So sorry that it has been so long since I updated, and then I updated this instead of My Twist to the Winchester Tale, so I suppose I need to apologize for that, too! I really have been busy though, honest. I'm not exaggerating. If you need verification, there are people I can send you to for validation. Or check my Twitter. I've been ranting about it on there, too. I cannot even make up half the stuff that has been going on in my life.

I'm so glad so many you have enjoyed this story so far! You don't even know how scared I was to post it. Talk about a dilemma. But, I have had multiple confirmations that I should continue, so here I am.

For this chapter, it is in 3rd person, and I did that for 2 reasons.
1. Becca's age is very young in this chapter, and I don't know about you, but I don't really know what goes through the mind of someone at that age anymore. So I changed it.
2. I wanted to practice my detailing. With My Twist I do a lot more of a "story telling" type of story instead of a real "narrative" or whatever. So, I am really hoping to have done well with this.

Also, for the way that each character acts in this chapter, I have based Becca, Sam, and Dean all off of children that I, myself, babysit at these same ages. I tried to match these three children with those specific 3-4 children, while also keeping the canon personalities in tact. I don't know if I did that well. I hope you can find all of what I wrote to be believable.

There is an area I am still uncertain about, so I hope that doesn't show through as you read it. Please, be sure to let me know what you like/dislike about this chapter - BECAUSE it is so different from the past ones. If you think certain areas need further detailing, be sure to let me know so that I can fix them and put them to where they need to be!

Thank you to all of you who reviewed and added this story to your alerts. You blew my mind, really. I didn't expect any response at all for these, and you are all just amazing. I owe you so much.
And extra thanks to Jenmm31 and sweetkiwi604 for helping me out. Be sure to check out all of their stories, guys! They're great reads.

READ. REVIEW. ENJOY. :)

Disclaimer.

Late Night Secret Swapping

Ages:
Dean: 8
Sam/Becca: 4

Year:
1987; Late Winter

3rd person POV

Lydia walked around the edge of the bed, using her short fingers to tuck a piece of mousy brown hair behind the rim of her ear. She sighed out an exhausted breath and slowly moved, barely lifting her cotton covered feet off of the brown shag carpet that seemed to emit a small puff of dust and odor of mildew each time someone put pressure into it. Stopping and pressing her upper thigh against the dulled and repeatedly indented edge of the end table that stood between the two queen beds, she stuck her head under the lamp that was bolted to the wall, and searched for small plastic knob. Clicking the instrument two times, she shut the light off before it turning it on again, leaving it to sit at the dimmest setting it had. Standing back up to her full height that wasn't much taller than the headboard of each bed, she put on a weary smile while she absentmindedly rested a hand on the top of the brunette head that passed by her midsection before struggling to crawl into the bed and lay down beside her twin. "I don't feel good," the voice that came out of the little girl's mouth was small and more of a whine than a full complaint. Waiting for Becca to turn from her knees to her back, Lydia reached to the middle of the bed and drew up the stiff sheet and scratchy blanket with one swift movement of her left hand before dropping it underneath where Becca's arms were waiting, upraised in the air. Sticking her fingertips against the fabric of the brown cover, Lydia pressed hard enough to create a shallow indent and then ran her hands down the length of Becca's body, sufficiently tucking the child into place.

Making a face and frowning, Lydia furrowed her brows while sweeping her light gray eyes over the little girl's face and other exposed areas of skin for an immediate sign of physical discomfort or trauma that would explain the previous comment. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, her hooded eyes looked into the bright, vibrant green eyes that almost seemed too big for such a small human. A lower, bright pink lip was jutted out past its upper half, and its color matched round cheeks that contrasted against an otherwise paler complexion. Brown hair hung in thick sections that had developed from a lack of brushing and large amount of free movement throughout the duration of the day, some pieces overlapping and covering part of her face. Not finding any visual upset, Lydia lifted a brow and played along and made sure to sound concerned enough that Becca would continue on and maybe explain just what it was that was really upsetting her. "You don't?!" Lydia pressed. "What's wrong?" she questioned while placing her hands on her hips and standing up to look down on the child.

Becca curled up a small fist and pressed it tightly against her eye while her opposite hand clutched at the torn and fraying satin ribbon that ran along and bordered the edge of the blanket. "My tummy hurts," the voice came through as a quiet plea, as though she was almost afraid that by confessing her pain, she would have been in trouble and swiftly punished.

Feeling her heart squeeze just a bit, Lydia stuck out her own painted lower lip and leaned down to stroke her fingers through the brunette pieces and tangles of hair. Smiling faintly, Lydia rubbed her thumb along Becca's cheek, trying to relax her. "Well, you try and get some sleep, okay? Maybe when you wake up, your tummy won't hurt anymore," she tried. Removing her hand standing back up, Lydia prepared herself to step away from the three young children that were all plagued with slowly drooping lids and faint lavender colored circles around each eye. She was ready to drop into one of the cheap, wooden chairs that barely allowed someone to properly sit at the table shoved against the peeling orange wall. She could read a book, or maybe watch the television quietly, or maybe even lay her head down and drift off into her own slumber. Each drew her in with some sort of happiness, and she felt an internal tug towards the chair.

Before she could make a single move, something in the air switched, and it was as though Lydia had suddenly said something unbelievably horrible instead of her words of attempted reassurance. Becca's chin immediately wrinkled as it bounced up and down, causing her bottom lip to tremble tremendously. Her bright, forest colored eyes welled up with thick tears and large drops began to fall off the edge of her rims where they clung to her cheeks before sliding down and then dripping off the line that defined her jaw. Becca's eyes then clenched shut as her small frame appeared to want to bend in half with each twitch that came from the loud, cough-like sobs that were suddenly filling the whole room. "I want my daddy," Becca wailed through the tears before the sobs progressed.

It was at this time that Sam turned over from his right side and pulled himself up on to his knees staring saucer eyed up to Lydia – whose mouth had formed a small "o" at the sudden eruption. The blankets gathered around Sam's knees where he was readjusting himself in the newly forming indents in the lumpy, uncomfortable mattress. "I think you should call my daddy," he suggested in a loud voice, so as to be heard over the cries of his sister beside him. He was lightly entwining the backs of his knuckles with one another so that all of his fingers crossed and pointed towards his chest, as though here were unsure of his own actions. But his voice gained excitement and volume as he continued the chant. Sam looked beside him to where Becca was laying, cheeks growing red, forehead wrinkled, and a hand stuffed near her mouth. She continued to allow the cough like sobs to fill her, and his own face fell and his bottom lip stuck out as tears soon began to well up along the rims of his tired, hazel eyes as well.

Lydia's face formed a deep frown as she took in the sight before her. Sam's chants were growing choppier and choppier as his own words began to slur and break apart due to his quivering lips and soft cries. One crying child was certainly enough for Lydia at this point. Running around after the three of them in this one small area might seem like an easy feat, but it was definitely not. Fights had broken out, high pitched screams erupted, nosey children were digging through things that she had been specifically told were off limits, eight year boys were acting like eighteen year old boys and giving her grief while also partially respecting her. It was enough to make her want to scream herself. She didn't need, or want, two children to be crying right now. "Your daddy said to only call him if it was an emergency," she huffed out, clear to herself that she was annoyed and waiting for her endless hours of babysitting to end. Sam's sympathy tears slowed as he used the heel of his palm to wipe tears from against his eyes. He looked up to Lydia as though he was expecting her to continued on with more while Becca continued to cry beside him and Dean was beginning to move and pull himself up into a sitting position on his own bed. "A tummy ache isn't an emergency," Lydia lightly scolded all three of them when she realized she would now have to struggle with putting back all three children.

Making her way around the foot of the twins' bed, Lydia picked up Sam and laid him down on the mattress so that he was facing the ceiling and her face. She tucked him in like she had his sister, although she knew that she had possibly done it a bit more roughly than she intended. Sam allowed for Lydia's attempt in resettling him, but his assurance that his father be called picked back up as well as the small flow of tears. "Daddy will think it's 'mergency," he announced through a small break in his lips. He nodded his head as though he believed in his own words, and he watched Lydia move back to stand between the beds, without moving from his spot.

Becca's cries grew louder and more intense as both of her tiny fists curled tighter and pressed tightly against her eyes. Dean was eyeing Lydia with an obvious detest, and was in the process of crawling out of his own bed and squeezing himself in besides his younger sister. He was attempting to balance himself between Becca and the edge of the mattress as Lydia came to send beside him. "Shh, Becca," Dean whispered as he pulled the blanket over him and drew his sibling tightly to his chest. Becca rolled against her brother, but her cries did not subside with Dean's attempts to calm her down.

"I want my daddy!" Becca yelled loudly, yet the words were muffled by her mouth being against Dean's shirt.

Dean hugged her tighter to him and his eyes moved over to his brother when Sam sat back up and began reciting, "Daddy think it's 'mergency," and, "You shoul' call my daddy," over and over again as a louder demand while pointing to his twin and patting her head lazily with his semi sticky hand.

Frustration was bubbling up from deep inside of Lydia. They had been lying down nicely, and now it was like a fiasco had come sweeping in like a rough, cold wind on a stale, hot day. Becca's crying mixed with Sam's repetitive chants were tearing at her nerves. "No!" she finally exploded. Her left foot rose and collided with the ground so quickly that the action shocked even herself. "You guys, stop now! Sam, you lay back down and go to sleep," she instructed as she stomped around the bed once again, and hastily forced him down into a sleeping position. "Dean, you go back into your bed," she pointed a finger to the bed that lay in the distance that lay unmade. "And Becca," she finished, looking down at the little girl with anger, "you stop that crying. I'm not calling your daddy. It is time for bed, so you all need to go to sleep."

The only child that seemed to pay her any mind, was Sam, and that was clearly because of her forcing him to do as she had commanded. He did however close the distance between himself and his twin, as he tried to create a separation between him and Lydia. His eyes lowered, and his lip stuck out yet again, and Lydia rolled her eyes, feeling as though he was being dramatic at her reprimand. Dean looked over Becca's head to Sam's dejected form, and he lowered his small brows before looking up at Lydia with disdain. "Can I just stay here tonight? I promise I'll get her to stop," he told the sitter.

Noticing that Becca's sobs had in fact calmed down from before Dean had crawled in next to her, Lydia scrunched her lips up, not wanting to allow him to disregard her order. But, when Dean's eyes softened and he blinked up at her to show green, almond shaped orbs, her heart melted. He looked so sad, and broken, like this was the only thing possibly tying him down to the world at this exact moment. She immediately felt that if she separated the three of them, she'd be more than just breaking up this tension, and that Dean might just break, too. Running a hand through her hair and rolling her head back towards the ceiling, Lydia knew she had been played… and by an eight year old. "Fine!" she growled out, trying not to sound like she had truly lost. Lowering her head, and looking at Dean, she made sure he knew that she was limiting any control he tried to maintain. "But you all need to go to sleep. Do you understand me? If you don't, you're all being separated," she threatened with a bit of a waver in voice – knowing she really had no final say.

Dean seemed to completely ignore her the minute she gave in, and his head lowered so that he was focusing fully on his siblings once more. Sam was watching Dean's hand as it lightly landed on the crown of Becca's head and then slowly moved down to the end of her hair, and then repeated the process over and over. Sam then raised his own hand, and left it hovering in the air above Becca's hair as his eyes moved from Becca's head to Dean's eyes. Noticing the small hand, Dean looked over to his brother. "Wanna help me, Sammy?" Dean requested. Sam's face lit up the second that Dean uttered the words, and his head bobbed up and down quickly while he closed his mouth and swallowed slightly. Dean indicated for Sam to lower his hand, and soon there were two hands moving down the side of Becca's brunette hair, the smaller one following the lead of the bigger one. Lydia watched in amazement, and she found herself feeling guilty and ashamed of her prior actions. Clicking off the main lights to the motel room, she slowly sat down in one of the chairs at the table – satisfying the craving of relaxation that had been consuming her for over thirty-six hours. However, instead of picking up one of her books, or moving to turn on the television, she found herself watching the three children on the bed. Sam slumped down into the pillow beside his sister, and his eyes fought and fluttered to stay open before his hand lazily slowed and then ceased to move all together. Sam's inhales were drawing deeper and were mirrored by Becca's as the sobs died down and her tears stopped flowing, and her break down ended all together. "Good job, Sammy," Dean praised his younger sibling quietly, receiving a small smile before Sam completely gave into sleep.

Propping one elbow up onto the table and placing her chin in her palm, Lydia couldn't tear her eyes away from the sight. Dean continued to watch both of his sleeping siblings for a few more hours until he himself could no longer fight the fatigue that was drowning him.

Hours later the only light in the damp, darkened room was a dark hue from the television as John Winchester lazily leaned back in his chair and rested the back of his head against the window over the small table. The cool glass was a nice counteract to the heat that swelled inside. Sipping from a bottle of beer, he ran his tongue along the part in his lips to catch the last of the drops before he set the glass against the wood surface of the table, a rough noise sounding at the collision. He was exhausted, which really was no different from any other day he'd lived during the last four, almost five years, and he began to question if he would ever not be exhausted again. He felt his body slump in the chair, and his grip on the bottle loosened while his eyes closed and lingered there for a brief moment. Just as he felt his body relaxing is when he heard the soft sound of bare feet slowly creeping across the old, moth eaten carpet that emitted a wet, damp smell of mold and old dust that hadn't been stirred up in months and almost seemed to indent the fibers with each step. Making sure to be alert, but not make any movements, he waited patiently for a further sound, but there was none. The uneasiness in the air didn't dissipate, and before he burst from the tension, John slowly opened one eye before he fully opened both and looked towards the beds where a small girl stood with hair plastered to her face from sweat. She was rubbing an eye, and biting her lip, and sniffing back an incoming tear. John watched as her eyes seemed to fight to stay open while she swayed on her feet and continued to not make any noise. "Becca, what're you doin' up?" he croaked past his tired voice in a calm manner as he sat up straighter and tightened the grip he'd lost on his bottle.

"My tummy hurts," she mumbled out quietly, not moving from her spot.

John eyed her, unable to seriously assess if there was a problem. He motioned for her to come to him and then hoisted her up onto his lap. Trading the grip on his bottle for one on his daughter, John wrapped an arm around Becca and secured her to him. Next, he brought up his other rough, calloused hand and covered her entire forehead with his palm, feeling a more than natural warmth between their touching skins. Then, sweeping his hand back, he dragged her hair away from her face as he hummed out a questioning tone. His eyes scanned over her face as he did his best to gauge the color of her cheeks in the television's light.

Becca made a face as tears began to rim her eyes. "I think I'm gonna throwed up," she cried to him as her hand shot back up to her eye.

John immediately moved, knowing that by saying those words, the action would soon follow. Just as he raised the toilet seat and lid and smacked them against the sweating tank with a loud "crack", Becca emptied the contents of her stomach into the stained bowl. Readjusting his grip around her waist, John managed to gather all of her thick hair into one large hand, and he grimaced as she continued to cough and sputter. Tears streaked down her cheeks, and he pulled her up when he heard clear sobs coming from her. Hitting the handle, John then focused on his daughter, lifting her up he gently set her on the cracked bathroom counter. Wetting a thin, motel provided washcloth, he wrung it out before wiping it on her forehead and cheeks, and then cleaning the dirtied area around her mouth. "Feelin' any better?" he asked, dropping the rag into the sink behind her.

Becca hung her head and shook it while she stared at her knees. "Do I has cooties?" Her voice was so quiet that John almost missed what she said completely.

John had to tilt his head at the words. He felt as though he'd misheard her completely and didn't quite know how to respond to it. "What?" he sharply questioned.

A large inhale filled Becca's small frame, raising her shoulders as she prepared herself for the explanation. "Dean, Dean said girls gots cooties, and that, and that they make peep, peep, us sick!" she announced while wiping the back of her hand under her nose.

Shaking his head, a small smile graced John's face and his eyes lit up for a small moment. "No," he answered her. "You don't have cooties."

"Promised?"

"Promise," he assured her with a swipe of his thumb across her cheek as he removed the last of her tears.

As Becca lifted up her head to show her father her own smile, her hands shot up to her mouth and her cheeks puffed out before her body lurched and her stomach sent a burning warmth up her throat and into her hands where it seeped between her fingers and onto not only herself, but also onto her father's shoes as he jumped back instinctively.

Trying to calm his daughter down, John plucked her off of the sink and moved her into the tub before turning on the water and removing her clothes. Cleaning up both Becca, and himself, John drained the tub and wrapped a worn towel around her before picking her up and walking back out into the main area of the motel room. Redressing Becca, and cleaning up all of their mess, he gathered her in his arms, and then sat down in one of the chairs at the table, setting her on his knee. Picking up his earlier discarded bottle, he took a long sip and felt his body relax as Becca yawned.

"And I don't has cooties," she repeated while moving her head to look up at her father's prickly, unshaved chin.

"No. You don't have cooties," he told her through a sigh while his body twisted with the motion of him finally able to kick off his shoes.

"Daddy…" Becca trailed off, fixing her face so that her chin was tightly tucked against his chest. She stared forward to where her brothers were still laying in the bed, facing each other. "I think I gots a secret to tell you. But you can't tell Dean… I think the cooties gots Dean, like those, those spots on his face," he spilled out.

Chuckling at her innocence, John pulled Becca to him tighter and adjusted the blanket he'd grabbed to drape over her. "Try and get some sleep, Becs, all right?"

Becca complied and nodded her head, wanting to do what her dad told her. "Hey, Daddy?" she croaked.

"Mmm?" John mumbled as he felt his own eyes drooping and Becca snuggled in closer to him, feeling a sense of protection just by having him hold her. It was a small gesture that neither of them really knew they needed again until it was happening. He provided her a feeling like nothing could ever harm her, while she reminded him of innocence and youth that he felt the world around him lost when reality came to surface all those years ago.

"How comes you gots that scary book with all dem mon-" she cut herself off with a yawn and a splayed hand over her open mouth, "-sters in it?"

John's eyes snapped open and his body tensed up against his daughter, before he slowly addressed the question. His hand that was against her leg, holding her to him, patted her leg lightly, as if it were unsure how to react. "What book are you talkin' about?"

Squirming against his suddenly tighter hold, Becca wriggled arms from being pinned. "The one in one of your bags. I saw, I saw all the scary pictures in there, and they looked like dem monsters on the telebision. You knows, the scary ones. Are those the bad guys you was talkin' 'bout you shoots wif your gum?"

Dragging over another chair with his hand, John moved Becca so that she was now sitting in front of him and facing him directly. "What were you doing in my bag?" he lightly scolded with a tone that told her even then, at such a young age, that he expected answers, and he expected them to be honest.

Her bottom lip started to tremble, already knowing that she was going to be in some sort of trouble. She knew going through his bag was wrong, and Dean had reminded her of that earlier, only for them both to be yelled at by Lydia who snatched the bag away quickly after Dean stuffed the book back into it. "I was lookin' for, for Fuzzles," she squeaked out, trying to show him she was sorry for not listening. "I 'membered you said he was in one of your, of your bags, 'n I founded your book."

Closing his eyes for a moment, John inwardly cursed himself for not making sure that he had remembered to take the book, or even the bag. Or if he had even been a little bit more careful in making sure that her damn stuffed sheep had been either in her hands or in her own bag before they left the last motel, none of this would have happened. He had done this to himself. His mouth dropped before he opened his eyes and leaned forward in his chair. "You stay out of my bags from now on, okay? If you need something from one of my bags, you tell me. Understand?"

Becca nodded her head, looking down, guilt clear across her entire face. "I sorry I looked at your book, Daddy…" she spoke quietly. "Is those the bad guys you talked 'bout?" she asked as she raised her head back up to look into his tired, low lidded eyes.

John eyed her, trying to recall that particular conversation. "What bad guys are you talkin' about, Becca?"

"'Member, 'member, when I founded your, your gum that, you said, 'member, Daddy, you, you said that, that it was yours an', 'n I was nots t' touch it, 'cause you, you said it was, it was, you said it was for protextin' 'gainst bad guys."

Puffing out a breath, John looked confused for a moment before he nodded as the conversation replayed in his mind. "Yeah, I remember," he gruffly sighed out while rubbing his hands up and down his face abrasively. Stopping, he leaned his forearms on his knees and grabbed his daughter's hands, and made sure she was looking directly at him. "Becca, look at me," he instructed drawing her big, bright eyes to his brown ones. He paused for a moment, seeming to have an internal battle as to whether he should be having this conversation or not. "Monsters aren't real, Becca."

Immediately nodding her head up and down, Becca's eyes went round. "Uh huh! Monsters are real, Daddy. And Dean said, Dean said that you're, you're like a superhero! And superheroes stop the monster bad guys! If you're a superhero, then, then, then you fights monsters."

"Listen," he stopped her rant, needing her to focus on reality and not on pretend heroes. "I do what I have to, to keep you, and Dean –"

"And Sammy?"

"And Sammy," he agreed. "All of you. It is my job to keep you three safe. I go out there to stop whatever I can so that it can't get you or your brothers. That's what I do when I'm not here… Does that make sense?"

Becca watched him closely, allowing his deep voice to sink into her small head. It was as though John could see the wheels in her head spinning as her eyes slowly, and barely, shifted to the bottom left corner and bottom lip separated from her top, and the smallest indent formed at the space between the inside points of her brows. "You stops the bad guys?" a small smile graced his face at her small understanding. "Is that, is that why you has your gum? 'Cause only daddies can shoots a gum?"

"Rebecca," he quipped, drawing her eyes and ears immediately to attention while he tightened his hold on her small hands and slightly shook them. "Did you tell Dean or Sammy about the book?"

"Dean catched me and told me not to look at it," she answered honestly, not breaking her eyes away from his.

"He's right," John agreed. "And what about Sam? Did you tell him?"

Shaking her head, Becca's eyes went wide with her answer. "You said, you said we're not 'posed to tell Sammy about this stuffs 'til we talks to you. Dean told me not to tell Sammy 'n I didn't tell Sammy."

"Good," John sighed out a small relief. "Becca, I'm going to tell you a secret now, okay? And you have to promise not to tell your brothers. If you tell Sammy or Dean, I'll be very upset with you."

Becca's eyes widened with shock, and her small face lit up immensely. Pride swelled inside her entire body and filled her with a joy she couldn't even suppress. "I can keep a secret!" she exclaimed, practically jumping off of her seat. "I won't tell!"

"All right," John moved his hands to keep her still, holding her firmly to her spot on the seat. "That gun, that you're not supposed to touch, does stop the monster bad guys. And I do protect you, and Dean –"

"And Sammy."

"And Sammy. Yes. When I am not here, I am fighting the monsters in that book you found. But, you need to really listen now. I have to fight those monsters, okay? To protect you. But, I can only really protect you if you do as I say, okay? Can you do that? Can you help Daddy to keep you safe?"

Becca looked at her father, completely confused at his request. "You needs my help?" John nodded, playing into her questioning while leaning back in his chair. "Oh yeah. If you help me, it will make it easier for me to protect you. And you will be helping me to protect Dean and Sammy, too."

Looking over her shoulder to where her brothers were now each spread across the mattress, hands stuck to faces, and feet kicked out of blankets, a mess of limbs and sheets. "Dean and Sammy?" she whispered disbelievingly.

"Yep, but you gotta keep it a secret," John announced before bringing his beer to his lips.

Becca turned back to face her father and nodded her head so quickly that her hair was bouncing frantically on the ends. "I wanna help, Daddy, let me help!"

John smiled a genuine smile at his daughter. Seeing her handle all of this so well, and accepting that he needed to do it released some tight hold that been gripping the inside of him. It was almost nice to have the truth out there, even if it was with a four year old who seemed to never forget anything he ever told her. He placed his bottle on the table and pulled her off her separate chair and back onto his lap before picking up his feet and using the second chair as a foot rest. "You can help me, Becca. But right now, it's time for you to go to sleep," he told her as he wrapped his arms around her and leaned back in his chair, fully prepared to sleep there if necessary.

"Hey, Daddy," Becca whispered up to him just as he was drifting off into sleep. He hummed out a responsive tone, indicating for her to continue. "Did the monsters put the cooties on Dean's face?"

His body twitched against hers as a chuckle deep within his chest erupted. "No," he answered simply.

"Good," Becca seemed relieved before she snuggled deeper into her father's chest and lap, happy just to have him holding her. "'Cause Daddy? I likes Dean. Even if he does have cooties."

"I like Dean, too," John responded before squeezing her to him tightly and placing a kiss on the top of her head.