A/N:
Originally, I had only meant for the story to be a quick one-shot. However, after the requests I realized I did really want to continue with it. Writing from where I had left off in the short story would have been difficult, if not janky, so instead I decided to start fairly fresh. Welcome to the new and improved 20-25 part journey, with a better balance of adventure and angst. Brotherly shenanigans... commence!
The busing station was pretty packed for a small area like the one the brothers had found themselves in, but Sam only hoped it meant that she could blend in with the crowd and get across a few state lines relatively easily. If this woman- who'd been hit by a spell that must have reduced her age by more than half- wanted to stay so young and have another go at the game of life, he wasn't going to stop her. However, it was an entirely matter on Dean. His mind was already producing a host of likely solutions to bring back his brother, his real brother, even as Dean turned around and the smile faded from that miniaturized face. Sam could recognize the forlorn look of detachment. They both knew there were only two options, and at this point, Dean refused to even acknowledge the idea of returning to living with the Mark. He was "stuck" being a teen for the second time. Sam hated watching his stubborn brother climb into the passenger seat without the vaguest sense of hope that they'd reverse the spell. Maybe Dean was secretly harbouring a wish that the spell would never be broken. But despite the fact that he knew Dean would never willingly accept the Mark of Cain again, he wasn't about to sit back and allow his brother to go through… whatever this was. He didn't care what it might require to fix Dean; he'd find a way.
"Sam," came the typical voice of a moody teenager. "Are we going to idle in the parking lot all night long?"
His head snapped over- and down- to Dean. Sure, he was familiar with turning his gaze downwards, and there'd been a few times in which he'd driven, but ultimately the act of craning his neck so far down and to the right was alien. It was wrong. He couldn't blame his brother for the weird look given under that bright red cap; Sam's own face was contorted into a stunned look.
He realized a few minutes into their drive back to the motel that he hadn't responded. The hollow silence pervading the Impala only took his notice as his thoughts began to slow down, ceasing to run about his mind like a flock of headless chickens and repeating themselves as a sick mantra. Dean's never returning to normal. Dean's going to want to hunt while he's vulnerable. Dean's going to get himself hurt. He couldn't bring himself to speak.
That was, until they arrived at the motel, and Dean failed to come out of the washroom after quite a while. "You know, we rented beds for a reason," he called beyond the close relief of sleep. Though aware that his brother was fine, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to properly get some shuteye before seeing that Dean would be able to rest as well.
It didn't take much longer for the bathroom lights to flick off and the squealing of old bed springs to ring out. One quick glance in Dean's direction from where Sam lay on his back, and the door shut between bedrooms. He had to stifle a laugh for some time at such a classically teen method of telling someone to screw themself.
OOOOO
"Weren't you wearing that yesterday?"
"Shut it," Dean grumbled, slinging a pack over his shoulder and heading for the door Sam was keeping open.
"You look like you're eight years ol-"
His colourful stripes-wearing brother gave him a look that should have been blood-chilling. Unfortunately for his older- or, younger?- brother, the glare just didn't work with the little hoodie and cheap sneakers.
Sam tried approaching the topic more slowly. "Look, we could, uhm…"
"I'll do it on my own time, by myself. Got it? We are not having ourselves some sorta clothes shopping adventure. I'll walk to a store during the next case."
He quirked an eyebrow as they shut their respective car doors and settled in for another long drive. "You sure?"
Dean gave him a reflecting glance. "Yeah, Sam."
There'd be an onslaught of backseat-driving to follow if he didn't continue the conversation. He felt like it might be the best time to ask, "Are you sure you want to stay like that?"
Dean tilted his head away and slumped back in the seat a bit more. "We've already gone through this," he muttered.
"Dean, you can't possibly want to continue looking like a punk boy-band kid. I don't care how noble you are."
"Well there's nO WAy I'm going back…"
They both paused, acutely aware of the voice crack. Compound it with his already high-pitched voice and you had an extremely red Winchester in the passenger seat.
"Just deal with it, okay?" Then the music was blasting, and Sam couldn't find anything else to say.
OOOOO
He clenched his fists around the steering wheel as Ben E. King repeated the words "stand by me" for the tenth time in a row. It was a wonder that Dean had been tolerating such mild music for as long as he had, and Sam wasn't sure if he'd have another pissy teenager moment if he dared to switch radio stations. He glanced over to where his brother laid pressed against the window, at an angle that made it easy to see his face through the window- and mirror's- reflections. For a second, he was caught off guard by how simple it was to read every feeling Dean was passing through. Anger. Embarrassment. Self-pity that boiled over in his eyes. His brother was suddenly a torrent of emotions and it didn't seem as though he had any inkling of how to hold them back, save for the strategy he'd held himself to so far: facing away from Sam, keeping quiet, and blocking out the reality of the situation.
Suddenly, the drive became that much more unbearable.
"I'm going to contact Rowena."
Dean's eyes darted up to gaze at him through the car window's reflections, but didn't move his slouching position in the slightest. "That witch?"
"Yeah. We've found her before, right? She should be able to reverse all of this easily. Maybe she could take care of the Mark, too."
"No, Sam," his brother grumbled with his voice being muffled by quite a few factors, including his sweater lumping around his face and a cheek pressed up against the car door. "I need to stay like this, for everyone's sake. Why are you so set against it?"
"I'm not…" Now he felt the need to stop making eye contact. It was like a contagious, awkward feeling. "Listen, you and I both know this is never going to work anyways. I-"
"Why not?"
He turned to look at Dean, who'd magically come to sit straight up again and was giving him the deadliest of glares. His thoughts seemed to dissolve into a confusing jumble. ""Why not"? Dude, I mean- just- just look at you!"
"Yeah?" He could feel the venom in Dean's voice. They seemed to be a few seconds from a fight, the type of discord that rarely found it's way in between the two brothers. Sure, they bickered a lot, but neither of them commonly let things get to them in such quick fashion. "I'm still the same as I've ever been, Sam! Nothing's changed. Hell, we don't even have some big bad-guy to fight anymore. We can hunt again, normally."
"Can we? Are you going to go up against a vampire without even a hundred pounds to your name?" Sam's head hit the headrest with a thud. The little spike of pain that ran up his neck was a good replacement for the rest of the things he wanted to say aloud, but knew he couldn't. Well, he could, and he wanted to, but it wouldn't end nicely for either one of them.
"I hunted with Dad last time I was this age," Dean recalled, bearing a hint of pride. "We can make this work- and you know it. We always do."
The tiny speech was meant to be a comfort, and all it did was serve to fester a knot in the pit of his stomach. Dean refused to take it seriously. He was acting overconfident, something that'd nearly gotten him killed a million times in the past and had an even bigger chance of doing so now. It hardly felt like his older brother was sitting beside him. Technically, he didn't have an older brother anymore. Even if they went on hunts, he'd need to call the shots, lead the way, take the hits. All of the hits. One blow to Dean while he's cocky, and who knew if it'd be lights out?
"You can find us a case when we hit the next town. I'm going to head out and… grab some stuff. How's that sound?" Dean asked.
"Good." Sam wasn't sure if he should be constantly reminding himself that he didn't have an older brother at this point. On the one hand, they couldn't afford to overestimate what Dean could handle any more, and on the other, his brother had become defensive on the subject. But, it didn't really matter if he wanted to think about it or not. His brain kept slamming him with that fact… every time he remembered why he was driving the Impala, or why he wanted to delay finding a case, or why it was a good idea to enlist Rowena's help, or why everything had changed It was all because he didn't have an older brother anymore. Dean wasn't Dean, and that meant Sam needed to step in and help again. "That sounds good."
