Just eat your pizza." Sam did. Dean loved that Sammy was pretty much never messy anymore when they ate, because it made his job so much easier.

"Dean, can I go to the museum?"

"Huh?"

He took a huge bite and began again, his mouth full. "With the school. It's a field trip and it's free. You just need to sign a permission slip."

You mean Dad needs to sign it, Dean thought. The older Sammy got the easier some things got; like giving him a bath or making sure he ate his dinner. But, some things got harder; like keeping under the radar at school when Sammy had permission slips or report cards to sign, or when teachers wanted to meet their dad in person for whatever stupid reason. Dean was learning how to copy his dad's signature, and he was even getting pretty good at it, but he couldn't go to meetings for his dad—instead, Dean learned to make up lies for why he wouldn't be able to make it.

"Yeah, I'll sign it before bed."

"Awesome!"

After dinner Sammy helped clear the table and then ran out of the room as fast as he could manage, murmuring something about homework that he 'forgot' to do, but Dean knew he just didn't want to help do the dishes. The little shit. Dean let it slide, because he was letting a lot of things slide this year, because of the immense guilt he couldn't shake. Part of it was because of the way his dad still looked at him—like he'd failed at his one responsibility. And part of it was Dean trying to make it up to Sam, even though his brother didn't remember anything about it.

When Dean was finished he found Sammy in their bedroom, a blanket stretched from the bed to the dresser. It was suspended, books and shoes piled on top of the edges to keep it from caving in. Dean grinned and peeked his head under the 'fort.'

"Dean! Hurry up and get in here. We're camping."

"Where's the marshmallows, munckin?"

Sammy wrinkled his eyebrows, grabbed a sock, rolled it up, and handed it to Dean. "Here ya go."

"Gee thanks, dude." But Dean took it anyway because he knew it would make his brother happy. Sammy had the biggest imagination right now.

"Oh yeah, before I forget—"

Sammy crawled out of the tent, leaving Dean alone with all the 'marshmallows,' and several toys , which Dean assumed were his 'camping buddies.' Dean couldn't wait till Sammy got a little older and he could use this kind of thing as ammunition against him.

Sam came running back a second later with a pen and a slip of paper, holding it out to Dean. Dean took it and signed it without a second thought. His signature was pretty good by now—at least he hadn't been questioned about it the past two years. Sammy looked up at him with bright eyes, smiling. Dean noticed the red streak crusted against the corner of Sammy's lip. He just rolled his eyes, got some spit on his thumb and rubbed it off before Sammy could jerk away in protest.

"Eww, sick!" He wiped his face.

"Learn how to use a napkin, dude."

"That's gross, Dean."

They played in the tent for a couple hours, till the sun slipped past the horizon, and Sammy's eyes started to droop. Sammy begged him to play for just a little longer, but Dean shook his head no. Every time he let Sam stay up past his bedtime he was grouchy in the morning, and Dean didn't wanna put up with it.

They brushed their teeth side by side, Sammy straining to look into the mirror. Dean laughed at him and made short jokes. Sam grumbled and made dumb blonde jokes. Dean said they only applied to women, which shut him up because Sammy didn't know the first thing about girls; he was surrounded by men.

"Can we sleep in the fort?"

"You can."

"Come on, Dee, sleep in the fort with me. It'll be like real camping."

The look. That stupid look. "Okay, Sammy."

They piled up pillows and blankets, making a makeshift bed on the floor. Sam pulled out a copy of Nancy Drew and insisted Dean listen while he read it. Dean agreed, for two reasons—reading would put Sammy to sleep, and Sam was ridiculously proud of his new reading skills. Dean made fun of him because Nancy Drew was a girl, but Sam ignored him, declaring Nancy Drew could beat Dean's ass. Dean huffed at that, telling Sammy he'd beat his ass, but there was no real truth behind it and Sam knew it.

Dean grabbed the supplies, piling pillows and blankets to make a pallet for them. Sam leaned into him, reading the book to Dean proudly. He smiled at his little brother as he Sam's eyes started to droop. It didn't take long before Sammy stopped reading, his breath coming out in even puffs against Dean's chest.

He snuck out of the fort and grabbed the salt, making a circle around them. There was a time when he would've been happy that Sammy fell asleep so he could go watch T.V., but now there was no way he'd leave his side. Dean curled up next to him, draping an arm over his chest. Sammy smiled in his sleep and Dean grinned back.

It was dark except for Sammy's flashlight, and Dean knew he needed to turn it off, but ever since the shtriga, and for the first time since he was four years old, he was afraid of the dark again. Sure, he knew there were evil things out there; he watched his mother deep fried to a crisp on the ceiling by something that was pure evil; he heard his dad talk about the things he hunted that were pure evil; he saw the scratches and bruises and claw marks that his dad said were given to him by something that was pure evil. But, until the shtriga, he'd never seen a pure evil creature with his own two eyes.

Yeah, monsters were real. He'd known that for a long time now; but there was a difference is knowing it but never seeing it. Now he saw it all the time; clawing in the back of his brain—monsters—ones that would try to come and take Sammy from him. He squeezed his little brother closer to him. No way anything would ever hurt his little brother again, because no matter what, he'd make sure of that