TITLE: Childish Things, Chapter 2
SUMMARY: Sam puts aside his childish things.
DISCLAIMER: Supernatural is, sadly, not mine. At least, that's what it says in the restraining order…
WARNINGS: Some mild language.
AUTHOR's NOTE: Chapter 2, as promised! This one's a little teensy bit more angsty, and there's a few bad words. Nothing too bad. Dean is a naughty boy. This story takes place about five years after chapter one. Please give feedback, or I'll get cranky, and then I get the urge to hurt poor Sam. :)
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"I'm telling you, Sam, if those scratches get infected, you could start turning into a Livictus Demon, and then I'd have to put your sorry ass down."
"Shut up, Dean! I asked Dad and he said I won't turn into anything. And don't say ass." Sammy protested, blushing slightly. Dean didn't know why his little brother even cared – hell, he had learned more swear words from their Dad by the time he was eleven than most weathered sailors. But he supposed it was all part of Sam trying to blend into the rest of the world – it was unlikely that any of his little brother's sixth grade classmates could tell someone where to stick it in language as colorful as the Winchesters could.
"Dude, its bad enough puttin' up with your stinky-ass feet on a daily basis – I'm not gonna put up with slime and carrion breath too. I mean, I'm obviously already the good looking one, but shit – that would just be sad."
Sammy glared at him, un-amused. He shoved the folded clothes he held into the duffel on the bed with a sharp, irritated thrust. Dean almost felt bad for picking on him, but the truth was, he was a little freaked out. Somewhere in the last several years he had begun using this kind of goading, inappropriate humor as a coping skill. And earlier, when the demon had drawn his brother's blood while trying to kill him, Dean had, quite honestly, almost fainted with fear.
It was Sammy's fist real hunt – Dad had decided he was ready to start putting his training into action. And Dean knew, rationally, that practice only took you so far. If Sam were going to survive this lifestyle later, he needed to start getting experience now. But Sam seemed so much younger sometimes than Dean had ever felt, and it screamed against his every protective instinct to deliberately put him in a situation where his life was in danger. So he teased, and prodded, and annoyed, because it let out the tension in small, controlled bursts rather than one big mental breakdown. And even though Sam had barely even bled, there was going to be a lot of teasing over the next few days.
"Still, you were pretty damn quick getting' out of that thing's way," Dean admitted, feeling a little bit of pride. Sam had used the duck-and roll move Dean had taught him last summer to escape more serious harm.
Sam flushed, trying to maintain an air of aloof manliness and failing spectacularly. He had the same expression he had worn the first time he had used the potty on his own, and Dean chuckled, imagining the look on Sammy's face if he were to share that particular parallel.
Standing up a little straighter, Sam cleared his throat and gestured at an empty bag on the motel room table.
"Can you toss me that bag, Dean? Mine's full."
"Dude, you're like a chick or something – you've got too much stuff. What's in there, anyways, your hair products? A lifetime supply of pantyhose? Get rid of some of that crap, Francis – I need this bag for the research books and the holy water."
Sam looked ready to argue, but glanced at his overstuffed duffle and closed his mouth with a resigned sigh. They were under orders to finish packing by the time their Dad got back with dinner. John wanted to get out of Millsford, Wyoming quick, before anyone really had a chance to know they were there.
Dean resumed his own packing, unwilling to deal with John's reaction if he returned before they had finished. He was in a sullen mood, and Dean suspected that it was his Dad's own way of dealing with Sam's close call. Despite the sometimes single-minded purpose that drove him to push his sons, to train them and toughen them up, Dean could often see a sort of horrified fear in John's eyes when the harsh reality of their life made itself obvious. Like he was only just realizing that he was raising his sons to seek out dangerous, evil, killing things.
"So, should I just throw this stuff out?" Sammy asked, breaking Dean from his suddenly gloomy thoughts. He looked up to see Sam standing uncertainly by the bed, staring at a decent pile of stuff laid out beside the duffel. There was something worn and brown held loosely in his hand. Dean glanced at the clothes, two books, and rolled up magazine on the coverlet. Was that a National Geographic? Sam could be such a geek.
"Nah, leave it there – maybe the cleaning lady will want it for her kids or something. If not it just ends up in the same place." He squinted at the thing in Sam's loose grasp – it was TeddyDean. Dean hadn't sent he stuffed bear in a while. Sam must have been keeping it packed away.
"Is that your teddy bear?" Dean asked, jutting his chin at Sam's hands. Sam looked a little bit surprised for a second, like he had forgotten he was holding it, then blushed.
"Uh, yeah. I'm getting' too old for toys and stuffed animals." He stammered, tossing the bear onto the pile of clothes. He stared at a second longer before turning sharply to zip up the now roomier bag. Dean caught the moment of sadness in his brother's eyes as he turned away and sighed. Sam was trying so hard to grow up, to put away his childish things and shoulder his portion of the family's tremendous burden. Just as Dean had. But it hurt to watch Sam try to fit himself to the role of little soldier. It was so against his brother's inherent nature as a dreamer and an innocent.
Dean had read somewhere that the first three years of a child's life were the most important, developmentally. Despite the unfortunate trauma of being old enough to remember what he had lost, and how he had lost it, Dean realized that the first three years of his life had been blissfully, ignorantly normal. A mom. A dad. A little brother. A home with hugs and games and open affection. He thought of the first three years of Sam's life - grief, painful adjustments, a father lost in his own tragedy, a brother not even old enough to care for himself - and couldn't help but wonder about the damage to his little brother's psyche. He wished Sam had had a least one normal milestone – a birthday party, play dates, hell, even the same zip code for longer than a month or two. Somehow, seeing TeddyDean sprawled out on Sam's old flannel shirt made Dean want to hit something, to find a target for his anger over the injustice of Sam's sacrificed childhood.
Instead he zipped up his own bag and walked it over to Sam, who was now perched on the bed tying his shoes. He heard the deep rumble of the Impala pull up in front of their room, and knew their father was waiting for them, ready to hit the road.
"Hey, now that you're a big boy and you go on hunts, you can carry some of the weapons out to the car." He said, thrusting the duffel at Sam, who rolled his eyes and glared but still shouldered the bag with his own and struggled through the door. When the door clicked shut after his brother, Dean picked TeddyDean up off the bed, remembering all the times little Sammy had shoved it in Dean's face, demanding that he join in their play, the times he had clung to it when scared or unsure, the unspoken adoration of his big brother that colored every absurd, outlandish feat of heroism Sam had ever attributed to TeddyDean.
"What the hell are you looking at, Stinky?" Dean mumbled at the bear, a little embarrassed at the way his throat had tightened up. All the same, TeddyDean was safely tucked away in Dean's bag when he left to join his family in the car.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
AUTHOR'S NOTE: All together now… "Awwwwwww….". :) One more part to go. The plot bunny has threatened to take unflattering photos of me in the morning before my coffee and post them on the web if feedback is not given. Please. I implore you. Do yourselves and me a favor and send feedback. Sadistic little rodent…
