What exactly do you do when your thirty-four year old brother that acts like a child on a normal day anyway, suddenly is a child, staring at you over a burger, eyes welling with tears because his legs aren't long enough to reach the pedals of his beloved car anymore?
It wouldn't be so bad, Sam thinks, if he had the mental capacity of a child, but no, this spell means Dean only looks like an eight year old. He's still carrying a thirty-four year old's brain and wits, clearly evidenced by the way he just flirted with the waitress as he stared at her boobs.
Sam sighs, runs a hand through his hair. Nothing is ever easy for them.
As the day progresses, Sam realizes that there are elements of his brother's youth at play. He may be thirty-four, but the eight year old in him wants to jump on the bed.
Then he decides it's a good idea to jump from bed to bed, vaulting over the gap between them.
Sam thinks he should probably stop him before he hurts himself, but to hear Dean laughing so freely, with such a huge grin on his face, warms Sam's heart. He wonders if Dean ever even did this as a kid. He was always so busy making sure Sam had everything he needed, always made sure Sam was cared for, it seemed like Dean had never really had a childhood of his own.
So, if his brother wants to jump on the beds, and giggle like a maniac, Sam's going to damn well let him.
Of course, that's when Dean misses the bed completely and collides head first with the wall, a cry of pain sounding as he lands.
Sam helps him up, watching with interest as Dean tries to compose himself, but a tear manages to escape his green eyes anyway.
"Hey, it's ok, Dean. It's ok." The tear turns into a full blown sob, and Sam finds himself with a lap full of crying eight year old, snot and tears soaking through his t-shirt.
Dean cries himself out, and to sleep, and Sam tucks him into the bed furthest from the door.
He can't even begin to express his relief when it's a full-grown Dean shoving him out of bed the next morning, yelling at him to get the lead out.