Author's notes: I apologise for my inaccurate portrayal of medical procedures – I only have a first aid certificate and made up the rest to fit the story! This chapter kind of took on a life of its own and has ended up way longer than I intended.
Chapter 4:
Bobby entered the kitchen from his study to find Dean busy mixing something in a jug.
"Morning, Bobby," muttered the eldest Winchester, attention firmly fixed on what he was doing.
"Morning. Sam not up yet?"
"Nope, still sleeping like a babe." It was going to take some getting used to, waking up before his sibling. As adults, Sam was always the early riser.
Bobby watched curiously for another couple of minutes, but when Dean didn't offer any explanation for what he was doing, curiosity finally got the better of him. "What in the blazes are you doing, Boy?"
Dean turned startled, a grin lighting up his handsome features. "Making pancakes for Sam. Do you want some?"
Bobby looked at Dean like he had lost his mind. "Wouldn't it be quicker and easier to just give the kid cereal? I noticed you came armed with Lucky Charms yesterday."
"Yeah, it would," agreed Dean with a sigh, "but I kinda promised him yesterday that he could have pancakes today and being an awesome big brother, I didn't wanna disappoint."
Bobby rolled his eyes and was about to reply when a yawning Sam appeared in the doorway.
"Morning," muttered Sam, fisting the sleep out of his eyes. Bobby eyed the tall young man, trying to keep the amused grin off his face. Sam had evidently not brushed his hair yet and it was sticking out in all directions.
Dean turned to greet his younger sibling. He too eyed the state of Sam's hair as the boy seated himself at the table, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Morning, Sammykins. Sleep well? I'm making you some pancakes…..oh, and if you say you've changed your mind and don't want 'em, I'm going to throttle you."
Sam looked sheepish for a moment, before grinning up at his brother, a look of wide-eyed innocence plastered on his face. "Would I do something like that, Dean?"
Dean snorted.
Bobby watched this exchange, puzzled. He was evidently missing something here.
"What are you two idjits on about?"
"Nothing!" they replied in perfect unison, both of them grinning now.
Bobby shook his head. "Now if you believe that, you'll believe anything. I'll bet you've been up to no good!" he replied gruffly. The older hunter couldn't believe the difference it made to his life whenever they came to stay. He still couldn't figure out how the two Winchester boys had managed to wangle their way under his stalwart defences and make him care about them so much.
Dean poured some of the mixture from the jug into the frying pan. A few minutes later, he rummaged around in Bobby's drawer for a spatula to turn it over.
"Can't you toss it, Boy?"
"No he can't, Bobby," laughed Sam, "he tried about a month ago and every single one ended up on the floor."
Dean felt himself flush, even though the incident that Sam was referring to had happened over 15 years ago. "Yeah, well, pipsqueak, I'd like to see you try!"
Another thought struck Sam and he began to laugh even harder. "You're an adult now though and you still can't toss 'em."
Sam's innocent, childlike mirth was infectious and Bobby found himself beginning to chuckle. Dean too started to struggle to keep a grin off his face. What Sam said next however wiped both smiles immediately off their faces.
"When Dad gets back from hunting the cockatrice, instead of getting him to teach you about hunting, you should get him to teach you about tossing pancakes," he giggled.
Dean managed by some miracle to immediately replace his real, faltering grin with a wide fake one, before Sam noticed that there was anything wrong. He felt his heart constrict and for a moment, he felt like he couldn't breathe. He concentrated on catching Bobby's eye – giving his friend an almost imperceptible shake of the head.
The older hunter had physically stiffened at Sam's pronouncement. With his hunter's instincts however, he immediately picked up on Dean's minute signal and forced himself into a more relaxed posture. Bobby's mind was in a whirl – how could he have been so daft as to not have realised earlier that Sam wouldn't remember his father's death? Not that that was necessarily a bad thing altogether, seeing as Sam had been the one to find him on the hospital floor and had been drowning in guilt ever since, over his broken relationship with the man.
Half an hour later, Bobby pushed his plate away with a satisfied sigh.
"They were actually really good, Dean. I'll let you in my kitchen again"
"Hey, no need to sound surprised, Old Man. I'll have you know that Dean Winchester is a man of many talents!"
"Yeah, useless ones!" said Sam with a mischievous smirk.
"Fine, Sammy-boy, no pancakes for you next time!" Dean pretended to glare at Sam, but then couldn't keep the grin off his face, seeing the chocolate sauce coating his younger brother's chin. "Looks like you're growing a chocolate beard there, kiddo."
Sam quickly and self-consciously wiped the offending chocolate syrup from around his mouth with the back of his hand.
This had reminded Dean that there was something he really needed to do, but it wasn't necessarily something he was looking forward to. In all of his years of helping his Dad to bring up Sam, he had never ever had to do this for his baby brother, but there was no way he would let the eight-year-old attempt it himself!
"Sammy, when you've had your errr…bath and got dressed, will you call me? 'Cause I'm gonnna have to give you a shave."
"A shave?" Sam's eyes widened at the thought and his hands went automatically to his face. He could easily feel the stubble there now and not liking the sensation, jerked his hands away. Suddenly his eyes lit up. "Hey, could I grow a beard? Or a moustache? That'd be funny!"
Bobby gave a snort of laughter, which he quickly changed into a cough at the youngster's questioning glance.
Dean too was having difficulty keeping his face straight. "Sorry, Sammy, no you can't. Adult you would murder me if I let you do that….he likes his baby face just the way it is."
"Oh," said Sam, his face falling a little. Then suddenly it brightened. "Did you get some bubble bath in Walmart?"
"Not that you deserved it, but yeah, I did," replied Dean, grinning and waving towards the Wamart bags that he had set on the side in the kitchen the day before."
Sam bounded over to the bags, quickly located the large blue bottle that he was searching for and darted up the stairs.
"Doesn't that boy ever walk?" asked Bobby, eyes following the disappearing Winchester.
"Apparently not anymore," replied Dean, shaking his head in amusement.
When Dean entered the bathroom just over half an hour later, Sam was sitting on the edge of the bath waiting for him. He had collected Sam's washbag from his duffle on his way past the bedroom and was busy rummaging in it for his brother's shaving kit.
"Okay, Sam, I'm just gonna put some shaving foam on you…."
"Can I do it?" asked Sam, not waiting for a reply, simply snatching the can from Dean's hand.
"Uh, sure." Dean grinned at the kid's enthusiasm, remembering from his own childhood days the forbidden fun of playing with his Dad's shaving cream.
When Sam had plastered his face with the white foam, he looked in the mirror and started to giggle. "Look, Dean! I look like Santa!"
Dean shook his head in amusement. Dammit, the kid was adorable! He didn't remember ever thinking that Sam was this cute when he really was eight, but then he'd only been a child himself at the time and hadn't viewed him through an adult's eyes.
"Okay, Sam, I need you to hold still while I do this."
Sam nodded, but when he saw the razor coming towards his face, he automatically moved his head.
"Sorry, Dean, didn't mean to move."
"It's okay, buddy, just try hold still."
When Sam again flinched back, Dean immediately halted his hand's advance. There was no way he would chance cutting his brother by rushing him and running the risk of making the kid scared of shaving. Especially considering the fact that Dean knew that he would have to shave Sam until he was cured.
"Sorry, Dean. I can't help remembering what Dad said," muttered Sam, looking down, embarrassed.
Dean remembered all too well what their Dad had said about razors, as it had been entirely his fault.
When Dean had been 10 and Sam 6, Dean had decided one day that he wanted to try shaving like his Dad. Sam had been in the bathroom with him, as he was going through a phase of dogging his older brother's every footstep. Their father had entered the room and caught him just as he made the first stroke with the razor. To this day, Dean didn't know how he had managed to do it, but he had jumped, startled when his father had opened the door and he succeeded in making an inch long gash across his cheek. Sam had totally panicked at the blood running down his brother's face and once John had patched up his eldest, he gave them both a stern talking to. Their Dad had told them in no uncertain terms that razors were very dangerous and that only adults had the ability to use them without injuring themselves.
"It's okay, Sammy. Dad was right, but you don't need to worry, 'cause I am an adult and can use a razor properly. You trust me don't you? I'd never hurt you. Why don't you close your eyes…that might make it easier if you can't see it?"
Sam nodded and obediently closed his eyes. Dean noticed the kid's tense posture and the way he was gripping the edge of the bath with both hands. He sighed inwardly, hoping that once Sam realised that shaving didn't hurt, he would stop being afraid.
Five minutes later, the job was done and Dean instructed the younger boy to open his eyes and rinse his face. The relief that he had come through the experience unscathed was evident on Sam's face.
"Now that wasn't so bad was it, Lil Bro?"
Sam shook his head. "It didn't hurt, it just kinda tickled."
A short while later, Bobby locked his front door and followed the Winchesters down the porch steps to the Impala. Bobby had offered to drive them in his truck, but Dean never passed up an opportunity to drive his baby.
The older hunter had been fully expecting to ride in the back, as it was the boys' car, so he was taken by surprise when Sam immediately scrambled into the backseat. Dean noticed Bobby's stunned look, but had immediately understood Sam's action. "We were brought up to respect our elders you know," teased Dean grinning, "and you're an adult while he's….well….sort of a child."
The journey to the clinic in a neighbouring town passed quickly, mainly due to Sam chattering non-stop to the two men in the front seats. It was only when Bobby mentioned that they were nearly there that Sam became quiet. Dean glanced at the boy in the rear view mirror, immediately realising that something was wrong. Sam was chewing his nail nervously and had also begun to fidget anxiously.
Dean winked at Bobby, hoping the older man would follow his lead.
"You said Dr Monroe is fantastic didn't you? That she's really kind?"
Bobby caught on immediately. "Yeah, she's amazing, not scary at all. Everyone loves her."
Dean glanced again at his younger brother. Sam was leaning forward, listening carefully to the conversation. Dean pretended to just notice him. "You okay back there Sammy?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, Dean. Is Dr Monroe really nice?"
It was Bobby who answered. "Yeah, Sam, she is. I've known her for years. I promise you'll love her."
It was half past ten when Dean finally pulled into the car park belonging to the luxurious private health clinic. He surveyed the sprawling grey buildings set amongst luscious green lawns and whistled. "Wow, Bobby, treatment here must cost a fortune!"
"Oh, trust me, it does….it's a good thing we're not paying!" chuckled the older hunter, "It's state-of-the art, which is to our advantage, because they have all the equipment based here to run the tests. If it was an ordinary clinic, Sam would have had to have had some of the tests performed at hospital."
Dean could tell that his sibling was still nervous as they entered the reception building. Sam stuck to his side like glue, his expressive hazel eyes wide as he looked around. Bobby signed them in at the front desk, while the boys seated themselves in the main waiting room. There were already about a dozen affluent looking people sitting there. Dean felt decidedly underdressed in his jeans and jacket, next to their pristine suits and dresses. They didn't have to wait long, before a nurse showed them to Dr Monroe's private office, telling them that the doctor would be with them shortly.
The office was enormous. There was a large, luxurious leather sofa against one wall and they sat on it while they waited. Dean felt something sliding into his hand, which was resting on his lap and looked down. Sam had slipped his own hand into his big brother's and was now holding it tightly.
"I'm scared, Dean. What if the tests hurt?"
Dean was eternally grateful that his baby brother hadn't decided to hold his hand in the public waiting room, because there was no way that he would have denied him the comfort that he so obviously needed. If that had happened, everyone would have understandably thought that they were gay, as he wouldn't have pulled away.
Dean squeezed Sam's hand back reassuringly. "No, don't worry, they won't hurt, Sammy," he soothed, hoping against hope that he was right. In reality, he had no idea what kind of tests they were going to perform on his brother.
Sam leaned against his brother, needing the physical comfort and reassurance that he provided. Dean immediately placed his free arm, which wasn't holding the boy's hand, around his shoulders.
At that moment, Dr Monroe entered the room. "Good Morning. Sorry to keep you waiting." She strode forward and hugged Bobby, before shaking hands with Dean and then offering her hand to Sam.
Dean, ever the connoisseur of women, eyed her appreciatively. He gauged her to be about 35 and decided she would definitely be considered pretty. Her brunette hair was tied in a sensible knot at the back of her neck, but he could just picture it flowing loose over her shoulders. Her figure was slim and her…..Dean's musings were cut short by an elbow in the ribs from Bobby. The older hunter had seen Dean's expression and guessed correctly the track that his mind was taking.
Dean grinned sheepishly and focussed again on Sam, his main priority. Anyway, he had noticed the ring – she was married.
After asking Sam a number of basic questions such as his full name, his age and his birthdate, Dr Monroe gave him a piece of paper and asked him to use the whole space to draw the best man that he could draw. While Sam was drawing, she motioned Bobby and Dean over to the other side of the large office so that Sam would not overhear.
"Okay, in order to ascertain if Sam has amnesia and what type, we're going to run two different types of tests. This morning, we're going to run physical tests and after lunch psychological ones. What Sam's doing now is actually a basic developmental test."
"How can drawing a man tell you anything?" asked Dean sceptically.
"It can tell you quite a lot Mr Winchester, you'd be surprised. When I look at it, for a start, I can begin to determine his spatial awareness developmental level by the size and placement of the picture. Then, I can also assess his cognitive understanding by analysing how much detail he has included, for example has he portrayed the correct number of fingers on each hand, has he included eye-brows? Things like that."
Dean snorted. "Even as an adult, Sam is totally useless at drawing, so I wish you luck evaluating his picture, Doctor."
"What kind of physical tests are you going to do this morning?" asked Bobby.
"We're going to start off with a skull x-ray and a brain scan. We'll then hook him up to an electrode machine that will record the electrical signals from his brain as he is introduced to different stimuli."
"Exactly what kind of stimuli?" questioned Dean, adamant that he wouldn't let his brother be subjected to anything traumatic.
Dr Monroe smiled at the obvious protective streak in the older brother – Bobby had forewarned her of this. "Nothing detrimental to his well-being I assure you. He will be shown pictures and asked questions about them. We will also ask him to recount some personal experiences and also give him some hypothetical situations and ask him what he would do. After all these tests are done, the last thing we will do before lunch is take him to the physiotherapy centre and assess his muscle co-ordination and control, because as I'm sure you're aware, it's our brain that controls all our movements. Does that sound all right to you Mr Winchester?"
Dean nodded and then looked up as Sam scrambled to his feet on the other side of the room waving his finished picture.
"Dean! You're a man now, so I drew you. You wanna see?"
"Errr, sure thing, kiddo."
Sam shoved his picture in front of his brother's face. Dean unconsciously grimaced, but luckily Sam didn't notice. The 'man' in the picture looked like an ogre. It had four lumpy things sticking out that Dean supposed could be some kind of deformed limbs. The head was a strange shape and didn't appear to have any hair. Its features were unclear and just seemed to be a random selection of circles and lines. Dean tilted his head to the side and decided that from that angle, the face looked like a plate of spaghetti and meatballs.
Bobby leaned forward to look at the picture over the eldest Winchester's shoulder. "Wow, Dean," he smirked, "It looks just like you!"
"Yeah it does, doesn't it," smiled Sam, really proud of his picture.
Dean turned and scowled at Bobby, who was trying hard not to laugh, before turning back to his brother with a wide fake smile. "It's lovely, Sammy. You're a great artist!"
The younger boy beamed at the praise, before handing his masterpiece over to the doctor.
Ten minutes later, Dr Monroe took hold of Sam's hand and led him towards the door. She had explained to the boy in child-speak what tests they would be running on him and had reassured him that none of them would hurt. Sam turned back at the door and looked at Dean nervously.
"I'll be waiting right here for you, Tiger. I promise."
Sam nodded and gave a little wave, before allowing the doctor to lead him out of the room and towards the x-ray department.
No sooner had Sam departed than Dean began to pace anxiously.
Bobby sighed and shook his head. "He's gonna be just fine, Dean. You'll see. Doctor Monroe will win him over in no time."
When lunchtime rolled around (which seemed to have taken forever for the worried big brother), it seemed that Bobby had been right. The doctor had returned Sam to them in the office sporting a sticker that said 'I've Been Brave' and sucking a lollypop and he informed them happily that he would get another sticker and lollypop in the afternoon if he was just as brave then. Sam then hadn't shut up about the 'lovely' doctor and how she'd helped him with all of the tests all through lunch, which they ate in the clinic's spacious cafeteria.
Dean grinned at his brother's enthusiasm. He was extremely relieved that he hadn't been distressed by any of the tests so far.
"You know Sammy, you've been going on about Doctor Monroe so much, I think you've got a crush on her." Dean teased.
The way that Sam blushed told Dean that he had in fact hit the nail on the head. "Shut up!" muttered Sam, "I do not! Girls are stupid."
"Whatever you say, Sam," grinned Dean.
After lunch, they returned to the doctor's office and Doctor Monroe immediately led them down the corridor to the end where there were two doors. She led them through the left-hand door and into a room that contained a large sofa and two chairs at one end and a table and a play area at the other. One of the walls was completely mirrored from floor to ceiling.
"Okay Sam, I want you to stay in here for a moment with your Uncle Bobby while I talk to your brother. You can play with the toys if you want."
"I can?" Sam's eyes lit up and he grabbed Bobby's hand and dragged the startled older hunter over to the large toy box before dropping onto the floor and beginning to investigate its contents.
Dr Monroe led Dean out of the room and through the adjacent right-hand door.
Dean took in the scene before him. "Two-way mirror?" he questioned. In this room there was only a table and a number of leather chairs. Through what looked like a window however, he could see Bobby and Sam as clear as day. Bobby had his arms full of toys, which Sam had obviously passed him to hold and was wearing a totally bemused expression on his face.
Dr Monroe nodded. "That room is often used for psychiatric evaluations as well as for interviewing abused children, as it's possible to view and analyse the proceedings without the patient being aware of it. I thought you and Bobby would like to watch from here as the remainder of the necessary tests, I can perform on Sam in that room."
"What tests are you going to do?" asked Dean, his eyes fixed on Sam, who was now flying a toy aeroplane around the room, sniggering when Bobby ducked, because Sam flew it rather close to his head.
"I'm going to test his cognitive, emotional and social developmental levels. I'll evaluate these through questioning, association games and some written tests. They should be finished in about two to two and a half hours and I will be able to give you the results about an hour after that, because I'll have to collate my findings. If you don't mind waiting that is."
Dean shook his head. "No, we don't mind. We'll definitely wait. We just wanna find out what's wrong with Sam so that we can fix it."
Dr Monroe nodded. "I can fully appreciate that. I'm going to go back into the other room now, so that I can begin the testing. I'll send Bobby in here with you."
Dean and Bobby watched as the doctor questioned Sam. There was a speaker feed into the 'observation' room, so they could hear the questions and Sam's responses, though neither hunter could begin to guess what these indicated about his mental well-being. Every so often, Sam would turn and wave at the mirror, as Dr Monroe had explained that his brother and uncle could see him through it. Twice now, Bobby had found himself unconsciously waving back, much to the amusement of Dean, as the boy couldn't possibly see them.
Two hours and fifteen minutes later, the tests were finally completed and the doctor took Bobby and Dean back into the mirrored room, where Sam was now sitting on the floor, surrounded by toys, sucking a lollypop and sporting a second sticker.
"I thought you might want to wait in here instead of my office, because the toys will keep young Sam from getting bored. I just need to examine his responses to the psych tests and will get back to you as soon as I can." Dr Monroe exited the room, her eyes already scanning the chart that she held.
Dean watched Sam mesmerised. He couldn't get over the picture that his six foot four brother made sitting cross-legged on the floor playing with toys. Dean hadn't seen Sam look so happy in a long time. His twin dimples were permanently on show as he played with a farm set.
"If it's gonna take a while to cure Sam, I suppose I'd better buy him some toys," murmured Dean to the older hunter next to him. Bobby's attention too was totally transfixed on the youngest Winchester.
Bobby unconsciously removed his cap and scratched his head, before a thought struck him. "Hey, Dean, you remember that box of toys that your Daddy left at my house for when you came to stay? Well I didn't throw it away when you boys grew up, so I reckon I might have put it in the attic."
"Really?" Precious childhood memories came flooding back and although Dean would rather die than admit it, he really would love to look in that box again!
Dean's musing was interrupted as Doctor Monroe re-entered the room. Dean tried to guess what kind of news she was bearing, but her face was a professional, friendly blank. At her request, Dean and Bobby followed her into the observation room next door so that they could talk privately, leaving Sam playing contentedly with the toys.
Dean realised that he was holding his breath while waiting for the doctor to speak and quietly exhaled.
"Mr Winchester, I can assure you in no uncertain terms that your brother does not have amnesia."
"He doesn't?"
"I'm positive. I know that medically and logically it is supposedly impossible, but there is no question that your brother is eight. With the exception of his physical body that is. All of his brain wave patterns correspond to that of a child. Emotionally and socially he also has the developmental level of an eight-year-old. You see, an adult with amnesia would still respond in an adult fashion to given scenarios. Even if they would react differently than if they still had their memories – because our experiences help to shape us into the people we are – it would still be an adult response. Sam however, consistently gave immature responses, that when I checked, tally exactly with a developmental age of eight. He scored slightly higher on the cognitive IQ tests, but that is because he is an incredibly bright eight-year-old. His level of muscle control and hand-eye co-ordination, also place him within the seven to nine years age bracket. So if you took Sam to the shooting range for example, he would only be as proficient as he was when he really was eight." The doctor paused, trying to gauge how the men before her were taking this news. "I'm really sorry, but as this isn't medical in nature, I have no idea how to help you."
For a moment, Dean said nothing. He turned, to look at Sam through the 'window', his thoughts in a whirl, before turning back to the doctor. "He's healthy though? The curse hasn't damaged his health?"
"No, your brother's as fit as a fiddle." The doctor was glad to be able to convey some positive news.
After thanking the doctor profusely for her time and the care she had shown Sam, the two older hunters re-entered the mirrored room.
Dean knew it was time to bite the bullet – he would have to tell Sam that he didn't have amnesia. How would his baby brother react?
Sam looked up when they came in. "Is Dr Monroe going to give me some medicine to make my memory come back?"
Dean sat down on the leather sofa and patted the spot next to him, indicating for Sam to come and sit down.
"Right, Sammy, I'm gonna tell you something, but you don't need to be scared or worried, okay?"
Sam's eyes went wide. "You're gonna tell me she can't fix my memories aren't you?"
"No, Sammy, she can't. Hey…." Dean reached out and squeezed his brother's thigh reassuringly, noticing the tears that had sprung to Sam's eyes, "don't worry, we will fix you. It's just gonna take a little more time that's all, because you don't have amnesia."
Sam turned puzzled, watery eyes on Dean. "I don't? What's wrong with me then?"
Dean sighed before taking the plunge. "Well you know I told you that we hunt together?" Sam nodded. "The night you bumped your head, when you lost your memories, we were kind of hunting a warlock. It got the drop on us though, so me and Bobby think you've been cursed….that's kinda like a spell. So we just need to find a way to remove the spell and you'll be fine again."
"And I've already got some counter-curses lined up to try when we get home," put in Bobby gruffly.
"So you've got nothing at all to worry about, Sport," consoled Dean, pulling his brother in for a quick hug, "Big Brother's gotcha."
As soon as they reached Bobby's place, the older hunter set about making the necessary preparations for the counter-curses, while Sam went and sprawled in front of the TV to watch cartoons for a while.
Dean watched prudently. "Just what are you going to try, Bobby?"
"Well, I've dug up three general verbal counter curses – two in ancient Greek and one in Latin. I think we should try those first. And then if they don't work, I've got two more that require Sam to be stood inside a particular symbol – both of those are in ancient Hebrew."
"Then what's with all the ingredients?" asked Dean, eyebrows raised quizzically at all of the bottles and jars that Bobby was setting out, "Or are you secretly planning on becoming a chef?"
"Well, I did also find reference to two potions, so I went and bought the ingredients while you and your brother were travelling up here."
"Thanks, Bobby," murmured Dean, touched at the effort that Bobby had gone to on Sam's behalf.
"Get away with yah," grunted Bobby, embarrassed, but also pleased at Dean's words.
"Are you sure they're all safe? There's no risks involved?" Dean was not prepared to take any chances, no matter how slim.
"All perfectly safe, with no unpleasant side effects, with the exception of one of the potions – there's a very small chance that it can make you feel ever so slightly nauseous. So thought we'd save that one as a last resort."
An hour and a half later, after all of the counter-cursing remedies had been applied, Sam was still eight-years-old. It had taken promises to take him to the park the following afternoon to get Sam to drink the vile tasting potions, as well as three chocolate bars to take the taste away afterwards.
Dean glanced up at the clock. It was 8.20pm. In another 10 minutes, he'd send Sam up to bed. Sam had been incredibly quiet since the failed anti-cursing attempts earlier, but Dean figured the kid was just tired after a long, stressful day. He glanced over at the tall boy – Sam was lounging on the floor, his nose buried in a book and Dean noted with concern that he looked a little pale.
Dean knew it could just be fatigue that was causing his pallor, but he would never take any chances with his little brother.
"You okay, Sammy?"
Sam looked up from his book. "Yeah, I'm fine, Dean. Why?"
"Nothing, just checking."
"Weirdo," teased Sam, grinning at his brother's overprotectiveness, before turning his attention back to his book.
It was less than five minutes later when out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw his ginormous sibling literally leap to his feet and begin to dash across the room towards the kitchen, one hand clutched over his mouth.
"Sammy?" Dean was already rising to his feet, the ancient tome that had been on his lap, falling forgotten to the floor.
"Dean, gonna be s…" Sam's sentence was cut off as the boy vomited violently all over himself and the living room floor.
Sam looked down, mortified that he hadn't made it to the trashcan in the kitchen in time. "I'm really sorry, Bobby." He looked at the older hunter with chagrin, tears welling in his troubled hazel eyes.
Dean had reached Sam's side by this time and had already placed a supportive hand on his back.
Bobby was never comfortable dealing with tears and it looked like the youngest Winchester was about to cry. When the boys had stayed with him as children, he had continually been secretly relieved that Dean always took care of Sam when he was upset. However, the gruff hunter did his best to offer some comfort. "It's all right, Sam, you've got nothing to be sorry for. It's not your fault, you couldn't help being sick."
Dean's attention was focussed solely on Sam, "It's okay, kiddo, I've gotcha. Think you're gonna hurl again?"
Sam shook his head wiping his hand across the back of his mouth. "I don't think so." He sniffed, glad that Bobby wasn't mad at him for ruining his carpet.
"Let's get you upstairs and cleaned up then, Tiger." As he led his brother towards the stairs, Dean angrily threw an accusing comment over his shoulder at Bobby, "So much for that dratted potion of yours maybe making him feel slightly nauseous!"
Once upstairs, he carefully sat Sam on the closed toilet seat in the bathroom and the boy began to slowly remove his vomit-covered clothes, tossing them into the bath. Dean left him for a moment and entered the bedroom to find a clean pair of sweats and a t-shirt for the kid to sleep in.
He was just leaving the bedroom when he heard the retching. Dean hurried back to the bathroom to find his baby brother now kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet, arms resting on the seat and puking up the remaining contents of his stomach.
"Whoa, easy there," soothed Dean, dropping to his knees beside the heaving boy and rubbing gentle circles on his back.
Soon, there was nothing left to throw up, but Sam continued to dry retch, unable to stop. Tears were streaming down his face and it felt like his stomach was trying to turn itself inside out.
Dean felt totally helpless, knowing he could do nothing to help except be there for his brother while he rode the bout of sickness out. He did place a damp washcloth on the back of the boy's neck, hoping to provide some relief and continued stroking his back and murmuring soothing words throughout.
Eventually, the heaving began to lessen and then thankfully came to an end. Sam collapsed back against Dean, exhausted. Dean wrapped his arms around his baby brother, pulling him back against his chest and giving him a moment to catch his breath.
"You'll be all right, Tiger. Big brother's gotcha."
Sam dropped his head onto his brother's shoulder. "I don't feel so good, Dean."
"I know, kiddo." Dean looked at Sam's now flushed complexion with concern - the pink in his cheeks standing out startlingly against the extreme pallor of the rest of his face. Dean placed one hand on Sam's forehead, inwardly cursing when he felt the heat radiating there. The kid had definitely developed a fever.
"Come on, let's finish getting you dressed and get you somewhere comfortable. Then maybe we can get some medicine in you and help you feel better." Dean quickly helped Sam to change into the clean sweats and t-shirt, surprised that Sam didn't show any embarrassment, before remembering that at eight, his brother hadn't yet developed his fiercely independent streak.
He then helped Sam to stand, his concern growing when the boy swayed on his feet. Moving slowly, Dean manoeuvred them both carefully down the stairs and got his brother settled on the sofa. Sam lay back and closed his eyes.
Bobby watched with concern. He had cleaned up the vomit from the floor, while the boys had both been upstairs. He was feeling incredibly guilty, convinced that he was responsible for the youngest Winchester's predicament. "Is he okay, Dean? Is there anything I can do?"
"He's stopped being sick for the moment, but he's running a fever. Will you watch him while I find a thermometer and check what children's medicines I've got?"
"Course," replied Bobby, moving over to Sam's side as Dean left the room, "Hey, son, how're you doing?"
"I don't feel well, Uncle Bobby. My stomach's hurting." Sam was curled in on himself, one arm clutched across his stomach.
Bobby patted the boy's arm awkwardly. "Don't you worry, Sam, Dean will take good care of you."
Dean paused in the doorway, watching the gruff hunter trying to comfort his brother. Dean cleared his throat. "I owe you an apology, Bobby, about what I said before. I'm sorry, this isn't your fault."
"Like hell it aint, Boy! Of course it's my fault! I made the darn potion didn't I?"
Dean shook his head. "No, Bobby, Sam's my responsibility and I'm the one that told you to give it to him. So it's my fault!"
"There's more than enough blame to go around. Let's just say it's both our faults," suggested the older hunter gruffly.
"I can live with that," agreed Dean, moving over to the sofa and setting down the trashcan that he had brought through from the kitchen just in case.
"Sammy, I need to take your temperature, okay?"
Sam opened his eyes, squinting up at Dean before nodding. He obediently opened his mouth and allowed his brother to place the thermometer under his tongue.
"Dammit," muttered Dean when he removed it and checked the reading: 102. The kid's temperature was really high, not dangerously so, but Dean knew that he'd have to keep a close eye on it to ensure it didn't climb any higher.
"I'm cold, Dean," murmured Sam, beginning to shiver, "and my stomach hurts."
"I'll go get some blankets," offered Bobby, pleased to be of some use.
"It's okay, kiddo," soothed Dean, pouring out a dose of medicine. It was a pain reliever that would help with the cramps and also hopefully lower his temperature. Dean just hoped that the kid would be able to keep it down.
Sam obediently drank the proffered medicine and also took a few sips of water from the glass that his brother offered him. Dean was worried that with all of the vomiting that Sam could easily become dehydrated.
Bobby returned with the blankets and Dean tenderly tucked them around his brother. "You try and get some sleep now, okay Tiger?"
Sam nodded, but reached out and grasped Dean's wrist. "Please stay with me," the whispered plea was almost inaudible, but Dean, ever attuned to his baby brother's needs, heard it and responded.
"I'll be right here, Sammy." Dean seated himself on the edge of the sofa and Sam immediately curled around his back, needing the physical contact. Dean smiled comfortingly down at the boy, gently stroking his hair. A sick Sammy had always been a clingy Sammy.
Twenty minutes later, up came the medicine and the water. Sam sat dejectedly with the trashcan on his lap, Dean again rubbing soothing circles on his back. When the bout of sickness was over, Dean helped his brother to lay back down and covered him back up with the blankets. Hoping to distract Sam from how ill he was feeling, he picked up the book that Sam had been reading earlier and began to read to him.
A short while later, Sam clutched at his stomach and groaned as an extra sharp cramp assaulted him. Dean inwardly cursed that his brother had thrown up the painkillers he had taken, as he couldn't give any more without running the risk of overdosing as he didn't know how much had been absorbed by the boy's body before it was forcibly expelled.
He put down the book and reached out to smooth Sam's sweat-soaked bangs away from his face in a comforting gesture. He paused at the heat he felt there – the kid felt even hotter than before!
"Okay, Sammy, I just need to take your temperature again."
Sam meekly accepted the thermometer under his tongue, whimpering as another extra sharp cramp shot through him.
Dean swore out loud when he removed it and checked the reading: 103. He immediately stripped the covers off Sam, dumping them onto the floor.
"But I'm cold, Dean," complained Sam, trying to curl up into a foetal position.
"I know you are, Tiger, but you're running a high fever and I need to cool you down." Dean turned to Bobby, knowing that the hunter always had a supply of illicit drugs that he pilfered from local hospitals and clinics. "Do you have anything that doesn't interact with paracetamol and isn't taken orally?"
"I'll see what I can do," muttered the older hunter, with a concerned glance at the youngest Winchester before leaving the room.
Dean hoped against hope that Sam, with his advanced vocabulary, didn't know what 'orally' meant when he was eight, as the kid would undoubtedly put two and two together and he absolutely hated needles.
Dean attempted to soothe Sam by gently carding his fingers through the boy's hair until the older hunter returned. Sam however, immediately spotted the syringe in Bobby's hand.
"Uh, uh, Dean, I don't need it! I feel fine." Sam shook his head in denial and attempted to push himself into a sitting position. His arms were weak and trembling however and immediately gave way. Dean had to catch him in order to prevent his sibling from falling head-first off the sofa.
Dean lay him back down. "It's just gonna be a little prick, Sam and then you'll start to feel better."
Sam shook his head again, "I don't wanna."
"I know, Tiger. Do it for me okay? Just a little prick and it'll all be over."
Sam looked up into Dean's concerned face and reluctantly nodded his consent. He would do it for Dean.
Bobby cleared his throat. "Err, Dean, you might wanna get a good hold on Sam's arm to keep it still, you know, while I put the needle in." Bobby hoped that by emphasizing the word 'still', Dean would realise that this meant that Sam would be anything other than still when he was injected.
Dean caught on immediately and glanced at the other hunter anxiously. Bobby quickly held up a box for Dean to see. Seeing the name of the drug, Dean inwardly cringed. Yeah, it would successfully deal with Sam's pain and lower his temperature and also had the added benefit of a sedative effect, which would enable the kid to get some sleep, but it would burn like hell when it was injected.
"Okay, Bobby." Dean shifted his position and leaned over Sam to grasp hold of his arm. This would allow Dean to effectively pin his brother down, using his own body weight.
Sam turned his head to the side, so that he wouldn't have to see.
Bobby cleaned the area and quickly inserted the needle. Sam flinched in response, but it was when Bobby pressed the plunger, pouring what felt like liquid fire into his arm, that he actually screamed.
Dean felt his brother's body buck against him and kept his full weight bearing down, concentrating on holding the arm that Sam was now frantically trying to yank free, still.
"Darn it! Hurry up, Bobby!" he gritted out.
Bobby quickly removed the needle, discarding it in the trashcan. "It'll stop hurting in a minute, Sam," he assured, feeling incredibly guilty at the obvious distress he had caused the boy.
Sam was now sobbing, clutching his abused upper arm with his other hand.
"I'm sorry, Tiger. It's all done now," murmured Dean, gently thumbing away Sam's tears.
"You s-said it'd just b-b-be a little p-prick," sobbed Sam, the betrayal he felt shining vividly in his tear-filled eyes.
Bobby decided to step in. He could handle being the villain of the piece, but he didn't want Sam to lose faith in his brother. "Dean didn't know it would hurt, Sam, so he was telling the truth. I knew it would hurt, but knew you needed it to make you better."
"That wasn't nice, Uncle Bobby," sniffed Sam, snuggling into Dean's chest, having transferred his displeasure onto the older hunter.
Dean put his arms around Sam, holding him close. He flashed Bobby a look of gratitude over his brother's tousled head. "You get some sleep now, okay kiddo?" He could see the boy's eyelids already beginning to droop.
Ten minutes later, Sam was out for the count. Dean looked down tenderly at his sleeping sibling, reaching down to wipe away the still damp tear tracks on his cheeks. It was a further twenty minutes after that, before Dean finally relinquished his hold on the boy and lay him back down gently on the sofa. He would have held him in his arms for longer still, if his brother's weight hadn't made them go completely dead.
After shaking his arms out and stretching them a few times, he slipped the thermometer back into Sam's mouth. The boy didn't stir from his medicated sleep. He was relieved to note that it now read 101 – he still had a temperature, but at least it had dropped lower. Dean picked up the blankets from the floor and covered the sleeping boy carefully with them.
Dean looked down at Sam, hating to see the boy suffering. He silently berated himself – he should have found some way to prevent this!
Bobby read the younger hunter's expression easily.
"You can't protect him from everything, Dean. You can't keep beating yourself up whenever anything happens to him. You always do the best you can, no-one could ask for more." Bobby knew without a doubt that Dean would gladly bear every single pain his brother experienced on his behalf if he could.
"Oh, yeah, is that so? Well my best isn't good enough! You do realise this is my fault? I didn't tell you the whole story about the warehouse…Sam was only cursed by the crystal because he was protecting me. He shoved me out of the way. It should have been me laying there."
"Now you listen to me, Boy!" said Bobby harshly, but trying to keep the volume down so that he didn't awaken the sleeping boy, "Stop feeling sorry for yourself! You're allowed to protect Sam, but he's not allowed to protect you? That's hardly fair! Anyway, it's a darn good thing it was Sam that was cursed and not you!"
Dean stared at Bobby in utter disbelief – his surrogate father-figure wanted Sam to get cursed? The disbelief quickly turned to anger. "How can you say that?" he seethed, "I thought you cared about him!"
Bobby, realising that he had been misunderstood, quickly tried to explain. "Course I care about him! You boys are family! You both mean more to me than anything else on this godforsaken Earth!" Bobby paused - he didn't like wearing his heart on his sleeve and making declarations like that. "But think about it, Dean….how would you be able to protect him from the demons if you were eight years old?"
Dean's eyes narrowed dangerously. Abruptly, he stood up, motioning for Bobby to follow him out of the room. Once in the kitchen, he whirled on the older hunter, no longer bothering to keep his voice down. "Okay, Bobby. Spill. What do you know about demons and Sam? Why would he need me? Twenty-three year old Sam is perfectly capable of protecting himself. Me and Dad made sure of that."
The older hunter met his gaze unwaveringly. "I know your Dad will have told you about your brother before he died. He probably told you more than he told me."
Dean's mind was doing somersaults – could his Dad have possibly told Bobby that he thought that Dean might have to kill his baby brother one day? No! He refused to even consider the idea – he would save Sam! He had to!
"What did he tell you, Bobby?"
"That demon being in Sam's nursery was no accident. It was there for a reason. It took years, but your Dad learned the demon had a specific plan for him and other children like him. At first your Dad didn't understand why Sam had been chosen, but then he started having those visions…." Bobby trailed off, eyeing the younger hunter warily. Dean looked like he wanted to punch something.
"Is that all?" Dean clenched his fists and concentrated hard on keeping them by his sides. He was absolutely incensed, but not Bobby, at his father. How could his father have kept this from him, his own son, until he was on his deathbed, when Bobby had evidently been in the know for years?
"That's all I know, Dean. The last I knew, your Dad was trying to find out exactly what the demon's plan entailed." Bobby watched as John's eldest physically deflated.
"He should have told me, Bobby! Didn't Dad trust me? How was I supposed to protect Sam when I never knew he was in danger?" Dean felt like a complete failure – why else would his father not have told him, unless he hadn't thought that Dean was up to the task?
"Have you told Sam?" asked Bobby quietly. He was desperate to make the younger hunter understand. He wanted to remove the anguish and torment shining in Dean's eyes. He knew that Dean's idiotic assumption that he had somehow been a let-down to the man he idolised was crushing him.
"Of course not!" snorted Dean.
"Why not?"
"Because I wanna protect the kid! I don't wanna upset him or worry him…." Dean trailed off, realising that he had fallen completely into Bobby's trap.
"Yeah, you idjit, and that's exactly why your old man didn't tell you….until he had to that is."
Dean was silent for a moment, digesting everything that his friend had disclosed. A soft whimper from the living room drew his attention, his own worries and concerns were instantaneously forgotten.
"Hey, Sammy," he murmured returning immediately to the living room and hurrying to his brother's side. Sam was thankfully still fast asleep.
Bobby had followed him into the room. "How's he doin'?"
"'Bout the same I reckon. I really can't believe I'm actually saying this, but I agree with you…it's better for Sam to be cursed in this instance than me." Dean turned and met Bobby's eyes, the intensity of his gaze, boring right into the older hunter's soul. "I've gotta protect him, Bobby!"
"And you will, Dean. Sam couldn't be in safer hands."
Dean seated himself on the edge of the sofa, twisting so that his back was resting against the arm. Even in sleep, Sam was aware of his brother's presence and shifted closer, snuggling against his side. Dean looped an arm across Sam's waist and looked back at Bobby.
"You might as well get some sleep. There's no point us both staying up."
Bobby knew it would be pointless to suggest that they take it in turns to watch over Sam, so that they could both get some sleep – there was no way Dean would get any shut-eye now until his sibling was well on the road to recovery.
"Okay, but you call me if you need anything. Anything at all."
"Will do."
Bobby paused in the doorway. "Oh, and Dean, there's another reason besides the protection issue why it's a good thing Sam was hit with the curse and not you."
"What's that?" queried Dean, looking puzzled.
"Sam wouldn't have a clue what to do with an eight-year-old you! He has absolutely no experience with kids."
"Errr, Bobby, sorry to blast a hole in your logic, but I don't have any experience with kids either."
Bobby snorted. "You are a total dimwit at times, Dean Winchester. What do you call bringing up a baby brother from six months old? If that aint experience with kids, I don't know what is!"
Dean looked down at his sleeping brother. "I suppose I do have experience of looking after one kid…..this kid." He felt a lump form in his throat – how was it possible to love someone so much?
As Bobby quietly made his way upstairs to bed, Dean dropped a tender kiss on Sam's forehead.