Chapter Seven
Sorry about the delay. I had this chapter ready two days ago but they wouldn't let me submit it until now.
Okay, I ran into some inconsistencies. So, in my version, it's still set after "Sympathy for the Devil," but Meg never appeared in the episode, and they found out Sam was Lucifer's vessel when Zachariah told them about Dean and the Michael sword. Sorry, had to make it work.
"Sammy!" Dean yelled in desperation, knowing it was useless. The demons had already teleported with him, or however the hell they get around. "Dammit, Sam!"
A cry echoed across the clearing, and Dean jerked toward the sound, hope rising.
They didn't take him yet!
Dean rushed toward the noise, plunging into the trees and coming to a halt about fifteen feet in.
"Well, well, well, Deano," said a brunette woman as she wrapped an arm around Sam's throat. "It's nice to see you again. Maybe I'll get to finish what I started."
Dean frowned. "Ruby?"
"Mm, guess again," said the demon.
Dean frowned, trying to place that smartass, slutty tone. The last time he heard it, it had come from…Sam. "Meg?"
"Oh, you remember me," said Meg. "I'm touched."
"You're gonna be a lot more if you don't let him go," growled Dean.
"Ooh, you promise?" smirked Meg. She leaned her head towards Sam's ear. "I can think of something a whole lot more fun. What do ya say, Sammy?" Sam whimpered a little, tears filling his eyes.
"Shut up, you bitch!" yelled Dean, starting to charge forward.
"Ah, ah, ah…" warned Meg, clutching Sam harder. "Wouldn't want to get Sammy hurt, would we?" She smiled wickedly and started laughing.
Sam suddenly brought his boot down on Meg's foot. Meg let go of Sam's neck in shock, and Sam spun around. He brought his fist forward into Meg's mouth, drawing blood. Before Meg could react, Sam placed his hands on Meg's shoulders and shoved her back.
The sound of Meg hitting a tree snapped Dean out of his wide-eyed stupor. He rushed toward Meg, pinning her to the tree by her throat.
"Run back to the car, Sam!" Dean shouted.
Dean reached into his jacket and pulled out a flask of holy water, spraying it onto Meg's face. She screamed as smoke flew into the air. Dean quickly whipped out Ruby's knife and raised it, but Meg screamed, black smoke flying out of her mouth. After checking the body—she was dead—Dean hurried back to the Impala. He couldn't see Sam inside.
"Sammy!" Dean yelled, flying towards the Impala. At the sound of Dean's voice, Sam popped up in the backseat. Dean threw the back door open, leaning into the car and pulling Sam into his arms. "You okay? You hurt?"
"No," said Sam. "I'm okay."
Dean just barely registered Sam's use of a full, complete sentence. Dean pulled away from Sam, hands on Sam's shoulders. "Sammy, you just beat up Meg."
Sam's puppy dog frown appeared. "Was I bad?"
"No, Sam." Dean smiled at his little brother. "You were awesome!" Sam lit up. "You did what I told you to do! You fought back!"
"I kicked ass?" asked Sam.
Dean laughed. "You kicked major ass! I'm so proud of you!"
"Really?"
"You bet. Now, let's get out of here."
Dean and Sam stumbled through the motel door, laughing. Sam flopped onto his bed, clutching his stomach.
"What's going on?" asked Bobby.
Dean calmed down enough to breathe. "We had a little visit from Meg."
"Meg?" asked Bobby in worry.
"You should have seen Sam, Bobby," said Dean. "He kicked Meg's ass."
"He did?" asked Bobby.
"I did!" exclaimed Sam from the bed.
"Did you see her face, Sammy?" said Dean. "She wasn't expecting much of a fight from you. That'll teach her to mess with my Sammy."
"Where is she?" asked Bobby.
Dean glanced at Sam. "I took care of her." He looked at Bobby. "By the way, he's six now."
"So soon?"
"I think the fight jolted him forward a little."
"So, let's figure this out," Bobby speculated. "He's aged from newborn to six in…four days. At that rate, he'll be back to normal in…eighteen days tops."
"That's almost three weeks," Dean told Bobby, exasperated.
"You'd rather him be stuck like this?"
Dean sighed. "I know, you're right. Sorry." He stopped when he realized Sam had been talking the past minute or so.
Dean looked over at the other bed to find Sam with one of his books in his lap, reading to himself.
"Sammy," said Dean. Sam looked up at him. "You can read?"
Sam smiled. "Yeah, I can read."
"That's great, kiddo," said Dean.
Sam went back to his book.
Dean rolled over, back screaming in protest.
Ugh, this couch is a bitch.
He sat up, looking over at Sam's bed. The kid was curled on his side, stuffed animal held loosely in his hands. Dean laughed a little as he got up and went about his morning routine. As he turned off the light in the bathroom, he heard a thrashing from the beds. He looked over to see Sam tossing about in the covers.
"Sam," Dean said as he rushed over, kneeling next to the bed. "Sam, wake up."
Sam scrunched his face up in pain, tossing his head back and forth. He let out a scream.
Bobby jolted up in his bed, looking over at Sam. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know," said Dean. He suddenly realized. "Oh, shit. He's probably remembering something."
"You think?"
"Look at our lives, Bobby. It's enough to make anybody scream." Dean placed a hand on Sam's forehead. "It's okay, Sammy." Sam shifted underneath Dean's hand, breathing hard and deep. "You're okay."
Sam's eyes flew open, and he flung himself into Dean's arms. Sam wrapped his long arms around Dean, gripping him tight.
"Hey, hey, it's okay," Dean soothed as he embraced Sam. Sam trembled under his arms, leaning his head into Dean's neck. "I got you. I got you. You're safe." Sam's torso hitched under Dean's hands, and Dean felt tears against his neck. "Hey, hey, it's over. I'm here."
"I want Mom," Sam muttered.
Dean froze, gently pulling Sam away from him. Sam's eyes were red and puffy, tears falling down his face. "Sam…Mom's…not here right now." Dean just didn't have the heart to break it to him yet.
Sam's frown deepened. "Is she dead?"
Dean looked into his eyes. "Why do you ask?"
"I saw her," Sam told him. "She was on the ceiling…fire everywhere." Dean froze, lowering his eyes. "Did that happen?"
Dean looked back up at Sam. "Yeah, Sam. That's how she died. It was a house fire. She's…been gone for a while now."
Sam looked up at Dean, fresh tears falling. "Dad's dead, too, isn't he?"
Dean felt a tear falling down his cheek as he frowned, nodding. "Yeah…Yeah, he is."
Sam fell against Dean's chest, sniffling, and Dean embraced him again. Dean let Sam cry all he could.
"I'm sorry, Sammy," said Dean. "I'm so sorry."
Sam sniffled again, pulling away from Dean. "I'm okay."
"You sure?" asked Dean.
Sam nodded, wiping the tears away. "I'm hungry."
Dean chuckled. "Okay. Hop in the shower."
Sam walked into the bathroom, closing the door. Bobby pulled himself into the wheelchair as Dean got a cup of water. He began taking a drink.
"Dean," Sam called from the bathroom, "why am I so big?"
Dean choked on his water, coughing as he lowered the cup. He looked over at Bobby to see the older hunter looking at him like 'I ain't going near this one.' Dean looked back at the door. "Why do you ask?"
"You're older than me, but I'm taller," Sam went on.
Bobby laughed as Dean rolled his eyes, relaxing.
"I'll, uh…I'll explain after your shower, okay?" said Dean.
"Okay," said Sam. A minute later, the shower began running.
"What are you gonna tell him?" asked Bobby.
"The truth," said Dean. Bobby stared at him. "I mean, he's, what, six, seven? He was about that age when he found Dad's journal for the first time and I told him everything. He can handle it."
"Okay," said Bobby.
Twenty minutes later, Sam came out of the bathroom, washed and dressed.
"Ready for breakfast, buddy?" asked Dean.
Sam nodded. "What about what you were gonna tell me?"
"After breakfast," said Dean. "I promise to tell you, but I'm hungry, and I bet you are, too."
Sam nodded again. "Okay. Do you promise?"
Dean smiled. "I promise."
