Dean woke up in steps. First he noticed that he was fully clothed and had somehow fallen asleep in a half sitting position but his head wasn't resting on the window of the Impala. Instead his head dangled in an awkward angle and moving it would hurt like a bitch so he left it for the moment. The second thing he noticed was that even breathing hurt. It felt like he had a sparring session – or ten – with his dad, sore muscles and stiff joints. However, the third thing he noticed was that he couldn't feel his legs.
Startled he opened his eyes. Moving his head hurt like he had thought it would, something in his spine crunched and he let out a grunt. But he froze when he looked at his legs. Or what he could see of them. Most of them was buried under the prone body of a man. The head and one arm hung out of the bed and he was snoring softly. Shaggy hair was all Dean saw of his face.
Dean hold his breath while he bit back the panic. His instincts told him to struggle free and run. However, the weight of the man had cut off the blood circulation in his legs so he would most likely just crash to the floor instead of heading towards the door.
Then the memories from the last day and more present of the last night hit him.
He had been turned into a kid again – he still felt nothing wrong – and Sam had been poisoned. Both caused by a giant feathered snake. He still hoped to get a chance to see that thing. It sounded cool except of the shrinking and poisoning parts, they sucked. Especially the poisoning.
"Sam?" He reached out and shook his brother at the shoulder. His shirt was clammy under Dean's hand and it stuck to Sam's body.
"Sam, wake up." His skin through the clothing felt warm but not like that heat he had been radiating the day before. So the fever finally broke. Sam mumbled something in his sleep but didn't wake up.
"Sam, move your heavy ass. You're crushing me here, man." Using both hands now he tried to roll Sam over but he was too heavy. Great, like I'm buried under a dead horse.
Eventually Sam rolled over but didn't bother to open his eyes. For long minutes Dean just sat there while the blood returned into his legs. It felt like thousand needles torturing his flesh. He swung his legs out of the bed and when he felt steady enough he made his way to the bathroom.
His clothes smelled of sweat – his own and Sam's – but he had nothing to change into. At least he could take a shower. After he had locked the door he striped and examined the blooming bruises on his chest and belly where Sam's head had hit him during the seizures. The hot water would soothe the sore muscles, that was what helped him after the sparring sessions with his dad too. At least he hoped it would help. Right now he felt as old as everybody told him he was supposed to be.
Where Sam had grabbed his forearm Dean found a hand-shaped bruise, he could clearly make out the shape of the thumb and two fingers. This somehow made him smile. His little brother Sammy could probably wrap his fingers three times around Dean's wrist. And that was just so wrong.
By the time Dean came back to the main room Sam was awake. Half sitting, back against the headboard he mirrored Dean's position from last night.
"Hey." Sam said and he sounded still half asleep. But he looked much better now.
"Hey." Dean wasn't sure what to do next so he stood in the middle of the room, fingering the hem of his too big sweatshirt. Sam, however, looked at him as if he saw him for the first time.
Dean shifted from one foot to the other. "What?"
A smile ghosted over Sam's face. "You're so small. I can't remember you being ever that small. You've always been so big. Even when you really have been ten, you've always been my big brother I've looked up to."
Dean felt the blood rushing into his cheeks and he quickly looked down. The somewhat awkward silence was broken by a deep grumble.
"Was that yours or mine?" Sam asked and patted his own stomach. His movements were slow and Dean half expected him to doze off in mid-sentence.
"Mine." Dean admitted. Right now he would kill for another pack of rank peanuts.
Sam blinked a few times in slow motion, then pushed himself into a more sitting position. He fell boneless forward till his elbows were resting on his knees. "Give me a minute. There is a diner just down the street. I'll get us ..." Catching his breath he stopped. His head hung and he was sweating again.
Dean rolled his eyes. "You are not going anywhere. I'll go."
Sam shook his head, hesitated and then nodded. "OK. Give me my wallet."
He pressed a bundle of bills in Dean's hand and looked him straight in the eye. "Just dry toast and a soup for me." He said still holding Dean's hand in his own. "You get yourself whatever you want and enough of it. Don't think about the money, we have plenty." He had to stop again to take a deep breath but he was smiling. "I know the menu, the cheapest three dishes are out of question, you hear me? Or you take all three of them, at least. And bring yourself some pie."
Sam already had trouble keeping his eyes open but he hold his gaze till Dean nodded in agreement. Satisfied Sam collapsed back into the bed and Dean just wondered when Sam had figured out that money was an issue. The six-year-old Dean knew had now idea.
When Dean entered the diner the smell alone made his mouth water.
"What can I get you, sweetie?" An elderly waitress with gray hair and a motherly attitude leaned over the counter to take his order.
Dean looked at the menu and his eyes went automatically to the prices. The grilled cheese sandwich was the cheapest dish and normally he would choose that. Not that he actually liked it or anything. But then he felt the bundle of bills in his hand and the grumbling in his stomach. He licked his lips and then ordered the "Breakfast of the Champions". With an extra slice of blueberry pie. And he only felt a little bit guilty for that.
"Here you go, sweetie." With a warm smile she handed him two brown paper bags over the counter. When Dean reached up to take them the sleeves of his too big sweatshirt slipped up to his elbows.
"What happened to your arm?" Of course she noticed. He saw pity and all the wrong conclusions in her eyes.
"Nothing." Dean grabbed the bags and shook his arm so the sleeve slipped back down and covered his bruise again. His clearly hand-shaped bruise. Mentally kicking himself for that stupid mistake he gave her his best I'm-fine-smile and left the diner.
When Dean got back to the motel room Sam wasn't in his bed. Dean's heart stopped. Oh, god. Please no, please. The image of that thing hoovering over his helpless little brother was back. More livid than ever.
"Sam?" His voice was barley a whisper and there was no answer. "Sammy?" He tried again, louder this time. There was a noise from the bathroom.
"Sam, you in there?" Dean knocked at the door but when Sam still didn't answer he entered the room. Sam sat on the closed toilet seat leaning heavily against the wall. His hair hung wet in his face and he was only wearing a fresh pair of sweatpants and a sheepish grin. His arms were caught in a fight with a t-shirt which the shirt was clearly winning.
"Did you just took a shower?" Dean stated the obvious. "You could have slipped and cracked your stupid head open."
Somehow Sam managed to look just like the six-year-old Dean remembered. With an eye-roll Dean stepped up to help him with the t-shirt. Then he spotted it.
"You have a tattoo?" And it was a cool one. A pentagram with flames. "Dad allowed you to get a tatt?"
Sam cleared his throat before he answered. "Hey, I'm an adult. I can do what ever I want."
"Can I get one?" Dean asked besides the fact that he knew the answer. But a guy can hope, right?
"Actually, you, I mean adult you, already have one. One just like this." With his still caught in the fabric hands he gestured towards his chest.
"Matching tatts?" Dean frowned. "That's gay."
And Sam laughed. He threw his head back and laughed. It was the best sound Dean had heard since he had woken up in this nightmare.
After he got Sam properly dressed they made their way back to Sam's bed without any accidents. There were a few close calls – the shower had sucked every bit of energy out of Sam – but they made it.
However, Sam managed to eat most of his breakfast before he fall back into his pillow. Dean didn't even made it half-way through his "Breakfast of the Champions" but he ate the pie. He stored the leftovers in the little fridge for later.
He expected Sam to be fast asleep by now but his eyes were open, watching Dean.
"We'll fix this." Sam said. "We'll figure this out and we'll fix this."
Dean nodded. He still didn't feel that he needed to be fixed but he was in the wrong time after all. Suddenly he felt the urge to see his little Sammy again. And his dad. Which reminded him.
"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Where is dad?"
