Chapter Eight

Disorientation greets Sam as he slowly awakens to the knowledge he no longer resides in his bed. He has a brief moment of panic before the familiar scent of leather wafts up from under his nose upon his next inhale and Sam's bewilderment immediately fades with the realisation that he is lying on the backseat of the Impala. He can feel the accustomed rumble beneath him and hear the recognisable purr of the car's engine. There's a pillow bunched under his head and squished against the door. His long legs are curled up on the seat and a blanket covers him.

He cracks open his eyes to the familiar outline of Dean before him in the front seat, Cas occupying the passenger side of the bench seat, their voices drifting over Sam's still sleep-fogged mind. Sam shifts slightly to relieve an ache in his side, his eyes drifting closed once again as he slips his thumb in his mouth, knowing he's safe.

#SPN#

Glancing briefly in his rear-view mirror Dean's lips curl up briefly, pleased to see Sammy's fallen back to sleep. The kid needs it. Which is evidenced by the fact Dean had managed to carry his kid through several floors of the bunker, up the stairs to the garage, and situate him comfortably on the Impala's backseat without Sammy once stirring. It's a sure sign that Sam's body has long sailed passed exhaustion and is only running on empty. Because Sammy usually would have at least stirred and then gone straight back off to sleep again; unless something interesting or life-threatening was happening around him that required his immediate attention.

Righting his rear-view mirror back to its usual position, Dean drops his hand to his chest, digging his hand beneath the neck of his t-shirt to scratch at an itch that has been irritating him for at least fifteen minutes now. Blessed relief from the annoyance encompasses him as his short fingernails scratch over it. Withdrawing his fingers, they brush over his tattoo on the way out and he's reminded of the area of country they're headed to. Dropping his hand back down to the wheel, he isn't sure how long they'll be in Washington State for, but it'll be the perfect time to get it done. Considering there's no telling when a job will take them back.

Glancing beside him, Cas has been quiet since they left the bunker; his newly human partner has barely moved in fact. Once again releasing one hand from the wheel, Dean reaches over and places his hand on Cas' thigh, giving a squeeze of his fingers. Cas blinks awake from wherever he had zoned off to and turns his head to look at Dean, offering a smile. Cas' hand covers Dean's on his thigh before glancing over his shoulder at Sam's sleeping form.

"Is something wrong?" Cas queries, lowering his usual gravel tone a little as not to wake their sleeping boy, fingers lightly squeezing Dean's.

"That's what I was gonna ask you, man. You okay?"

"Yes," Cas nods, though to Dean's ears his partner doesn't sound as if he agrees with himself.

"You sure?" Cas nods again, though Dean's not sure he believes him, but it will hold for a minute. "Quick question for you, Cas. Any chance you might be afraid of needles?"

"I find it doubtful that I would be, Dean." Dean can hear the frown in Cas' voice. "Though I have yet to have the pleasure or displeasure of being at the end of one. Is it something I should be afraid of?"

"No," Dean shakes his head. "They're irritating at most. But people do fear them. Sammy does."

"Why would Sam fear something so small?"

Dean snorts softly, "Cas, that's like asking why anybody fears anything." He shrugs. "I haven't a clue." Though he does have a fairly good idea that it stems from John carelessly shoving a toddler Sammy over onto his stomach for a hick doctor to stick a shot in his butt that one time. Dean's fingers twist against the steering wheel just thinking about it. If only his dad had just let Dean calm his baby brother down first, Sammy's fear of needles might have been avoided. He was a freaking baby! But even then all John wanted was for Sam to toughen up; to 'suck it up, soldier!' Dean shakes his head, loosening his fingers from there taut hold as he shoves the memory away. "Sammy's just never liked the things. Getting him to take a shot is a pain in the ass, sometimes literally. Just don't make a big deal of it if it comes up."

Cas nods. "So why are you asking if I might fear them?"

"Because you're human now. And unless you wanna find out what it's like to get possessed by a demon, you need to get inked up." Dean withdraws his hand from Cas' thigh to pat his fingers against the area of his tattoo before returning his hand to the wheel.

Cas' frown seeps into understanding. "That would be sensible. Is there somewhere specific I'd need to go to get it done?"

"Nah. Any tattooist worth a grain of salt can get it done, you just have to give the artist the design. But the best place to get it done is in Seattle. At least, it's the only place I can get Sam's redone."

Ever since he had ordered Cas to burn the tattoo from Sam's chest, Dean's guilt as well as the Mark of Cain and his knowledge of how much Sammy hates needles has kept him from actively pushing for Sam to get re-inked. Even knowing how much of a risk no longer having an anti-possession tattoo presents to his baby brother. But getting Sam in the tattoo parlour the first time around had been hard enough and that was coming out the back end of a demonic possession by that bitch Meg. Dean just hadn't felt he had the right to demand that of his kid over the past two years, and he knows full well Sam's procrastinated the entire time. They've managed to be extremely lucky so far. But now Dean's pushing. Sammy will be getting it done even if Dean has to sit on the Sasquatch to hold him down. And this time Sammy will have an added protection; one ingredient that can be added to the ink to further protect Sammy from possession. Something they hadn't been aware of the first time around but Dean recently found upon a little research. That's why they need to hit Seattle. Dean trusts only Tom Jeffries to get it done properly.

"I figure since we're in the area we can kill two birds with one stone."

"That will be fine, Dean."

Dean frowns. Cas is speaking a little too formally for Dean's liking, something he's noticed Cas does when tension is creeping in. And that minute of holding off is gone. He wants to know what's going on with his partner. "All right, Cas, something's bothering you. What is it?"

"I…" a loud sigh, and Dean glances over. Cas' forehead is ridged with deep frown lines. "What happened earlier, Dean?"

There's a turn coming up they need to take and Dean keeps his eyes on the road as he waits for more to be incoming but Cas doesn't continue. "You wanna give me a little something more specific, Cas? Cause a lot happened earlier."

"When I was searching for my angel blade. You were angry, distant …"

Yeah, Dean had been angry. Weapons are kept in immaculate condition and kept track of. The importance of that was one of the first things Dean had been taught by John, and Dean had taught Sam in turn. Now he's teaching Cas, who should already know to keep track of his own angelic weapon; Cas isn't a novice where that blade is concerned. And Dean doesn't give a shit if they're only in the bunker; knowing where your weapons are can save your life. Thankfully Cas had soon found it underneath Dean's bed.

"Yeah and I told you why …"

"No," Cas interrupts, "I mean, you were angry about my losing the blade, and rightfully so. But then you… froze. It's been running through my mind but I cannot figure it out. What happened?"

"Nothing," Dean immediately responds, maybe a little too quickly to put Cas' mind at ease.

"Dean."

"Cas, it was ridiculous, okay," Dean shakes his head. "Just a stupid thought that had no basis for being in my head to begin with," he laughs a little nervously. He doesn't want to talk about this. He's been trying to shove it to the back of his mind since that thought crept in. "It's not something that needs talking about, Cas."

"So why have you been grinding your hands against the steering wheel since you started driving?"

"Dammit, Cas!" Dean hisses, his palm hitting the steering wheel with a dull thud. God, why does he have to have the unfortunate pleasure of having both a baby brother and a partner who want to talk things out all the fucking time? Why can't things just be left alone? "Why don't you tell me what was going through your head when you were frantically looking for the fucking thing, huh?!"

"Dean…" Cas' voice is quiet, but firm, "… don't shut me out. I know you're not one for talking, but I refuse to spend our entire relationship waiting for either one or both of us to blow up because we cannot talk it through. We're in this together, remember."

Fuck. There goes Cas pulling a Sammy on him. Dean needs to remember not to let the two of them team up against him. He squirms in his seat, wanting nothing more than to tell Cas they're not doing this, but fuck… Cas is right. Christ, it's not like he never talks about issues or whatever. He's had to initiate more than one with Sammy when the kid's taking a page out of Dean's book for too long. And didn't he just initiate one with Cas? So yeah he'll talk. He'll hash things out. But only because it's usually on his terms. He's told Cas he'll do his best to try and start talking things through with him, but Cas has to know Dean just can't always do that. He isn't built that way.

Dean sighs, releasing the wheel to run a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I remember, Cas. Just… seriously, I do want to know what you were thinking then as well, because …"

"You want to know if there's any correlation," Cas points out.

Dean nods, flicking a glance at Cas. "I don't know how there could be, but… yeah. I mean you were looking for the blade a little more frantically than just being worried about my reaction …"

"I was worried about your reaction. I know how you feel about weapons and you were right to be angry with me. However… my main concern lay… lay with Sam, that he could hurt himself if he found it," Cas chuckles humourlessly. "Which is clearly absurd."

"Right. Absolutely. Total absurdness," Dean agrees quickly with a quick grim snort of his own, because nothing about this currently calls for humour. He can feel Cas' eyes on him as he resolutely stares at the road.

"Except… that… you…" Cas trails off.

Dean's shoulders slump. "Yeah. Pretty much," he admits, running a hand over his hair again, a growl of frustration rumbling from his throat. "I don't understand any of this, Cas. We're both clearly connected to Sammy, more so than ever before, because how else could our power use effect the kid, but this… What is this? Protectiveness kicked into super-drive? I mean… What the hell? I can't… WE can't protect him like this if we don't know what's going on in our own heads. I mean… do you even know where that thought sprung up from? And a shared one at that. Because I definitely don't."

"I don't necessarily believe it was shared, though it certainly seems similar. Have you never before thought about how Sam's own weapons could hurt him, Dean?"

"Of course I have." And then I usually shove it to the very far recesses of my mind. "But it's a necessity we can't get away from. Sammy's a hunter. Hunting comes with the use of weapons, Cas. So what do we do?"

Cas sighs, "I am unable to offer you answers that I'm seeking too, Dean. And I abhor that. All we truly know is that Sam performed the spell. And when he performed it he became a sort of conduit to the spell's power …"

"What are you trying to get at, Cas?" Dean questions when Cas trails off again.

"I don't know." Cas suddenly smacks his fists against the dash in front of him in pure frustration, rattling the frame. "I don't know!"

"Hey, watch it, Cas! Don't take it out on Baby!" Dean glances quickly in the rear-view mirror hoping the noise hasn't woken his baby brother.

"I'm sorry. Did I wake him?" Cas quickly peers over his shoulder into the back.

"No." The kid thankfully is still sleeping on, suckling his thumb. "Luckily."

"That's good. He needs as much rest as he can get."

"Yeah, he does. If you've dented my dash, man …"

"I know. You'll kill me."

"Damn straight."

#SPN#

Sam wakes with a jolt, realising he's still curled up on the backseat of the Impala. The car is no longer in motion, though the engine still runs. Dropping his legs off the seat and into the footwell, he sits up, the blanket slipping off his shoulder and pooling in his lap. Sam leans forwards with a groan, dropping his forehead to rest atop the front seat's backrest. A hand ruffles over his hair before dropping down to give his neck a squeeze before the hand moves away.

"Where're we?" he mumbles around his thumb.

"At the store," Dean responds shutting off the engine.

Sam blinks at the lack of pertinent information in his brother's words. 'At the store' could mean they're still in Lebanon, or the next town over. In fact, they could be anywhere. But Sam does have a hunch he knows what store Dean's referring to. And as Sam pushes himself upright from his slouched position, letting his thumb slip from between his lips as he takes a moment to orient himself to their surroundings, he's proved right.

Looking out the window he can see Dean's pulled into the parking lot belonging to the huge building he can only partially see out of his window due to its vastness. It's the massive twenty-four-seven supermarket Dean likes only for its stock of large bags of rock-salt; his brother willing to travel the two hour journey from Lebanon just for that purchase alone. Considering Dean's hatred for these multi-purpose "demonic" stores that sell everything under the sun you'd think the rock-salt comes packaged in gold. But nope. Just larger bags then they can normally purchase elsewhere.

It also means Sam's been asleep for around two hours and not the freaking twenty minutes Dean had promised to wake him from his nap. Scrubbing the sleep from his eyes he turns an accusing look at the back of his brother's head.

"You said you were gonna wake me after twenty minutes, Dean, not leave me sleeping for hours."

Dean turns to look over his shoulder at him. "You obviously still needed the sleep, Sammy. So quit your whining."

"I'm not …" Sam cuts himself off and takes a breath, running his hands through his hair. He doesn't want to debate with his brother about this right now. "So what are we doing here? Thought we already have a good stock of rock-salt," he comments. The last time he'd checked several weeks back, they had fifteen of the larger size bags in the bunker. They usually fill up several smaller bags to keep in the car for jobs.

"We need supplies. This place is easiest."

Again, Sam waits for more but nothing is forthcoming. He shrugs. He'll figure it out when they're in the store and getting the supplies. Pushing the blanket from his lap, Sam swings open his door and slips out from the backseat, closing the door behind him. He leans back against the impala, waiting for his legs to wake up properly. Along with the rest of him. He'd have thought walking thirty odd miles would have boosted his energy back to a reasonable level but Sam still feels bone-weary. Getting out of the car into the fresh air seems only to have zapped what little energy he had awoken with. He feels as if he could easily crawl back under the blanket and sleep another day away. But he'd slept enough. It's not fair to Dean and Cas to have to keep carrying his weight, both literally and figuratively. They have enough to worry about without having to be concerned if Sam's fully fit enough to go on this hunt for Rowena. She's potentially the only witch in existence who could give them some insight into the spell Sam used to cure Dean. Beyond what Sam's research, on top of more research, has already thrown up. A little exhaustion can't get in the way of that.

He is drawn from his thoughts at the familiar squeak belonging to the passenger door; the subtlest difference he can detect in the sound that doesn't belong to Dean's side. Sam offers a quick smile to Cas as the former-angel steps out from the front seat, pushing the door closed behind him; the squeak evident once more in closing.

"I think my butt's gone to sleep," Cas states, before frowning. "Is that the accurate saying, Sam?"

Sam chuckles lightly. "Yeah, Cas," he responds, brushing back some hair from his eyes. "Bet'cha wishing you could just zap yourself around right about now, huh?" Sam feels a twinge of guilt in his gut knowing he's the reason Cas can no longer use that ability.

Surprisingly, Cas shakes his head. "Not especially. I have grown accustomed to being in a car for long journeys, so I don't find it as much of a hindrance as I used to. Hopefully I can secure a vehicle of my own again soon," Cas frowns through the passenger window at Dean who's still behind the wheel but now on his phone. "Seen as mine has mysteriously disappeared." Sam has no doubts the former-angel knows exactly what Dean has done with that car. And maybe one day Sam will ask Cas if there's actually a car heaven. He snickers inwardly. "Driving with company is much more enjoyable though," Cas continues. "And Dean's music is pleasant."

Oh god. Dean is rubbing off a little too much on their former-angel if Cas is starting to enjoy Dean's mullet rock. Sam certainly isn't telling anyone he secretly enjoys it as well; it always brings out the lighter side of his big brother, the side of Dean that sings along badly to the lyrics no matter who's listening.

"Well, if we haven't got stuck in traffic yet, it'll be a new experience for you, Cas," Sam chuckles. "Dean's like a bear with a sore head when that happens. Just have to make sure he doesn't have any beverages he can chuck at other people's windshields."

"I'll take that under advisement. Thank you, Sam."

Sam snickers at the amusement in Cas' tone, before he has to hide a yawn behind his hand.

"Still tired?"

Sam shakes his head. "Nah, just haven't woken fully yet." Something a good dose of caffeine would normally help me with, he thinks, wondering if he can chance asking Dean to once again change his mind on that score. He shakes his head after a moment's contemplation. Dean's made it pretty clear he isn't going to budge on that issue and Sam really doesn't feel like arguing when he's not going to win. Especially when it takes up too much energy. He won't give up on the issue though; he'll have his caffeine back eventually.

Cas buys Sam's little white lie easier than Dean would have. Fortunately, his brother has still yet to venture out of the car. Sam wraps a knuckle on the passenger window.

"He's speaking on the phone, Sam," Cas chastens lightly.

"So?" Sam grumbles. "I'm pretty sure Dean's mastered the art of walking and talking at the same time, Cas. He's the one that wants to be in and out of here," Sam gestures towards the store.

The driver's door opens, Dean finally stepping out, phone still attached to his ear. He throws an annoyed look at Sam, who shrugs back innocently. "Yeah, got it. Thanks Mike." Dean hangs up, pocketing his phone, before leaning his forearms on the Impala's roof to address Sam and Cas. "So, seems Mike ran into our resident witch five days ago in Missoula, Montana."

"That's before both the sightings in Olympia and Vancouver," Cas points out.

Dean nods. "Mike just got my message after getting out the hospital with a busted leg. No thanks to Rowena. She ruined his hunt and Mike ended up exorcising a demon chasing after her. Course he didn't know she's a witch."

Sam frowns, listening, his mind working to pull information together. "Huh," he intones a moment later. Dean and Cas stare at him in expectation of some elaboration. Sam provides it. "I have to give to her, Rowena's smart if she's doing what I think she's doing."

"Care to share?"

"Well how many hunters do we know that are experienced enough to actually exorcise a demon, Dean?"

"Outside of us… probably a dozen or so."

"And Crowley has demons riding Rowena's ass," Sam says, keeping his voice low, mindful of the shoppers going to and from their cars. "He's a witch's son. By now he's gotta have figured out a way to counteract Rowena's spell to gank demons. And without that ..."

"It makes her fairly powerless against them," Cas comments.

Dean frowns. "You think she's purposefully running them into hunters."

Sam nods. "At a guess, yeah. I mean, I honestly can't see any other reason why there's been three sightings of her in five days. She's been around a long time, she knows how to stay off radar."

"Except Crowley's demons are expendable to him," Cas remarks. "He'll just throw more her way."

"Not if he wants to keep his crown," Dean states. "We know he's been on shaky ground for a while now. And as much as I'd love nothing more than to see Crowley overthrown..."

"And dead. So very dead," Sam interjects, tone hard.

"Yes, Sammy, that too," Dean placates. "He also has his uses on that seat. Neither do we wanna have to contend with other demons trying to win points in a demonic showdown for it."

"That'd be the last thing we need," Cas shakes his head. "Will this be changing our course?"

"Nah, we'll stick to heading for Olympia." Dean withdraws his arms from the roof and throws a disgusted look at the building they're about to descend on. "All right, let's go. I'd like to get in and out of this place sometime today."

Sam smirks over his shoulder at Cas who shakes his head with a roll of his eyes. The pair of them join Dean as he rounds the car, heading towards the cart station at the front of the store.

"Mike doing alright?" Sam questions.

"Yeah. Aside from being pissed when he recognised the description of Rowena from my message." Dean grabs a shallow-basket shopping cart. "Sent a pal of his to check out the place she was staying."

"Let me guess. Rowena already booked."

"Without a single thanks for a job well done. It's just plain rude, Sammy." Sam snorts, jumping out of the way of a motorised scooter before it smacks him in the legs, the elderly driver thinking she's on a racetrack. "Hey, lady! Foot traffic here!" Dean barks after her, eyebrows shooting upwards as the woman raises a hand and gives him the finger.

Sam laughs with a clap of his hands, only laughing more at his brother's mutterings about demonic elderly bitches. Until Dean cuffs him upside the head. "Cas, Dean hit me!" Sam pouts, his chuckles tapering off slowly as he rubs at the spot. It hadn't actually hurt.

"Snitch."

Cas rolls his eyes and heads through the stores entrance doors, leaving the brothers' to follow.

Once inside Sam shoots off to the restroom to relieve himself. On his return Dean is alone, standing in front of a small display of US maps, his brother flicking through the one in his hands. Sam's pretty sure Dean will never invest in a GPS system for the Impala; the man wouldn't even let Sam plug in an iPod jack. Thankfully Sam has a route app on his phone but he can't always get a good enough Wi-Fi signal on the road for it to work. Plus it plots out more direct routes from point A to B that takes them on roads Dean more often than not doesn't like to use. Dean's preference lies in the backroads that are not heavy with congestion. As does Sam's; he'd rather his brother not get arrested for being pissed at commuters clogging his path.

Dean looks up as he approaches, dumping the map in the cart and grasps the handle. Dean pats the metal with his hand and Sam steps up next to the cart, on the right of his brother and sets his hand on the side of the cart.

"Good boy," Dean nods approvingly, the miniscule relaxing of his shoulders missed by everyone but Sam.

A grown man keeping his hand on the cart when someone else is pushing it is no doubt unusual, but for them it's just routine and instinctual. Dean pushes the cart, Sam keeps his hand on the side. They have to have one place outside of the bunker where they know exactly where the other is – with no monster being able to snatch the other away without being seen. They need to be able to be normal in doing their freaking grocery run, more so since having that permanent base that they can fill up on full loads once a month. A run that can take several arduous and hateful hours of navigating aisles and people and those miniature people known as screaming children demanding a new toy or candy. And his brother is far more relaxed when Sam's hand is attached to the cart, where Dean knows exactly where Sam is, and Sam's willing to give that to Dean. Because he's just as happy knowing where his big brother is as well.

"Where's Cas?" he questions while Dean steers them towards the aisles.

"Upstairs. He needs clothes."

"Was wondering if you were gonna take him to get new clothes at some point," Sam comments, knowing Cas has been living in some of Dean's old garments and some of Sam's smaller ones as well.

"Not like we've had the time, Sam. Hopefully he'll be quick. We got a witch to hunt." Dean turns the cart right.

"Does he even know what he likes? I mean, aside from a trench coat and a blue suit and tie he's lived in for like eight years."

"No idea. That's why he's up there on his own. You or me go up with him we'll be unknowingly shoving our style onto him." Dean gives a hapless shrug. "He'll figure it out. Now we need the necessities; car oil, baby wipes, crackers and 7up case you get sick again …"

"Not gonna happen," Sam interjects stubbornly.

Dean ignores him, carrying on with his memorised list. "… Children's Tylenol and one of those spoon thingy's with the tube attached for the medicine to go in."

"Those things are for babies and kids, Dean," Sam grumbles as they turn down the health aisle. "I'm neither. Just get a regular spoon. "

"Would you rather I pour purple medicine all over you if I need to give you this crap in the car?" Dean gives the box containing the grape flavoured Children's Tylenol he's just picked up off the shelf a shake in Sam's face.

Sam narrows his eyes, pushing the box out of his face. Of course he doesn't want that crap all over him; it's sticky and gross, and he has no further intention of needing the stuff in the first place. Unfortunately, he also knows that's a pipe dream. He always ends up hurt somehow and as macho as he would like to be, sometimes painkiller is necessary and vital to the healing process. And as Dean has so plainly expressed, the purple stuff is all the painkiller Sam's getting for the foreseeable future.

"I can do it myself, Dean," he points out.

"I know, Sammy. But there are times you can't dose yourself," Dean responds plainly, knowingly.

And Sam begrudgingly has to admit his brother is right. The majority of the headaches he's suffered recently since that first one hit him the day after performing the spell have been near debilitating. The really severe ones that had left Sam with little choice but to be laid up in bed - generally with Dean's full endorsement - Dean had had to dose him with the pain meds because Sam had barely been able to lift his head from the pillow to do it himself. And now knowing the cause of the headaches doesn't stop Sam from remembering how useless he'd felt and how much it had reminded him of the last few weeks of the demon trials. He'd been able to push through the pain then and he's determined to do so again if he's hit with another headache. Though that shouldn't be a problem now with Dean and Cas refraining from using their powers. And if they at all slip up, then… well, Sam will be unconscious and won't have to worry about the headache until he wakes again anyway.

It still doesn't mean he needs a medicine spoon.

But Dean gives him a challenging look, one Sam is not willing to back down from. Unconsciously flexing his shoulders, Sam crosses to the display of medicine spoons. He grabs a pack of three green-coloured but see-through spoons that are on offer and tosses the package into the cart, throwing his brother a 'you happy now' look while he's at it.

Dean smirks, most assuredly happy with his win, and picks up another bottle of Children's Tylenol, setting both in the cart beside the spoons. He picks up two packets of normal painkillers and hopefully they'll have time while they're here to swing by the pharmacy to get some more, plus some stronger ones. The far stronger controlled-drug painkillers they can't purchase over the counter will have to be acquired by other not so decent means.

Sam smothers a yawn behind his hand as he watches Dean dump several first aid supplies in the cart to replenish their kit; antiseptic ointment, burn ointment, Band-Aid's, bandages, antiseptic wipes, two thermometers…

"You already got a thermometer," Sam states, remembering the blue and white thermometer Dean tried using on him back during the demon trials. And probably did use, seen as Sam remembers his brother telling him he had a temperature of one-oh-seven at the time.

"That thing crapped out when I tried taking your temp back when you collapsed and I had to shove you in an ice bath, Sammy."

Sam tilts his head, glancing down at the thermometers. One of them is identical to the digital one Dean had before but the other one… Sam's eyes widen as he reads the label and he snatches the thing out of the cart. He shoves it away onto the nearest shelf where it can stay for all eternity as far as he's concerned. Dean looks at him unamused, reaching around Sam to grab the thermometer and throws it back in the cart. Sam moves to grab it again when a hand lands against his bum. Just a pat of fingers really. But a reminder nonetheless of how Dean has no qualms about swatting him in a public place if he feels it necessary to correct Sam's behaviour there and then. Sam likes to avoid that outcome like the plague and he jerks his hand away from the thermometer. He glares at his brother, feeling the slight flush spread across his cheeks.

Dean glares right back, grabbing him by the arm and Sam has to still himself from covering his bottom. "I'm not gonna get caught short in taking your temperature again just because you don't like where the damn thing's gonna have to go, Sam," Dean hisses in his ear, low enough so no one else can hear. "And it ain't my fault that your bottom's the only place to get your temperature without frying thermometers left, right and centre."

Sam stares at his brother wide-eyed, the heat in his cheeks intensifying. He can't quite believe they're talking about this embarrassing topic in the middle of the health aisle. He'd rather never talk about it anywhere.

"I know you hate it, alright. I've spent years having to do it to you, Sammy," Dean adds shaking his head with a sigh, thinking back to the last time he'd had to take his kid's temperature – or tried to.

Sammy had kicked up a stink in the bunker when Dean had moved to set the thermometer in the kid's mouth. And later at that hotel where they'd found Metatron – and fuck they should have left that dick where they found him or shoved an angel blade in his gut there and then – and Dean had returned to find his baby brother unconscious on the floor and running as hot as a furnace. The thermometer had spiked all over the show, same when shoving it under the kid's arm. And when he'd stuck the ear thermometer in his kid's ear. So sue him for having purchased more than the one type of thermometer than Sam had been aware of. He knows what Sammy's body is like. It gives out crap readings. And blows up thermometers when it doesn't want to cooperate. Always has. So Dean had had to resort to the only way left – the only way to accurately get a temperature reading from Sam's body.

Something Dean had only learned upon a three-year-old Sammy suffering a severe case of chicken pox and scaring the shit out of his big brother. The doctors and nurses had put it down to the electrical current in Sammy's body running higher than normal and messing with the readings. But with all they've learned since, Dean has to wonder if the demon blood played a role in it. Sam's body hasn't really changed all that much over the years, but it does allow for temperature taking in more normal fashion on sporadic occasions, hence the gamut of thermometers. Of course, Dean hadn't mentioned how exactly he'd determined the one-oh-seven temperature back at that hotel, just let his baby brother believe what he wanted.

"If you don't think I'm willing to do whatever is necessary or have a contingency plan for practically everything where you're concerned, kid, you don't know me very well." Dean releases his hold on his brother and stalks away with the cart, his movements dislodging Sam's hold on the metal frame. He knows he should have grabbed a new ear thermometer, and another normal digital one to use for the armpit, but he's too annoyed to walk back down that aisle now.

Sam swallows heavily as he stares after Dean. He is more than aware of what Dean is willing to do for him. What his brother already does do for him. But something like this is more than difficult to accept, even when it's always been a known part of his life. Because as much as he's aware his health is more important than his pride, it is another thing that sets Sam apart; that makes Sam feel different. But it shouldn't, not when it's such a stupid little thing in the grand scheme of things. When it's something Dean's never teased him for, but has always done what's needed for Sam.

Sighing, Sam shakes his head, realising his hand is still hovering in mid-air from where it was dislodged from the cart and quickly drops it to his side. Dean has stopped at the top of the aisle, not looking back at Sam, but simply waiting. Sam snags a couple more packages off the shelf before jogging to his brother.

"I think we should test out the normal ways again," Sam suggests quietly, keeping his tone conversational as he sets the ear and digital thermometers into the cart. He sets his hand on the cart and Dean starts off again. "I mean, how do we know it wasn't the demon blood causing havoc with the thermometers all this time?" He says, unknowingly voicing Dean's thought. "We can at least try it, Dean, and you can take the cost of the busted thermometers, if they do break, out of my allowance."

Dean raises an eyebrow at him, "Well you definitely wanna try it if you're willing to lose more than a week's worth of your allowance on this. All right, Sammy. We'll try. But if it doesn't work and they still crap out..."

"Don't kick up a stink next time I need my temp taken, I know."

"Good."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it though."

"Wouldn't expect you to, kiddo. Grab that," Dean points to a discounted pack of six 7Up bottles. Sam does as instructed and sets it in the cart. A crate of beer and water follows. "Anything else you want on top of the necessities?" Dean questions, scooting them down the rock-salt aisle and snatching up four bags.

"Candy," Sam offers a grin. He may like his health foods, but he does have a sweet tooth and where his brother will go for anything involving pie, Sam will choose candy over any dessert any day.

"Fine," Dean rolls his eyes. "Candy. But don't even think about getting anything sticky this time."

Sam rolls his own eyes, grabbing up two cans of car oil and setting them in the cart before placing his hand back on the side. "That wasn't me last time. That was you."

"You wish, Sammy," Dean snorts. "M&M's don't make that kinda mess."

And of course M&M's are pretty much all the candy Dean eats. Which places the blame solely at Sam's feet whenever there's a mess on the seats or floor that doesn't consist of chocolate or candy shells.

Reaching the candy aisle, Sam knows what he wants and his eyes travel over the shelves in search of any type of Gummi. If he can play his cards right Dean will have moved off further down the aisle and Sam can sneak a couple bags into the cart before his big brother notices. Because there's no way Dean will let him have Gummi's in the car ever again. Even though it wasn't Sam's fault an open packet was left on the dash on one of the hottest days of the year and they kind of melted back into a blob of sticky, runny mess. Which Sam had tried to hurriedly clean up before his brother returned to the car, but had only ended up with sticky fingers that somehow touched too many areas surrounding the passenger seat which of course was when Dean got in the car. And too observant where both his car and baby brother are involved, Dean had immediately noticed the sheen of sticky patches of smeared fingerprints on the dash first and then the leather seat. Not for the first time had Sam ridden home in the backseat. Glancing toward his brother out the corner of his eye, the man is already halfway down the aisle.

"Hey, Dean, can we get some chips too?" Sam asks, hoping to turn Dean's attention to the other side of the aisle.

He succeeds, Dean shrugging one shoulder as he crosses over to the share bags of chips and leaves the cart where it is. Just as Sam was hoping. Sam snatches up three bags of Gummi's, two Bears and one Worms, and takes a silent step towards the lone cart before his brother's voice stops him in his tracks.

"Put 'em back, Sam."

The words are casual, his brother still facing away from Sam, still assessing the chips. Sam freezes in the middle of the aisle, torn between what to do. There are only two more steps between Sam and the cart, but now Dean will be looking for any candy Sam stashes in there. Or he can tell his brother to go stuff it and he's getting whatever candy he wants anyway. Because he can do that, he's a grown up. Unfortunately, Sam's pretty sure the swat he was threatened with in the health aisle will become a reality in the candy aisle if he does that.

Dean turns before his mind is made up, three share bags of chips in his hand, and arch's an eyebrow, almost daring Sam to do it. As if he knows what Sam's thinking.

Sam only just manages to catch himself in time from picking his foot up and stomping it back on the floor like a two-year-old not getting their own way. He quickly turns back to the shelf and stuffs the Gummi's back where he got them. He picks up two bags of Jolly Ranchers instead, one hard bag and one chew, and each a mix of different flavours. Behind Gummi's, they're his favourite. He takes them to Dean and presents them to his brother, shaking them exaggeratedly in his hands.

Dean's eyes rove over the front of each packet, clearly checking neither will make a mess of his car, before he nods in approval. "Dump 'em in," he says, picking up a couple bags of peanut M&M's for himself.

"I'm guessing this is for Cas seen as neither of us like it," Sam states, nose scrunched up in distaste as he picks up a bag of peanut brittle from within the cart.

"It's weird, I know. But he loves the stuff," Dean huffs a mock put-upon sigh.

Sam smiles, sticking the bag back in the cart and places his hand back on the side. "So, are we done yet?" he questions, scrubbing at an eye with his free hand before hiding a yawn behind the back of the same hand. God, he's only been awake for, he glances down at his watch, just over thirty-five minutes. Jeez, this exhaustion is becoming exhausting.

"One more stop, kiddo, then we'll go find out if Cas has gotten lost." Dean glances up at the mezzanine floor. Sam hides a tired smile. Its clear Dean wants to be upstairs helping out his boyfriend, who is no doubt slightly lost amongst the selection of clothing on offer. And Dean hates clothes shopping and only does it when it becomes necessary. Like one more tear from falling apart necessary.

"Go grab the wipes," Dean instructs, gesturing down to the other end of the baby aisle. Sam sets off at a slow jog in the hopes the slight exercise might wake him up. He also knows his brother's patience is starting to wear thin with this whole shopping escapade, especially with two crying babies now in his vicinity. "Two packs!" He hears Dean call down to him. "And green not yellow!"

"Yeah, yeah," Sam mumbles, bringing his jog to a stop in front of the numerous range of baby wipe brands.

Moving to grab two packets of the brand that doesn't bring him out in itchy hives when cleaning blood off his skin - the green ones not yellow - Sam stops when he spots a multipack of four for the same brand and on offer at a cheaper price than paying for two individually. Rolling his eyes at illogical supermarket pricing, he grabs the multipack and moves to meet Dean who's heading his way, absently dumping three packs of hand tissues in the cart while reading the back of a fourth. Sam's sure they had tissues at home and maybe Sam would've remembered to stash them in the trunk unlike his big brother if said big brother had woken him up before they left the bunker.

Shaking his head, Sam's attention is suddenly caught by an array of colourful packages to his left, the picture on one specific item catching his focus immediately. He feels an emotion flood through him that he can't quite pinpoint exactly, but he does know his palms are itching to grab up the item and stash it away in the cart. But he will never do that. Not here. Not now. Not ever. He's a big boy now. He doesn't need something like that.

"Sammy?"

Sam does his best not to startle as Dean's voice rings right beside him. He spins to face Dean, kicking himself when he feels the heat flare across his cheeks for the second time in the space of five minutes. The embarrassment from the thermometer and now this causes his defences to flare to the fore before he can reign them in.

#

"Sammy?"

Sammy quickly turns. Dean is almost floored by the brutal look of longing in his baby brother's eyes before it is slammed away, Sammy's face flushing pink. His kid shoots him a glare before abruptly turning to face away again, opening his hand to let a multi-pack of baby wipes drop into the cart unceremoniously, before practically dragging the cart away, Dean along with him.

With a frown, Dean glances back at what in the hell could've put that look of longing in his brother's eyes. His eyebrows shoot upwards as he spies the section dedicated to rows of pacifiers. His eyes zero-in on one with a cartoon puppy design and he knows Sammy's eyes would have found it instantly. Sammy has had a love for all things puppy's ever since he was a toddler when Pastor Jim had handed the kid a puppy stuffy from the church's lost property. Not that Sammy knew that or cared. The brat would barely let it go even to have a bath and god forbid Sammy was put to bed without the thing.

But the one thing Sammy never had was a pacifier with a puppy design on the end. Or any design for that matter. They had always been plain and boring, the cheapest Dean could find whilst still being acceptable for his baby brother's use, lest Sammy bite through the rubber nipple and choke on it. Something that would have been completely unacceptable and had been one of Dean's biggest concerns back then.

He thinks maybe he should go back and grab several of the largest size and casually drop them in the cart to swap out for the kid's thumb when Sammy's sleeping. At least as a stop-gap until he can get the kid to take one on his own. And Dean now thinks that might not be as hard as he had been contemplating. Now, however, isn't the right time and Sammy's too observant not to notice Dean putting pacifiers in the cart. The kid would know they're for him and go off on one out of principal alone. The pacifiers would get shoved back on the shelf and Sammy would be in a pissy mood for the rest of the day. No. When the day finally comes that Dean gets his kid a pacifier, it will need to be when Sam's not with him. Or when he can get a free minute to search online for more appropriate adult sized ones to fit Sammy's mouth. Preferably one of them will at least have a puppy on it.

Dean's phone rings. Halting the cart and by extension Sam, he digs his phone out of his jeans pocket and answers it. "Cas?"

"This is ridiculous, Dean! Why does everything have to be so different and in so many different colours! I just cannot fathom it!"

The frustration is more than evident in his partner's voice and Dean refrains from laughing. He doesn't want Cas feeling anymore insecure about buying clothes for himself than he clearly already does. Dean has enough trouble dealing with Sammy's tantrums when it comes to getting the kid clothing in his size. And they wonder why he despises clothes shopping.

"Cas, calm down, okay. We're on our way up. We'll figure it out."

"Oh. Good."

Dean blinks at his phone as Cas hangs up. "Okay then."

"You know it might've been easier if you'd just gone with him to begin with," Sam chuckles. "Can I sit back and watch this disaster unfold when we get up there?"

"You better shut it, Sammy. And no teasing Cas, you hear me? Unless you'd like me to detour to the play centre. I'm sure they'll accept you in to stay once I tell 'em my giant of a child is being a brat."

"Hahaha, Dean," Sam scoffs.

But Dean notices him nervously glance over towards the kid's centre, where the clowns on the outer walls are grinning with those thick black mouths. Which is kind of creepy. But no doubt Sammy's imagination has them glaring nastily with razor sharp teeth or something. Sam quickly draws his gaze away, looking at Dean instead. Dean arch's an eyebrow at him.

"I'll be good, Dean," he promises.

Dean gives the back of the kid's neck a squeeze in reassurance. Sam may have faced down a clown and sort of won, but the kid is still afraid of them. Dean doesn't like to use them against Sam, but it's not the first time he's threatened to put Sam in that place when they've been here and Sam's been acting like a two-year-old little shit. Of course, his gullible kid falls for it every time.

"I know you will, kiddo." Otherwise my hand and your butt will be having a conversation in the bathroom, Dean silently adds.

Upstairs they find Cas standing in the middle of the men's clothing section, staring around at all the racks of clothes with wide-eyes. Guilt surges through Dean and he lets go of the cart, approaching his partner. Relief floods Cas' eyes as he spots Dean. Dean grasps the other man's upper arms, placing a kiss of reassurance to Cas' lips, uncaring of anyone seeing.

"Hey, it's okay, Cas."

"I'm sorry," Cas whispers dejectedly. "I wanted to at least do this by myself."

"And you will be, Cas, cause I ain't choosing for ya, man." Dean stares hard at his partner, hoping to convey the silent message that he's here for the man – even in clothes shopping – but he's not doing all the work.

Cas takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders the same way Dean's seen him do before they're about to go into battle, and nods. "I'm ready."

"Good." Hiding his smile, Dean turns to his brother, who has amusement written in his eyes and clearly wants to watch the rest of the show. "Sammy, go sit on the stools over there and stay put."

Sam opens his mouth but Dean shoots him a look. Sam huffs and does as instructed, taking the cart with him. Dean watches until his kid is seated on one of four grey-cushioned square stools sitting in a block before leading his partner over to the racks of shirts. Fifteen minutes later Dean hands off the pile of clothing across his own arm to Cas so the former-angel can head into the changing rooms to try it all on. Dean flops down beside his brother, laying backwards over the stools.

"Remind me again why I hate clothes shopping, Sammy."

"Because it annoys the crap out of you," Sam supplies easily.

"Oh good. I thought I'd gone soft there for a sec. Now I feel much better," Dean smirks, pushing himself upright again.

Sam laughs, nudging him in the ribs with an elbow. Dean wraps an arm around his neck, pulling his kid down and using his knuckles to noogie Sam's head.

"Get off," Sam whines at him, pushing at Dean's arm with very little effort.

"Say the magic words."

"You're an idiot."

"Wrong."

Sam huffs. "You're the bestest big brother in the whole wide world."

"And don't you forget it." Dean grins, smoothing down Sam's hair and unconsciously placing a quick kiss to it, before gently shoving Sammy away.

Sam smiles shyly, knuckling an eye. He yawns and a thumb moves dangerously close to Sammy's lips before he remembers where they are and the thumb is quickly dropped. A faint line of pink crosses Sammy's cheeks as he looks down at his lap dejectedly.

"We'll be done soon, kiddo," Dean bumps his shoulder gently against Sam's. "Then you can sleep some more."

"Not sleepy no more," Sam pouts, crossing his arms over his chest.

Well if that's not a toddler-Sammy response then Dean's memory is a little backwards. He lets it go. There's no point arguing about something that's inevitable anyway. Half hour back in the car and Sammy will be out like a light again. Dean's gaze gets caught by an older guy with a hyper three or four year old boy, and the child leash attached to the kid's wrist, the other end connected to the dad's. And probably the only thing keeping the kid from doing a runner.

Dean smirks, nudging Sam in the arm. "That's what you need," Dean says once he has Sam's attention, nodding over to the dad and child. "Make it a bungee and you'll snap right back before you go smacking into all those walls."

"Sure. I'd snap back at you and knock you on your ass," Sam retorts with a faint grin.

Dean laughs.

Sam sighs, scrubbing at his eyes. "What's taking him so long? It's just a couple pants and shirts!" the kid grumbles, getting to his feet. "I'm going to the electronic department."

"You're not." Dean's aware the electronic department is opposite clothing and next to toys, but with them currently being amongst the racks of clothing he doesn't have a direct line of sight from here. "Cas'll be done in no time, Sammy, then we'll head over there. Park your butt back down."

Dean raises an eyebrow as Sam actually sticks his tongue out at him and remains standing. Dean's sure he's going to have lung problems if he keeps sighing like this. But he gets it, he does. The kid is tired. And he adds cranky to the list when Sam kicks the bottom of the stool he only thirty seconds ago vacated. It's only a light kick but it still dislodges the stools position from amongst the other three.

"Little boy, you put that back to rights, now."

"No." Sammy actually has the audacity to kick the stool again, dislodging it further. "You do it."

Dean knows to nip this in the bud before it can escalate. He grasps his kid's wrist, pulls Sam towards him and swats the seat of Sam's jeans. A quiet yelp leaves Sam's mouth as his hand fly's back to his butt.

"Now, Samuel."

Wrist still in Dean's grasp, Sam quickly rights the stool before rubbing at his butt, and shifting closer to Dean until one leg rests against Dean's right knee. "You smacked me," he accuses quietly with a sniffle, swiping the back of his hands over his moist eyes, a faint blush across his cheeks.

"Something that generally happens when you behave like a brat."

"'M not a brat."

"Didn't say you are. Said you're behaving like one, Sam."

"'M not. I'm just …"

"Bored. Tired. Cranky. Take your pick. Now why did I swat you, Sam?"

"Cause you're a meanie," Sam states plainly as if that should be more than obvious, bottom lip jutting out.

Dean has to refrain from smiling at the purely childish retort. He's a 'meanie' after all. And meanies don't smile at their baby brother's being adorable little shits. "Aside from that." Sam remains stubbornly silent except for another sniffle. Dean gives his wrist a gentle shake. "Why did I swat you, Sam?"

"For being naughty," Sam finally mumbles, tugging his wrist, but Dean keeps hold of it. "For kicking the stool and not putting it back when you told me to."

Dean nods, releasing his hold. "Now sit down." Sam slumps back down onto his stool, rubbing at his eyes again. "When a minute's up, we'll go to electronics," Dean states glancing down at his watch.

It has barely been five minutes since Cas entered the changing rooms and there was a mountain of clothing for the man to try on so they have a while yet. Taking Sammy to electronics is a better idea than sitting here. The gadgets can entertain the kid, and probably the toy department too, but he isn't going to immediately reward his kid after that display. Dean watches as the little boy attached to the dad suddenly barrels into Sam's legs.

"Careful there, buddy," Sam says softly, righting the giggling kid.

"Sorry," the dad apologises, looking frazzled as he runs a hand through his red hair. "I swear these places are trying to do parents in, sticking toys next to clothing. What kind of evil does that?"

Dean chuckles lightly, knowing his own feelings on these places runs along the same lines. "Yeah, tell me about it. Least you can keep hold of yours," Dean gestures at the child leash.

"Man, I think that's my wife's idea of Nicky keeping a hold of me instead of the other way around," the dad snorts a laugh. "I did leave him in the kid's centre but he followed me," he adds, his smile fond.

"They got nasty clowns," Sammy says before ducking his head, a blush again spreading across his cheeks, but he does laugh when the kid, Nicky, shows Sammy his bear and almost squishes the thing in Sam's face.

Dean's pretty sure his kid hadn't meant to voice that out loud, but when Sammy's tired that innocence Sam tries so hard to keep hidden creeps out. Generally short-circuiting Sam's mental controls on his mouth.

"Oh clowns should definitely be exterminated," the dad says vehemently. "Not when they've got people behind them, of course," he's quick to add.

Dean snorts, thinking of a few clowns he's had to exterminate in his time.

Sammy's raises his head a little. "You don't like them either?"

"I'm not fond of them, no. Creepy for sure."

Dean shakes his head, watching Sammy poking Nicky's bear in the stomach causing Nicky to giggle and bounce up and down on the spot, shouting "'Gain, 'gain!" Dean raises a knowing eyebrow at the dad. "Sugar high?" he comments.

"God, yes! I've made a mental note not to use candy as bribery again. How'd you know?"

Dean laughs, nodding. "It's familiar, man. At least if you do bribe 'em with candy limit it to just the one candy at a time. Always used to work for mine."

"Huh. I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, man. Nice talking to you guys. C'mon, Nicky, time to go," the dad scoops up his pouting kid and heads away after a quick bye to Sam.

Dean feels eyes on him a moment later and ignores them. Until they start to irritate him. "What?" he snaps, turning to eye his brother.

"Nothing," Sam responds quickly, shaking his head, turning his gaze away but Dean could swear there's a smile on his lips.

"Yeah, whatever," Dean mutters as he gets to his feet. Sam looks up at him in question. "You wanna go visit the gadgets or sit here even longer, little brother?"

Sam's eyes instantly brighten a little and he rises to his feet eagerly, hand clamping down on the side of the cart.

They're in the electronic department for barely a minute before Sam unconsciously starts pulling the cart towards the toys. Dean doesn't fight it and lets his kid lead the way. He sees Sam blink, and it's clear he's just realising where they are. Dean's expecting him to bolt any second. The kids arm sneaks out, snatching a packet hanging on a strip at the edge of a shelf beside him and dumps it in the cart.

"We needed those," Sammy mutters, but doesn't race out of the aisle like Dean suspected he would. Though he can't help but stare down at the cartoon animal stickers in amusement. Yep, definitely a much-needed item, Sammy.

"Sammy, stay where I can see you and you can look at what you want," Dean instructs.

"Don't wanna look at anything here." He hears Sam grumble, but the kid let's go of the cart regardless, eyes focused on a toy dinosaur that can be changed into a truck. Sam quickly moves off, but he's just as quickly caught by another toy.

The creativity section ends the toy department and Sammy wanders the aisle, looking at the assortment of art supplies, colouring books, pens and so on. Watching his kid unnoticed from the end of the aisle, Dean shakes his head sadly as Sammy lightly runs his fingers across the glossy cover of a colouring book as he moves away. Why can't the kid just ask for what he wants? Dean thinks with no small amount of frustration. And sadness. Because he also knows the answer. Sam has no problem making himself known if he disagrees with Dean, but he will rarely speak up and ask for something he wants that isn't required for their hunting life. And Dean knows it partly stems from money issues.

Admittedly Dean has never taken too kindly to Sam worrying about any money situations they have. It's one of the reasons why Dean never properly taught Sam how to hustle until after they were back on the road together. Why the kid would stay outside, or in a corner of a bar. And aside from Sammy's whole moral issue of knowing Dean hustles and seeing Dean hustle being two different things, there's also the danger aspect. And that Dean will break anyone's face that gets up in his brother's; the cause of most of his bar fights usually. It wasn't and isn't Sam's job to worry about their budget. But as hard as Dean had tried to keep that issue away from Sammy growing up, as a kid Dean hadn't been as versed in hiding the stress of it as he is more than capable of now. Not that Sammy really understood back then; the kid was just aware Dean was tense and upset, which upset Sammy in turn.

They still pull the credit card scams, but they've only ever been able to open one or two a year and not always a double. When that happens, Sam generally doesn't get a card, the kid always insisting it should be Dean. Because Dean has always dealt with their cash flow and bought the things they need when and if they need it. Dean just knows when Sam needs the essentials and it's usually replaced before the kid really notices. Plus Sammy's conscience is clean for that stretch of time Dean solely holds the credit card. The last three years since finding the bunker and consequently the Men of Letters accounts for the American Chapter had definitely alleviated some of that stress. There is a substantial amount sitting in those accounts, but they still have to budget that cash if they want it to last on a long term basis.

"Hey, Dean, what'cha think this is?" Sam questions shoving a slim but thick and old book under Dean's nose as he's shifting his new private desk around in the library.

He's just barely managing not to drop the heavy wooden and wide-legged desk on his toes as his field of vision disappears. The book is open from what Dean can tell but everything is a little fuzzy what with it practically touching the tip of his nose. Easing the desk to the floor, he releases his hold and grasps Sam's arm to still the movement of the book, before easing it away from his face. He blinks out his cross-eyes and gets his first look at the pages. It's filled with numbers, lists. A graph with headers like incoming and outgoing and Dean's eyes widen as he realises he's looking at an older version of fairly modern day account books. The last time Dean had truly worked with accounts was over fifteen years ago, but he hasn't forgotten.

"This-this …" Dean stutters as he stares down at the last figure in the book.

Sammy stares at him in worry. "Dean?"

"If-if-if these things are valid, Sammy, then… jackpot, baby!" Dean crows, finally getting his jaw working properly and jumps in the air with a pump of his fist.

"What are you talking about? It's just a bunch of numbers, Dean," Sam says confused.

"Numbers, Sammy? No," Dean places his hands on his little brother's shoulders and gives him a little shake. "No, no, no, Sammy. This, my baby brother, is cash. Lots and lots of cash."

Sam gapes at him. "Men of Letters accounts?"

"Uh-huh," Dean agrees before realising Sammy had said 'accounts' plural, as in more than one. He stares in his brother's eyes. "Sammy… did you find more books like this?"

"Sure." Sam crosses to the closest library table, digging his hand into the small cardboard box he'd been sorting while Dean was trying to get his desk just where he wants it.

"'Sure', he says," Dean snorts, "like its every day we find a wealth of gold stashed away!"

Sam laughs, staring at him as if he's nuts. Maybe he is, just a little smidgeon. He grins. Because if they can at least get access to some of this money they're laughing. A huge weight will be lifted from Dean's shoulders, at least for a time.

Sammy pulls two more identical account books from the box and holds them out to Dean. Dean almost reverently opens each in turn. The top one looks to be a much smaller account, but the bottom one is larger than the top account and the first Sammy showed him combined.

"American Chapter?" Sam reads over his shoulder. "From what we've found so far the Men of Letters seem pretty extensive but do you think there could be bunkers out there, all around the world?"

"Could be, Sammy," Dean shrugs. "But who cares. No one's getting this one. This place is our legacy…"

Since Dean had had to figure out money practically before he could even count past fifty, it had been automatic for Dean to sort out those books and figure out if they were still viable as accounts. Which he had soon found out they all were. Dean had had the bank make the accounts accessible online, finding out just how much sixty years of interest earns. He had drawn up new books, modern and a damn sight easier to work around. And a week later, brand new cards for each account arrived in the Men of Letters PO Box under Dean's alias of Dean Matthew Williams. An alias very legit everywhere on paper thanks to an old forger and an old lawyer, both firm friends of Bobby's who had helped set it all up shortly before Dean turned eighteen. Dean has never used the alias in hunting, he has kept it buried as deep as possible as not to chance the cops or feds getting a hold of it. And now the Men of Letters accounts are so happily buried underneath enough crap no one will be able to trace them back to either Dean or Sam.

The smallest of the accounts became their allowance account. It allows for both of them to have weekly allowances to do with what they please, whilst both their necessities are taken care of by the expense account, the largest of the three. The middle sits as is, under lock and key, drawing in interest and will not be touched anytime soon. Though Dean's allowance is higher than Sammy's forty bucks a week. Dean isn't allowed to withhold Sam's as punishment, and Sam knows not to expect any more than his weekly amount if he runs out before the next week is due. And it isn't Dean being a stingy bastard either – he had done the math, worked it out from the allowance account as to how much would be reasonable and equal amount for each of them and then presented the figure to Sam. Who had said no and gone into a spiel about how Dean should be getting more. Something along the lines of Dean going out more by choice than Sammy, who prefers to stay in or around the area of the bunker when they're not on a hunt. And when the kid does go out when not involving a hunt it's primarily with Dean, who generally pays. Dean in turn had shot that idea down, stating they get equal share or nothing at all.

Sam being his stubborn shit of a self had turned around and said, "Fine, I don't want anything and you can have it all."

Dean had eventually compromised on the forty bucks out of pure frustration after several hours of going back and forth. Sam had grinned at him, saying, "Knew you'd see things my way." Dean had rolled his eyes, because seriously the kid had talked his way out of getting an extra sixty bucks a week in favour of Dean getting it.

Dean had wanted Sam to learn the books shortly after figuring out the accounts and getting them in order. Just in case. Sammy had tried, had listened, but although Sam's a whiz at figuring out math in his head, the kid can't figure out the calculations on paper to save his life. Whereas Dean's the other way around. And as patient as Dean can be when teaching Sam, they'd ended up involved in an argument each and every time he'd tried teaching Sammy the books. Both of their frustrations coming to a head. And honestly, he just didn't think Sam's heart was in it. So Dean deals with the books, and Sammy makes sure the electricity and water are still running efficiently every three months. Though, Dean does know how to do that thanks to watching Sammy performing the diagnostics a couple times. Just in case.

At some point Dean will sit down and figure out how to incorporate Cas into the weekly allowances without drawing any more money into the allowance account just yet. Because to do that would be taking from the expenses account and Dean is not prepared to do that, or touch the other account either. He's hoping for a future here. At least for Sammy. That's his hope. But he's pretty sure Sammy knows his allowance is getting cut down, maybe drastically. Not that Dean isn't aware Sam already shoved thirty bucks of his allowance at Cas last week for the former-angel's use. He doesn't think there will be a real issue, Sammy's too generous, but Dean doesn't want Sammy's needs getting lost. It's definitely why he and his baby boy need to have a talk. Dean needs Sammy to know he can ask for whatever he wants when he doesn't himself have the money for it. He may not always get what he asks for, but Dean will always try and do the best he can. He always has.

As Sam passes into the next aisle, Dean moves forward, picking up the dinosaur colouring book Sam had been eyeing and drops it in the cart. Another one catches Dean's eye and the puppy on the front with its big hazel eyes draws him in and Dean honestly can't resist and adds it to the cart's growing pile. It's probably a bit young, but he doesn't care. Of course, now he needs to get the kid some more colouring pens. The ones Sam already has are all but out of ink, with only three colours left that work. The pack of ten Sammy had put in earlier are the washable ones they use for the walls and not for colouring. Dean's pretty strict about that. He adds a pack of colouring pencils as well as crayons to the cart.

Dean picks up the toy dinosaur-truck thing as they pass by it again, taking in the picture; surprised to find the image of the truck holds a resemblance to Bobby's old red Chevy truck. He figures the toy is a cheaper version of a Transformer, but the construction of it will keep Sam occupied in the car when his brain is too frazzled to keep researching. It's likely they'll be in the car plenty on this hunt, because he doubts Rowena will still be in Olympia or Vancouver very long, or still even be in either place when they get there.

Some part of his brain questions why he wants to buy his brother a toy to begin with. It's not like with the colouring books. Sammy has always loved colouring, even as an adult. It is some sort of relaxing therapy for Sam, and Dean's agreeable with whatever might keep Sammy out of his nightmares. But this… Sam's sat through hundreds of car journeys without Dean feeling a need to buy him something to play with to keep his bored mind occupied. Maybe it's just simply the fact that when Sammy gets bored, he often feels the need to annoy the hell out of his big brother instead and Dean just wants to avoid that outcome.

Yeah, that's it exactly, Dean's mind latches on to that explanation as the red and silver dinosaur-truck toy joins the colouring books and pens.

"Oh, no way," Dean mutters with no small amount of awe, his eye catching another from the same family of toy; another dinosaur that changes into a vehicle. But this one is black and silver and changeable into the almost perfect replica of the Impala. There is no way in hell that's staying on the shelf.

"Dean."

Hand outstretched to the dinosaur-Impala, Dean turns his head. "Hey, Cas, you good?"

Cas offers a smile and nod, looking down at the much smaller pile of clothing draped over his left arm than what he had entered the changing rooms with. His right arm is bent upwards, the hook of a hanger attached. Dean can make out three pairs of jeans, three t-shirts, three shirts, a pair of sweatpants and a couple sweaters, just as he'd suggested. Oh, and the boots dangling down from Cas' hand by the laces. Cas will need a few more items undoubtedly, but the basics is all Dean's going for right now.

"You get the suit?"

Cas' finger wriggles around the hanger hook. "The blue one."

"Naturally," Dean smiles, finally moving his hand forward and drawing the toy from the shelf.

"What is that?" Cas leans over slightly to peruse the box, smiling as he sees what it is. "A suitable replacement for the weapons neither of us want Sam to be playing with," Cas comments casually.

Shit, Dean hadn't even thought about that as a motivation for picking these - at least consciously. He stares down at the toy in his hold and moves to put the dinosaur-Impala back, because this is stupid. Right? What is he doing? Sammy's a thirty-two year old man, not an eight year old. Dean absently glances down at the age range on the toy. Yep. Eight plus. The last time he had bought Sam something that could be considered a toy was that tablet Sammy usually has doing double-duty with the laptop. Though he'd definitely seen his kid playing a few games on it. But that's an age appropriate toy. This… he looks down at the dinosaur-Impala again, the picture on the front… screw it, this is going in the cart. Screw proprietary rights on age appropriate toys. Who pays attention to those things anyway? Sammy's getting a couple toys. So fuck it, who gives a shit. Dino-Impala takes pride of place in the cart next to Dino-Truck.

"Both of us know Sammy still needs to handle the weapons," he makes sure to tell Cas firmly upon looking back up and seeing the smile on his partner's lips.

"I know, Dean," Cas responds, the smile slipping. "I merely meant that I'd much rather see him playing with these toys than a weapon."

"Yeah," Dean sighs, gaze travelling to his baby brother further up the aisle. "Me too." Dean watches his brother reading the back of a box for a moment before calling to him. Sam's head perks up. "C'mon, we're going."

Sam jogs towards them, immediately going to Cas and perusing the former-angel's choices of clothing. And they had been all Cas' choices. Dean had simply been there for encouragement, especially considering not one of those shirts is plaid. Though he'd definitely put his foot down against a Hawaiian print.

"What about a winter jacket?" Sam comments, glancing back at Dean who is bringing up the rear with the cart, his concern evident. They are after all heading towards a place that can be freezing this time of year.

"I have an old one of your brother's in the car, little one," Cas assures. "It's suitable for my needs."

"Oh, okay," Sam nods and scrubs at an eye again, barely concealing another yawn behind his hand.

This whole shopping trip has taken an hour longer than Dean was expecting and hoping. Sam's now barely keeping from dragging his feet and his hand isn't on the cart. But Cas carefully lays his suit over top of their items in the cart – conveniently hiding the toys – and winds the fingers of his now free hand around Sammy's wrist in a gentle hold. Dean nods approvingly as Cas flicks his gaze back at him. And Sammy - save for a quick look down - surprisingly isn't making one ounce of fuss about it.

Finding an empty checkout is relatively easy thanks to the sheer number of them, and Dean manoeuvres the cart into one just being opened. It takes him only a second to notice how close they are to the kid's centre that now has an actual clown playing with a couple kids in the middle of the gated area out front.

Which is just fucking fantastic.

It's quick and easy for Dean to make the executive decision to turn Sammy around and send him off to the restroom while he and Cas pack up their purchases. Not only for the fact Dean has no intention of stopping again until they have at least a good hundred miles under their belt, but because it'll avoid a clown meltdown. Sammy's too tired for his fear not to affect him at the moment and Dean's not sure he has the patience for dealing with that right now either. Plus it'll prevent Sam from seeing the toys and colouring books until Dean's ready to hand them off. Because he's not sure when that will be, his doubts about them creeping in again.

Finished at the checkout six minutes later, Dean and Cas trade off visiting the restroom and staying with Sammy. Leaving the cart in Cas' hands, they pass through the doors and into fresh air where Dean bumps straight into Sam's back after the kid stops suddenly. Glancing up slightly, he's surprised to find Sammy's gaze is caught by a passing toddler in her mother's arms, more specifically the pacifier in her mouth. That expression of longing is in Sammy's eyes once again and Dean has to nudge his baby brother in the back to get him moving again.

Sammy shakes himself awake, blushing as he ducks his head and shoves his hands in his pockets, his long striding legs moving him swiftly away. Cas raises an eyebrow at Dean, surprised by Sam's sudden speed to get to the car. Dean shakes his head, only just stopping himself from turning on his heels and heading back into the store to make another purchase.

Now's not the time, he tells himself again.

But Dean is definitely without any doubt that there will be a pacifier coming in Sammy's near future.

#SPN#SPN#SPN#SPN#

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