W00T! New fan-fic from me! :D YAY! LOLZ after reading countless stories about de-aged!Dean and protective!Sam, I just couldn't resist and just HAD to try to write one myself :D I hope u like it :3

This take place between the season 1 eps "Scarecrow" and "Faith" since it's during that season when the Winchesters really acted like brothers! ;3; Aaahh...memories oAo

I do not own Supernatural or any character :P Boooo...

Supernatural: (C) Eric Kripke! 8D *bows down to his epicness*

Sam was only back in the hunt for six months, and he had already encountered a wendigo, a demon-infested airplane, a shape-shifter, a swarm of curse-powered insects, and even Bloody Mary herself. He figured that nothing else would be able to surprise him. But he was wrong.

"Easy, Dean, I got ya," Sam huffed as he got the door to their room opened, at the same time struggling to keep his half-unconscious big brother upright with an arm wrapped around his waist while his other hand held Dean's left arm over his shoulder. He quickly shuffled over to the nearest bed and gently laid Dean down on his back. Dean moaned in pain and immediately curled up into a fetal position, wrapping both arms protectively around his mid-section.

"Dean, c'mon, tell me what's wrong. Are you alright?"

Sam and Dean were in Salem, Massechusettes, which, given its long, superstitious history, would have been ironically funny to Sam that they had been hunting a witch, but he was in no laughing mood at the moment. Not while the fact that Dean had been kidnapped by that same witch and possibly endured all sorts of cruel punishments rang fresh in his mind. Sam was just glad he had gotten to Dean in time. The witch had Dean bound to a chair in the rank basement of her Victorian-style home and just forced some sort of vile-smelling black concoction down his throat and had held her hand over his mouth and nose to ensure that he would swallow it and not spew it out all over her. While she had been distracted with this task, Sam had come up behind her and stabbed her through the heart with his Bowie knife, killing her instantly. Sam had then untied Dean and carried him to the Impala and sped back to the motel they were staying in. Dean's injuries were minor; a black eye, a split lip, and a few bruises on his cheekbones, arms, and torso. But that still didn't make Sam feel any less irate towards the witch for even thinking about inflicting those wounds on his brother.

But now Sam had a new thing to worry about; he still had no idea what that black liquid was or what it would do to Dean. He prayed desperately that it wasn't poison. So, as he sat on Dean's bed, rubbing comforting circles along his quivering shoulder blades, as Dean had done many times for Sam when they were younger and Sam was sick, he leafed through the witch's Grimoire, hoping to find some sort of answer and possibly a cure. But there were so many spells and rituals that Sam wasn't even certain of what he was looking for. Most of them were in Latin, and Sam was still a bit rusty in that language, having not used it since before he had left to attend Stanford five years ago. Dean's body soon began to convulse as the burning sensation in his stomach increased. He cried out and turned on his back, sweating bullets and gasping for breath.

Sam quickly tossed the book aside, rushed into the bathroom, and wet the only cheap, threadbare washcloth he could find in the dump that passed as their motel room and hurried back, wiping the cool cloth gingerly across Dean's flushed face as he continued to moan and groan through the pain.

"S'my...h'rts," Dean whined, making Sam's heart catch in his throat and his eyes tear up.

"I know, big brother," Sam said softly, trying to keep his brother calm. "But don't worry. It'll all be over soon. I promise. Just relax and breathe slowly. You've gotta calm down."

Sam then began to breathe in and out slowly till Dean started to mimic him. It hurt Sam to see Dean like this. His big brother always put on a show about being tough and durable. He was the one who had looked after Sam for literally all of his life, ever since witnessing the gruesome death of their mother at a tender age of four. But, because of that damn witch, Dean was reduced to a quivering, fevering mess. All of the defensive walls he kept up to hide his emotions behind were down, which was why Dean was practically begging and crying for the pain to go away. Sam knew he should call Bobby to see if he could help. So, he reached over to the nightstand between the beds and picked up his cell phone, dialing the familiar number of their surrogate father.

After three rings, Bobby's gruff voice answered. "Hello?"

"Bobby!" Sam exclaimed, startling the older hunter.

"Whoa, hello Sam. What's up?" Bobby asked, starting to get a sinking feeling in his gut. "You and that idjit brother of yours alright?"

"Not exactly," Sam sighed, running a nervous hand through his long hair, pushing his bangs up from his forehead.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Uh, Dean and I are in Salem, Massechusettes, and um...we had a little run-in with a witch. Well, actually..." Sam hesitated as his voice began to crack.

"Don't leave me hanging, boy. Tell me the rest."

The words rushed out of Sam's mouth so quick, it was hard for Bobby to keep up. "We were hunting a witch and we couldn't find her so Dean and I split up and she kidnapped Dean and hurt him and made him drink some sort of liquid and now he's lying here, writhing in pain and I don't know what to do, please help, Bobby!" Sam panted hard after that one breath explanation.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Calm down, idjit, before you overheat that big brain of yours. Now, you say a witch had taken Dean, right?"

"Yes, but I got him back."

"Good. But you said she made him swallow some kind of liquid?"

"Yes. It was black, and it's causing Dean to sweat profusely and spike a fever. Also, his stomach is cramping bad."

"Okay, not good. I'll see if I can dig up anything about what she used. The symptoms seem familiar to me and I might know the potion she's used. But I gotta make sure. Are you able to wait?"

"Yeah, I think so. It seems like Dean is finally calming down now. He's not shaking as bad as he was before."

It was true. The burning in Dean's stomach was easing away slowly, allowing him to fall asleep peacefully. His breathing was evening now and becoming normal again. Sam removed the washcloth and felt his forehead, pleased to find that it didn't feel as hot as it had before. It was still warm, but it meant his fever was dropping. He stood up and re-wet the washcloth and placed it back onto Dean's forehead.

"I hope he doesn't go through all of that again," he sighed into the phone, sitting on the adjacent bed.

"Don't worry, kid. We'll figure this out," Bobby assured him.

"Right. Thanks, Bobby. Call me if you find anything."

"You don't have to tell me twice, ya idjit." Bobby replied.

Sam heard the smile in his voice and bid him goodbye before he hung up. He sighed again and tossed the phone onto his pillow and sat there, staring at Dean's sleeping form. Everything seemed right with the world at the moment. Sam stood up and pulled the comforter and sheet gently from under his sleeping sibling and draped them over him, pulling them up to Dean's chin, tucking him in. He then ghosted a hand through Dean's short, cropped dark-blonde hair, which lay flat against his head with sweat.

Sam then backed away and sat down on his own bed, continuing to look through the witch's book till he eventually nodded off with it lying open across his lap.


It was around four am when Sam was awakened by sniffling. He was a little surprised that something like that could even wake him to begin with. But years of hunting with his older brother and father had made his senses very acute; all the better for picking out small hints that the supernatural was around. So, he sat there in the dark, listening for the noise again with honed ears. He didn't have to wait long. A tiny sniffle reached his ears and Sam muttered a confused "What the..?" before he leaned over and flipped on the lamp. He then looked over at his brother's bed, where the sound had originated from and gasped.

Lying in the spot Dean had been just hours ago was a tiny child of about three years in age. His hair was golden blonde and silky, crowning his head in a bowl-cut fashion. It took Sam awhile to realize that the child was a younger version of his big brother! And he was crying! Sam quickly got up and crouched before the other bed, reaching a tentative hand towards his little big brother. Suddenly, Dean's eyes opened, revealing big, frightened emerald irises. His pupils were dilated. He gasped as he saw Sam and instinctively moved back, trying to get as far away as possible from the stranger before him. He yelped as he tumbled off the edge and hit the hardwood floor. He began crying as pain shot up his back and head, curling up into a ball.

"Dean!" Sam rushed over to the small child and felt for any damage. Dean flinched under the touch but allowed Sam to carefully scoop him up into his arms and hold him to his chest. "You alright?"

"Where's my Mommy? And Daddy?" Dean whimpered, a sound Sam never thought he'd be hearing coming from his brother.

It then hit Sam. Mary and John Winchester both had still been alive when Dean was three. So it made sense that he would be confused as to why they weren't there now. And also why he didn't recognize Sam. He hadn't even been born yet. Sam's thoughts then flash-backed to the day before when Dean had been suffering through the convulsions. Something finally clicked in his mind. He now knew what the potion did. It was a de-aging potion. At that moment, Sam decided that he officially hated witches.