Author's Note: Well...this was unexpected. I really need to plot this thing out-I have an idea of where I want to go with my chapters as I sit down to write them, but sometimes they take off and twist in their own directions. Not always something I enjoy; I'm more of a plotter than a pantser (though I do enjoy riffing), but this story has been more by the seat of my pants than anything I've written lately.
Anyhow. Your guess is as good as mine where this one came from. I think Sam's got some stuff to work out. (I did promise angst, didn't I?) I'd also like to apologize for the Star Trek references, which also arrived from the Land of WTF; amazing the things one's brain will dredge up when least expected.
Consider yourself warned!
TWENTY-ONE
Sam raced to the end of the hall. Times like this, he really envied the beings he traveled with their ability to blip around in a blink. Even if it did result in constipation for all, it was fast and—most importantly—it got him to Dean.
By the time he reached the room with the open door and their voices, however, only Cas was there. With a little girl. They were holding hands as if they were about to go on a walk together.
Sam pulled up short, grasping the edges of the doorframe to stop his momentum; he hung there as a window-no, more like another door, opened in the center of the room right before the pair. Beyond it—inside it-he could see people moving about. It looked like some bad original Star Trek footage; he half-expected an overdosing Bones McCoy to appear out of nowhere, leap through it, and screw up time forever. Dammit, Jim.
"You want me to go through there?" The little girl asked. She scrunched up her nose at the angel. "You're not serious."
Wait a minute…Cas wanted the kid to go through the portal of time to God only knows where? What the hell, Cas?
Sam tried to step forward, to stop whatever was going on, but a glance from the angel had him frozen in place like a chicken nugget about to be nugged. Damn you, Cas!
"Oh, I am. Quite serious." Cas nodded. "Françoise is just through that door."
She tilted her head. "How do I know I can trust you?"
The angel shrugged. "You don't. But…" He squatted down. It was a very human gesture, and Sam wondered if he'd learned the "get down to their eyelevel" trick from dealing with little Dean for the past five weeks. "You know I'm an angel, and angels can be trusted."
Until they screw you over, Sam thought, struggling against his invisible bonds. Don't listen to him! He's going to beam you up into a different dimension! Crap. I need to stop watching Star Trek reruns before bed.
She appeared to think about this, chewing on her lip. Then she turned; when she saw Sam, her eyes widened.
She reminded him of the little girl he'd once met, the one with the suicidal teddy bear; sweet, innocent, yet somewhat worldly, too. As if she'd seen things no one her age should have witnessed and borne sorrow too big for her tiny shoulders. Almost a grownup in a child's body. But not quite. "He can see me too?" she asked.
Sam realized suddenly that she was speaking in French; he hadn't been de-Gaulled yet, and Crowley's babelfish trick was still translating everything he heard.
Cas nodded and looked at him. "Yes, he can see you and hear you. That's Sam. Sam, this is Emilie."
"Sam?" She frowned, then her face cleared. "Oh! You're Dee's brother!"
How does she know I called him Dee…oh. Because Dean calls himself that, too. He'd never noticed that before. "I am."
"You shouldn't let him wander like that," she admonished him. "He's very little. He could get hurt."
"I know." Sam agreed. "He got away when I wasn't paying attention."
"Well, you need to pay attention. Because it's terrible when you lose someone. I've been trying to find my sister for what feels like forever and…" she frowned. "You haven't seen her, have you? She's very young. She'd be looking for her doll." Emilie pointed to the shelf where the doll sat, using the hand that wasn't gripped in Cas' fist.
Sam shook his head. She pulled her hand from Cas' and put a fist on each of her hips in miniature indignation. "You do realize that Dee is with that monster-man right now. Don't you think it's important that you go get him instead of standing here chatting with me?"
"She means Crowley," Cas supplied. "She can see us in our true forms, since she's caught between the veils."
"I got that." Sam nodded.
"I can hear you, too, you know." Emilie stomped her foot. "I don't like it when people talk about me like I'm not here."
"Understandable," Cas agreed, and stood. "It's time for you to go, now."
"Where? Through that door?" She bit her lip again. "What if she comes looking for her doll?"
"I don't think she will," Cas said. "But Sam can keep a lookout for her and tell her he knows where you are if she does."
Good grief. Cas was lying. Or exaggerating the truth. Once Emilie stepped through the portal, she wouldn't be coming back.
"Is she…?" Sam asked. He didn't like lying. Especially not to little girls.
"She is right through that door." Cas gestured with his chin. "See?"
Emilie scrunched up her face. "All I see is an old lady in a white dress."
"That's her."
"No it's not…she looks like…wait a minute." Emilie squinted. "Oh! Now I see her! I see her! That's Francoise! It's my sister! And look—Maman and Papa!"
She dropped Cas' hand and flew through the portal; Sam could see the family reuniting on the other side of the doorway. It looked like crappy seventies television special effects, but it was touching just the same. Especially when Emilie and her sister (who was wearing a white dress) hugged and began jumping up and down with excitement. Except…
"If they turn and wave at me before the portal closes, I'm so not buying this Hallmark moment," Sam muttered.
"Oh, all right." Cas gestured and the portal closed before the family noticed the angel and the man watching them through the veil. "But I always like the wavy parts."
"Melodrama." Sam rolled his shoulders; he could move again. "Where's the doll? I'll salt and burn it, just in case."
"I don't think you'll need to." Cas plucked the doll off the shelf and looked at it. "It's just a doll, now—no memories attached to it."
He tossed it to the hunter. Sam caught it and nodded. Cas was probably right. It didn't feel haunted; he'd handled enough spooked objects in his lifetime to know. "So she was waiting for Françoise to show up?"
The angel nodded. "Sad. Seventy-four years. A lifetime for a human. But I guess that's what older siblings will do for their younger siblings. Whatever it takes."
Sam didn't answer. He just moved to put the doll back onto the shelf. "I have to go get Dean ready for bed."
He turned and walked down the hall, back to their room, feeling as if he'd been set up, somehow.
Had Cas done that?
He wouldn't put it past him; the angel—and the demon—had made their feelings about the subject pretty plain. He needed to change his brother back to an adult, even though—at times—it felt like the worst thing he could do to Dean. And then, it was right back to that thing.
Destiny. Who he was. Who Dean was. Even Annie wouldn't let him forget it. Make good decisions, she said. Easy for her to say. She didn't have to deal with Crowley and Cas, or the lingering doubts about what he'd done in the past. Bottom line—no matter what he did with Dean now, his brother would grow up and not remember a thing about this part of his second childhood. And he'd look at Sam with distrust again. It broke Sam's heart. And pissed him off, too. Because he'd had only good intentions at heart when he'd done what he'd done.
He pushed open the door to their suite. "Right. That's it. You come over here right now mister, or you're in big trouble," Sam heard Crowley say.
"No. Thhhpt, Wowwy," Dean said, and then he giggled.
"It's not funny."
"Choc'wate, chock'wate, chocka, chocka, chock-waaaate," Dean sang in his small, off-key voice.
"No. No, I don't—no! Don't rub it on…oh, bollocks. You effin' little piece of excrement..."
Sam peered into the master bedroom—which Crowley had claimed as his own—and was surprised to see the King of Hell caught in a crudely drawn devil's trap.
"What…how did…where did that come from?"
"Where do you think, Sasquatch?" Crowley crossed his arms and wasn't surprised to see chocolate smudged on the demon's cheek. "Your fecking little twat of a brother drew it. With chocolate, no less!"
"Dean did that?" He stared down at it. "That's not possible. He's only eighteen months old."
"So you say. But God only knows what he's capable of. And bottom line is—I'm stuck in here and that little bastard is off again on his own." Crowley frowned. "You didn't happen to notice him out there, did you? Because I'm not sure he's in here anymore."
"He couldn't get out into the common room—he would have had to go past me to—"
"The bathroom is accessible by any of the bedrooms, you giant yob. He probably snuck out that way when you came in here to gawk at me."
"Oh, shit." Sam spun on his heel to find Dean. Again.
"Ya' think?" Crowley barked. "Hey. No, wait. Sam! Come back and let me out!"
Sam ignored him to chase after Dean; he caught up to his brother as the toddler was pulling a chair up the doorknob to make another escape. "Dean! No! You need to stay in the room!"
"Dee find Ass," the little boy said, petulantly. "Wan' One Fish Two Fish."
"Dear God," Crowley moaned from his room. "I wan' cut off my own head with a butter knife."
Sam had to agree with the demon. "You know what? Let's get you ready for bed first. And then, when Ass gets here he'll read it to you."
"No bed." Dean struggled to get free. "Bed is for poop!"
Sam carried the boy back into the bathroom and started filling the tub. "Wheah da ducks?"
"No ducks."
"Ass make da ducks."
"Ass is busy right now." Saving ghosts from their own pasts.
"Ass no busy. I wan' Ass."
"No Ass." Sam grit his teeth and started removing Dean's chocolate-y pajamas.
"No Dam!" Dean hauled off and slapped Sam in the face. His sharp little fingernail jabbed Sam in the eye, the last straw at the end of a very long day.
Sam gripped his little big brother's arms. "You! Don't. Hit!" He glared into Dean's tiny face and he saw nothing but red. He wanted to shake the little boy, to get him to behave, to stop breaking things and running away and for making him feel so goddamn guilty all the time—
"Uh—Sam?" Crowley called from the other room. "How about letting me out? I'll give him a bath and you go for a walk or something."
And then there was a whoosh of sound and the scent of sandalwood. Sam blinked; his vision cleared and he realized Dean was no longer in his grasp. He turned his head to see Cas glaring down at him. "You will not hurt your brother."
"I wasn't—I wouldn't—I—" Sam realized he was babbling under the angel's intense stare. He closed his mouth. "I'm sorry."
"Dean is my charge," Cas said. "I will care for him tonight. You will not." With a whoosh, the angel disappeared, taking Dean along with him.
"Well...that worked out well." Crowley called. "Come over here, you giant child abuser, and let me out."
"I'm not a child abuser," Sam muttered, though he felt—down to the tips of his toes—that he was. He got to his feet and shuffled to Crowley's room to let the demon out.
The trap was surprisingly intricate. Sam scraped a part of it away. "Sorry, Crowley," he mumbled and turned away, wondering where Cas took Dean and if his little big brother was okay. Had he hurt him? He'd dug in his fingers pretty hard when he'd grabbed him; he'd probably made bruises. Sam shuffled to the common room and looked for the bottle of booze Crowley had produced.
"I wouldn't." Crowley stepped out of his bedroom, de-chocolated and dressed in a clean black suit. "The last thing you need, mate, is a drink."
"You're telling me not to give in to my vices right now? Isn't that your job? To push people into the wrong direction?" Sam cast around for something—anything—and finally dropped onto the couch. Despair washed over him and puddled in his stomach where it sat, churning itself into a hard little knot of angst.
"Ordinarily, yes. But you're not people. You're Moose." Crowley sat beside him. "And to be honest, your vices are a bit more vicey than most. Booze is just the tip of your iceburg. I'm lucky you're not gouging a hole in my neck and turning me into a slurpee."
"Shut up, Crowley." Sam flopped back with his head against the back of the couch and his arm over his eyes. He wished he could make his ears stop working. Hell, he wished he could make his brain stop working.
"And that's part of your problem right there. You don't want to hear it, you don't want to think about it; you don't want to work on your problems. You just want them all to poof away like they don't exist. Well, too bad."
Sam peered at the demon from under his arm. "Were you reading my mind?"
"Of course." Crowley settled against the couch cushions. "It's like a fucking funhouse carnival. I love it in there."
"Of course." Sam settled his arm more firmly over his eyes. He was such a fuckup, even the King of Hell was amazed at the fucked-upedness.
"Oh for Christ's sake, you giant mope. Get over it. We all suck. Don't you get that?" Crowley thumped him in the side with his elbow; it poked him like a knife between the ribs.
"Ow!" Sam lifted his arm away and glared at him. "That hurt!"
"Big baby. Here." Crowley snapped his fingers. A trifle-bowl sized ice cream sundae appeared and hovered over Sam's lap. The demon handed him a spoon. "What you need is a self-induced carbohydrate coma."
"If you gave me the carbs, how could it be self-induced?" Sam hesitated a moment before taking the spoon and cradling the giant bowl against his chest. He shouldn't eat the ice cream, he knew, but then again, the whipped cream looked so fluffy and there was a peanut butter cup poking up over one side of the enormous dish. What other candies were lurking beneath? "I am so going to Hell for this."
"Probably not." The demon sighed and reached for the remote. "You could go to Hell for other things, but not eating a peanut butter banana split."
"There are bananas in here?" Sam nudged the cream aside with his spoon. "Oh! Here's one." He paused as guilt of a different sort stabbed him in the heart. "Dean would love this."
"Dean has been cut off," the demon said firmly. "No more chocolate and sugar for him. From now on, it's fruit and veggies for that little heathen."
"He got you good, though." Sam giggled as the sugar swarmed into his bloodstream and began affecting his brain.
"I know. Little git can't even use the toilet and he's crafting demon traps good enough to catch me in. What's up with that?" Crowley paused, and sobered. "It wasn't your fault, what happened. You just got overloaded, today. Because you are a good brother, Sam. You just happen to be human and not superhuman."
"Thanks for pointing that out. I had delusions of superhero-ness."
"You know what I mean, you sod. Your brother is hell on two feet, even as an adult. As a child, even more so—because he's faster and he's got more energy than all three of us put together. And that's saying a lot. Don't beat yourself up too much. All parents pull a nutty sooner or later, and to be honest, I would have laid odds you'd crack long before this."
Sam shrugged. "I wanted to kill him."
"But you didn't. And we were watching you. You would have stopped even before Cas showed up. One look at that little face and you would have realized what you were doing. And beat yourself up, just the same."
"I don't know..."
"Well, I do. It's my job, after all. Making men give in to their passions. You weren't even close."
Sam sighed. He wasn't entirely convinced, but he felt a little better. Of course, that could have been the whipped cream helping, but...maybe not.
"Do you want your cherry?"
"Yes." Sam scooped it up between his finger and thumb and popped it into his mouth.
"Bet you can't tie a knot in the stem with your tongue."
"Bet you're never gonna find out."
"Bollocks."
0-0-0-0-0
On the other side of the globe, where the sun shone brightly, there was a little island where a coral reef formed a natural breaker, calming the roaring sea so that its waves gently lapped the sand. It was the kind of place where a small, naked boy could wade out quite far without worrying about the water climbing past his thighs and—if watched by a particularly attentive guardian angel—could play for hours, tormenting the sea life at his feet. Or at least until his chocolate high faded.
"Wook, Ass! A fish! One fish, two fish, fwee fish, four!"
In his beach chair, with his toes buried in the sand, his trouser pants rolled up to his knees, and his tie loosened, Cas nodded and waved. "Good job, Dean! Now look for one in a little car!"
Phew. That was the scariest chapter I've written to date. Kripke was right. Human monsters are the scariest. And we've all got one lurking inside us.
Carb up, people. It's our only hope for a peaceful humanity. And review if you can!