Deanzilla vs. Hydros: This Time It's Very, Very Personal (continued)
Disclaimer: See Chapter One.
A/N: Posting these shorter chapters is WEIRD for me, LOL. Ah well, I'll get over it ;) Thanks again to the awesome Katiki for beta-ing! Off we go…
Chapter Two: The Pains of Growing
Dean stares at Sam. Sam stares at Dean. Dean's eyes narrow. Sam's eyebrows go up. Dean leans a little closer, studying Sam's face.
"This is a prank, isn't it." Dean drops the question on Sam as he pushes past him and walks to the other side of the room.
"What?!" Sam asks, turning to follow him.
"You heard me." Dean puts his duffel on the bed and starts rummaging for another shirt. "Nice try, little brother, but I'm not falling for it." He holds up his olive shirt and slides an arm through.
"Dean, this isn't a prank."
"Uh-huh."
"Why would I be pranking you?"
"You tell me—it's your stupid prank." Dean puts his other arm through and starts to roll up the sleeves—only to see that they're both already short. He drops his arms, waves them to unravel any clingy fabric, and checks again. Neither sleeve gets any closer to his wrist. "What the hell, Sam? Did you wreck ALL my clothes for this?"
The bitchface makes its first appearance of the day. "Yeah, you got me. In fact, last night, while you were asleep, I went out and bought smaller versions of all your clothes, JUST to mess with you." Dean looks down at his shirt, and Sam rolls his eyes. "This isn't a prank, Dean!" Sam insists. "You're really taller! And so are your clothes—well, some of them. The ones you had on yesterday. Look." Sam whooshes past him and retrieves the shirts. "These will fit you. Try them."
Dean looks skeptical, but he takes the grey tee and pulls it on. Sure enough, it fits just fine.
"I noticed they were a little bigger this morning," Sam tells him. "I put them on, thinking they were my clothes." Dean puts on the blue button-down next and the sleeves reach all the way down. He rolls them up and looks at Sam, still not buying it. "Look at your jeans, they're as long as mine!" Sam holds the two pairs up side by side to demonstrate. "And your boots, compare them to your other—" Sam looks down and notes for the first time that Dean is barefoot. "Where are your shoes?"
Dean turns sheepish. "I, uh…took them off in the car." Sam throws him a look, and Dean retorts, "What? My feet hurt."
"Let me guess—your shoes felt too small?"
Dean points at him. "Don't read into that."
"And what about your socks?"
"They had holes in them."
"Dean, most of your socks have holes in them."
Dean shakes his head and murmurs, "Not like these," thinking of the completely torn-through socks that fell off his feet the instant he freed them from his other pair of boots. He looks at Sam again. Really looks. Sees the inch he's gained on his ginormotron brother. So this is real? Dean thinks, checking to see if Sam is slouching or standing in a dip in the floor. He isn't—Sam even straightens as Dean looks him over.
"You believe me now?" Sam asks, looking up at his brother (and mirroring Dean's look of bewilderment as he does so).
"I don't know what to believe," Dean confesses, sounding more annoyed than lost. "So what, I'm growing? I'm almost 30—why the growth spurt now?"
"It's not a normal growth spurt."
"Wow, you think?" Dean glares. He opens his mouth to snap something else, only to suck in a sharp breath instead. His eyes balloon and his face flushes.
"Dean?" Sam is visibly worried, and Dean tries to wave it off, but he cries out, torso heaving forward in obvious pain. Sam puts his hand on Dean's shoulder to steady him. "What? What's wrong?"
"Breathing room...gone!" Dean wheezes in a high voice, still doubled over. Sam looks even more confused, until Dean points 'down there', then gestures the whole area being cut off.
"You mean it's…?"
A fierce nod from Dean.
"And they're—?!"
Another fierce nod, accompanied by a few tears. Sam smirks and giggles. Dean throws his best death glare, and Sam chuckles, "What? Dude, that's FUNNY." Dean pushes him off and shuffles toward the bed. "Come on! You know you'd be laughing at me if I was the one—" Dean falls to the floor. Sam's smirk drops at once. He rushes over to Dean just as his brother rolls onto his back, face clenched in pain. Sam hesitates, readies himself, and then reaches for Dean's zipper. Dean smacks him away.
"Hands off the merchandise!" Dean barks, still wincing through the tears.
"Then what do you want me to do?"
Dean props himself up on an elbow and shakes his head hard, obviously trying to get a grip. "Get me up…help me to the bathroom…"
Sam puts an arm behind Dean's back and another on Dean's shoulder and lets his brother lean on him as they both stand up. Sam feels Dean's muscles and skin rippling and elongating, the cotton shirt smoothing out with the growing form instead of constricting it. Sam has to bite his tongue to keep from commenting on how weird it all is. He walks Dean over to the bathroom, and Dean kicks his clean jeans and boxer briefs onto the linoleum. "I can do this," he assures both himself and Sam, and he takes a deep breath and steps inside. Sam heads straight for his laptop.
"It has to be the hydros," Sam calls, sitting down on his bed and resting the computer on his lap. "All that blue crap that covered you after you killed it."
"Timing fits," Dean calls back, voice still shortened by pain. "Explains my clothes, too. But Bobby never mentioned anything about hydros blood making things grow. You think he would've given us a heads up."
"Maybe he didn't know. Hydros lore is pretty scarce—"
Sam jolts as a fairly loud scream comes out of the bathroom. Sam doesn't tease him—that one sounded like it really hurt.
"Everything all right in there?" Sam asks, almost afraid to know.
"Put it this way, Sammy—you know those old cartoons where they'd get a knock on the head, and this big pointy bump would swell up and throb and you could throw a horseshoe around it?" Dean pauses so Sam can get the clear picture in his head. "Yeah, it's like that, only worse, cos it's the other head."
Sam bristles at the description. "Ow."
"Yeah. Thanks for asking."
"Sorry."
Sam goes back to his laptop, though it's clear that he won't be getting anywhere—there's no WiFi around. Should've known, Sam thinks, closing the computer again. He gets out his phone and finds a message from Bobby:
Feel free to let me know if you're still alive. No rush.
Sam smiles at the gruff concern. "Sorry, Bobby." He already has their old friend's contact number highlighted and is hitting the Connect button. Through the paper-thin walls behind him, Sam hears fabric being ripped. Then Dean grunts, cries out again, and grunts some more. Another tear, another tug, and then Dean heaves a long, contented sigh.
"Holy FUCK that's better!" Dean shouts. Sam grins, both amused and relieved, and then turns his attention back to his phone. Bobby isn't picking up, so Sam presses the code to leave a message.
"Hey Bobby, it's Sam. We're alive, hunt went fine, but something's going on with Dean. Nothing bad…well, sorta bad, but not dying-bad…just—look, when you get this, call me back, all right?" Sam pockets his phone again and looks up as Dean emerges from the bathroom, fully dressed save for his socks and looking very relaxed.
"So much better," he says again, that little kid smile on his face. It makes Sam smile in turn. Dean bends down and retrieves his socks and boots from the floor. "Hurry up and get ready. Breakfast is calling, and I have to answer."
Sam stands up and walks over to his own clothes. "You ate a family-sized meal last night, and you're still hungry for breakfast?"
Dean beams down at him. "What can I say? I'm a growing boy, Sammy." He stands tall to prove it, and both men see he's gained about another inch in just a few minutes. Sam is now eye-level with Dean's smirking mouth—right about where Dean usually is on Sam.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Sam asks, astonished and a bit annoyed. The smirk becomes a grin.
"It feels right, Sammy." Dean claps him on the shoulder. "I haven't been able to see over your head since you were 15. Now the big brother is the bigger brother again. What's not to like?" Dean kneels down and starts to tie the laces on his boots. He sees Sam still standing there, looking troubled. "NOW what?"
Sam shakes his head. "I don't know, man…a minute ago you were in a world of pain, and now you're Mr. Sunshine."
"More like Mr. Blue Sky," Dean winks. Sam starts to frown, so Dean shoos him away. "G'wan! Get dressed, let's go. Both our brains work better on coffee. We'll caffeinate and we'll search for answers, just like any other day."
Boots laced, Dean stands back up and grabs the car keys off the table. He's whistling the happy ELO tune as he goes to the door, ducks his head, and walks outside. Sam watches Dean's tall shadow stroll past the shade-covered window, and Sam's eyes drift back to the door. He walks over and stands directly in front of it. The frame is a few inches higher than the top of his head. Sam sulks as he turns back to face the room.
For the first time in years, he feels short.
After Sam's dressed and Dean is done fussing with the Impala's bench seat again, they seek out the nearest greasy spoon. There, Dean orders half the breakfast menu, doubling up on bacon and coffee. Sam just orders Belgian waffles.
"Oooh, I forgot about waffles," Dean coos as the middle-aged waitress scribbles his brother's order. "I'll take some of those, too." The waitress scowls and mutters something under her breath. A small bit of glee leaves Dean's face. "What? Don't I deserve waffles today?"
The waitress turns her scowl to Dean. "You shouldn't order what you won't eat."
Dean smiles at her, cool and charming. "And what makes you think I won't clean my plate, sweetheart?"
"Because you've ordered seven plates." She points her pen over her shoulder to a very large man sitting over two chairs at the counter. "Even Leon can't eat seven plates in one go. You're going to waste our time cooking it, just so you can eat a little off everything and waste the rest. People are starving in the world, you know, and you're—"
"Save the speech," Dean interrupts, still smiling. "I swear I'm going to eat it all." The scowl remains on the waitress' face. "Tell you what—if I don't, you can let Leon kick my ass out the door."
She rips the ticket off her order pad. "I'm holding you to that." She turns on her heel and clomps back to the kitchen. Dean leans back and relaxes against the worn cushions in the booth. Sam is on his laptop, typing and clicking away. "Find anything yet?"
"About you eating enough for a small army? Amazingly, no."
"Funny, Sam. Really."
Sam keeps his eyes on the screen as he reads on. "Looking through the excerpts from the medieval bestiary Bobby pointed us to yesterday. Nothing we don't already know." The waitress arrives with their coffee, and Sam pauses as she pours. Sam thanks her, and she smiles and nods a 'you're welcome.' Dean does the same, and she slams the urn down on the table and walks away. Dean chuckles after her departure.
"She does NOT like me," he announces, not at all bothered by it. He pours his own mug and takes a sip. "Mmm. Good jo though."
Sam's phone rings, and Sam nearly fumbles it into his own mug as he races to retrieve it from his jacket pocket.
"Bobby?"
"Don't tell me he got bit," Bobby growls into his ear. Sam looks at Dean as his brother reaches to the table next to them and snags the abandoned newspaper.
"No, he didn't," Sam replies. Bobby breathes his relief.
"Good. We'd be in a world of trouble then."
The first of the food arrives—Sam's waffles are set gently down next to his laptop, and Dean takes his plate before the waitress can dump the contents into his lap. Sam anchors the phone with his shoulder as he saws into his breakfast. "What kind of trouble?"
"BIG trouble. The venom of a hydros is like super-strength growth hormone. You get a little bite, you'll only swell up a bit. You get a big bite or a lotta bites, you grow."
Dean's finished his waffles and is on to his mountain of bacon, just delivered by their waitress. "How much?" Sam asks, looking at Dean's big hands as they scoop up the bacon pile and shove it into his watering mouth.
"Depends on how much venom gets in the blood. The more you get, the more you grow. In fact, people as far back as ancient Greece used to use small doses of hydros venom to make themselves bigger and stronger. Sorta like snake steroids."
The rest of the food is on the table now, and Dean is practically inhaling it plate by plate, pausing only for the occasional sip of coffee. The waitress and the cook watch from the diner counter, both mouths dropped into 'O's. Sam swallows the single piece of waffle he's had in his mouth this whole time. He cups his hand over the phone. "I'll be right back…can barely hear him." Dean waves with his fork, eyes still on his feast, and Sam slides out of the booth and steps outside.
"Bobby…hypothetical question."
"Shoot."
"What would happen if a person gets a lot of hydros venom—like, buckets of it?"
"Hydros would have to be pretty big for anyone to get buckets of the stuff…"
"How big can the person get?" Sam presses. "Are there any side-effects? How long before they're back to normal?"
"Sam…"
"Just tell me, Bobby. How big?"
"Well, REAL big. There are stories of victims growing to giants, even Titan-sized. And if it isn't treated right away…"
"What?" Sam looks back at Dean through the window. He's just finished and is calmly sipping coffee and reading the newspaper. "What happens?"
Bobby sighs into the receiver. "Shit…we're talking about Dean, here, aren't we."
"You should've told us about the venom!"
"I didn't think I'd have to tell you morons not to let a snake bite ya!"
"I already told you, Dean didn't get bit," Sam snaps back. "He killed the hydros with the bronze sword we stole from the museum, just like you told him to. But after he cut its throat, some blue goop came out of its neck and covered Dean head to toe."
"And now he's getting bigger," Bobby surmises. "Great. How much bigger?"
"Few inches so far. His clothes and shoes are growing with him. What's the cure?"
"Well, tradition holds that ox dung is the only treatment."
"Ox dung," Sam repeats, looking in on his brother again. "Dean's gonna love that."
"It might not be enough. If Dean came in contact with that much venom…"
Sam pinches the skin between his eyebrows and sighs out his worry. "What, Bobby?"
"I don't know yet. Could be bad, could be very bad."
"That's encouraging."
"People have died from this, Sam. Their hearts can't take the stress of growing. Chances are good that Dean won't be one of 'em, but I'm not gonna lie to you and say it's not a possibility."
Sam turns away from the window, nodding even though he knows Bobby can't see it. "Just keep an eye on Dean," Bobby instructs. "I'll look into this and get back to you soon as I know anything."
Sam thanks him and hangs up. Then he goes back inside. To his surprise, Dean has left Sam's waffles be. Sam sits back down in his seat, and Dean smiles and toasts him with his coffee mug.
"So? What did Bobby have to say?"
Sam watches Dean's fingers grow longer, obscuring the design on the coffee cup, as his shoulders broaden and his left knee gently bumps into Sam's. Dean doesn't seem to notice, just waits for Sam to answer.
"Let me eat. Then we'll talk."
Dean shrugs in good nature, takes a sip of coffee, and goes back to reading the newspaper. Sam takes another bite of waffles as he tries to figure out just how to break it to Dean that his enjoyable growth spurt might just end up killing him. The thought wrecks Sam's appetite, not to mention any shred of remaining good mood, but he knows he has to eat, so he forces the food down, one bite at a time. He shuts his eyes.
It'll be fine, he tells himself. You'll fix this. Bobby will find the answer, and if he doesn't, you will.
His eyes reopen to Dean hanging his head in his hands. "Dean? You all right?"
"Headache's back," Dean grumbles. He lifts his head up a little—and freezes. The color drains from his face. His eyes glaze over as he looks at Sam. Then he starts to tremble. In seconds the trembles become seizures. His chin drops and his arms wave around wildly, knocking the mugs and a few plates from the table. Sam rushes over just in time to catch his brother before he tumbles to the ground.
"I gotcha," Sam says, easing Dean back into the booth. Dean winces as Sam's hand touches his back. "What, it hurts?" Dean nods at the question, gesturing to his back and to his head. Kneeling down next to the booth, Sam looks over at the gaggle of rubberneckers and spots the waitress. "Could you get me some ice for my brother's head?" She nods and rushes to the kitchen. Sam turns his attention back to Dean. The color is returning to his face, and his eyes are back to their sharp green. "If you wanted seconds, all you had to do was ask," Sam jokes, trying to lighten the mood. Dean gives a pained smile as he looks at him.
"Sorry," Dean tells him. "Dunno what that was…it's like I got stabbed in the head. Then my back, ugh…" Dean rubs at his shoulders, then his lower back, twisting to look down at it. "Feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it." The waitress returns with some ice wrapped in a dishcloth and hands the bundle to Dean, former annoyance with her customer now replaced with a motherly concern. Dean takes the cloth and holds it to the front of his head.
"How, uh…how's your heart?" Sam asks.
"Beating. Why?" Sam doesn't answer him, and Dean looks up and frowns. "Bad news from Bobby, huh."
"Yeah."
"How bad? Annoying-bad or red-alert-bad or no-Christmas-this-year-bad?"
Sam looks back and replies, "Ox-dung-bad."
Dean shoots Sam a double eyebrow. "Wow. That's bad." He signals for the check and slides to the edge of the booth.
"Wait, where are you going?"
"To the car. Have a crazy feeling that I'm gonna want to hear this bad news from the comfort of my baby's plushy goodness."
Dean pulls a wad of crumpled bills from his jeans pocket and drops them on the table. Then he grabs the newspaper and shuffles toward the door. Sam scurries after him, scared that Dean will topple again, only to find something much more worrying:
Sam's now only eye-level with the bottom of Dean's neck.
