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by PixieLeigh1234

Sam desperately hopes to find a cure from the MoC for Dean. When Sam finds it, Dean refuses, until circumstances leave him unable to refuse any longer. But with the cure, consequences follow. Consequences Sam, Dean and Cas could never have foreseen. But will the knowledge they seek in the aftermath provide answers, or will it leave them all once again facing an uncertain future.

10. Chapter 10

A/N - Merry Christmas to all who celebrate! And please let me know what you think of this chapter, it definitely helps in my continuing writing. Thanks x

Chapter Ten

Sam shifts, mind stirring into wakefulness even though his body doesn't yet want to awaken. He wants to remain within the warmth surrounding him; and rising from that would mean stepping out into the cold. But his brain has other ideas and is insistent on his waking. He wriggles with unhappiness, knee hitting something solid. He stills, momentarily thinking it's the wall he remembers going to sleep beside last night. But unless he fidgeted enough to turn himself upside down on the twin then Dean must have fallen asleep beside him while reading.

A smile flitters across Sam's lips and around the thumb still lodged between them. He allows himself to burrow deeper against his big brother's side; memories washing over him of the days he would awaken to the same arms around him, smaller, but still as strong and safe to his little mind. And maybe the comfort, steadiness and knowledge of having those sturdy arms surrounding him again will allow him to go back to sleep like they had done so many times before.

And miraculously – however long later - he can just feel himself slipping into the languorous world halfway between awake and asleep when a slight movement from behind his back disturbs him. He scrunches his forehead into a frown and cracks an eye open, slipping his thumb from his mouth as he tilts his head backwards a little and views Dean's sleeping face. So, if his brother is before him as expected, who… Sam quickly and carefully runs a fingertip over the hands he can feel resting over his side; one, two… three…

Oh god. Why is Cas in my bed? How are we even all fitting?

It's only as Sam fully opens his eyes that the light from the bathroom illuminates the room just enough for him to realise the kitchenette and table had both stood further away when he went to sleep last night. Which can only mean he no longer resides in the twin. He's in Dean and Cas' bed and not the other way around. And in the freaking middle of the two men; their arms around and over him.

Shit, did I sleepwalk into their bed? It wouldn't be the first time I've ended up in someone else's bed from sleepwalking. But that hasn't happened since I was a little kid.

… Little… kid …

The words flutter through his sleepy mind again and something awakens. Sam's pulse quickens, his eyes widen and nostrils flare as one by one the events of last night slam into him like a ton of bricks, snatching his breath away and flaming his face into a furnace. Fuck, he curses silently, biting at his bottom lip as the tears well in his eyes.

The two men lying either side of him are now becoming a stifling cocoon, a constant reminder to his idiotic behaviour, and he needs to get away. Away from their arms offering him the comfort he neither deserves, nor has the right to accept after last night's display.

He grimaces and starts slowly shimmying his way down the mattress; currently thankful he has a wealth of experience in stealthily removing himself from a sleeping Dean's arms without waking the man. Cas isn't a problem either; the man only has one arm lying loosely over Sam and he bypasses that effortlessly enough, along with Dean's. Shifting onto his stomach, he continues his path down the bed until his knees hit the carpet and quickly checks he hasn't awoken either man.

Both thankfully sleep on.

Rising to his feet, Sam quietly pads to the bathroom, snagging his duffle resting on the armchair at the foot of the twin on his way. Opening the bathroom door just enough for him to slide through, he closes it again, but makes sure not to close it fully so the click doesn't echo throughout the silent room.

Taking a seat on the closed potty, Sam rests his duffle on the floor and swipes the backs of his hands over his eyes. Quickly unzipping his duffle, he digs around until he pulls out his sneakers, yesterday's discarded pair of socks and an old faded black hoodie. He first pulls that over his head and down his body, sliding his arms into the sleeves, before pulling on his socks and then his sneakers. Once he has the laces tied, he stands, slipping back out the bathroom and crosses over to the motel door.

Setting his hand around the doorknob, Sam glimpses the blooded sheets from the twin bundled into a pile in the corner between kitchenette and door. He swallows heavily against the rising bile as flashes of his nightmare cascade through his mind. He slams his eyes closed, turning away from the mess – his mess - and quickly turns the doorknob to get him out of the room.

He takes a gulp of fresh air; the chill almost snatching it away from him, and quickly remembers himself. Turning back to the door, he pulls it closed before the cold can reach his brother and Cas and awaken them. His eyes catch the sky in the distance as he turns back around and starts stretching out his joints and limbs. The cloud cover from last night has all but dispersed; the half-moon and a swath of stars now visible in a sky blanched the purplish red of oncoming dawn. Normally, Sam could spend hours watching those shifting colours, but this morning it makes Sam want to throw up. He swiftly ducks his head back down, determined to keep his eyes away as he sets off on his run.

The repetitive motion of placing one foot in front of the other at a smooth pace has more often than not aided him in sorting through his troubled mind. And he's hoping the exercise will do the same today, despite the fatigue still coursing through his system, along with the new accompaniment of embarrassment.

Because despite both his mind and body remembering the warmth of love and care his brother and Cas lavished upon him by not ridiculing him and simply doing what was necessary in helping him, it doesn't mean Sam isn't mortified by his own behaviour. By how childish – no, babyish – he had behaved in front of Dean and Cas. And his nakedness in front of the latter… God.

But even ahead of that shame lies the overpowering fear and horror of his nightmare. He would rather take the embarrassment of his behaviour last night for eternity, then ever remember the events that had unfolded in his sleep. However, Sam is a Winchester and he should know better by now that he will never be that lucky; the universe hell bent on him remembering both his behaviour and his nightmare.

But he doesn't want to remember the latter! He doesn't want to touch it! Doesn't want to think about it!

And fuck; he's experienced his fair share of nightmares. He should be used to the variety involved in them ever since he was a little boy given the knowledge and reality that monsters no longer reside in existence only under his bed, or the closest, or the potty, but truly exist in the outside world. He is in no way alien to the experience of nightmares. But this one - though feeling as real as the one he's been having of yellow-eyes re-feeding him demon blood – is cutting so much harder into his mind, body and soul.

He unconsciously rubs at his forearms as he remembers the feeling of the deep cuts carved into his skin. The blade causing them wielded by familiar hands. Before those hands are withdrawn and the man stands back and watches as Sam's life blood flows steadily from the wounds he created. The gut wrenching and heart shattering ten ton weight of seeing the familiar face of the man just looking down at him with cold, emotionless eyes, as Sam slowly bleeds out.

Sam stumbles; raises his knuckles to his mouth to stifle the sob shoving its way out of his control.

No. No. It wasn't real. It wasn't him.

It was just a nightmare; his subconscious mind trying to wake him to the reality of his bleeding nose in the waking world; trying to work him through the motions and emotions of no longer having demon blood poisoning his body. Because as freeing as it is to know he is no longer tainted, that substance has played a huge role in his life; unknowingly or knowingly been the catalyst of such havoc. And to brush it under the carpet and behave as if it never happened – as much as he might like to do so – does both himself and his brother, and Cas, and anyone else involved in those times, a huge disservice.

But it was nothing more than a nightmare.

Sam forces his legs to quicken the pace; feet pounding against the ground as he loses count of the amount of times he laps the motel's parking lot. He comes close to slowing several times as his body wavers, only for the nightmare to begin to intrude again and his sneakers hit harder as his pace picks up once more.

It is only when he passes his starting point for the umpteenth time that Sam is forced to deviate from the course he's set out lest he crash into the person stepping directly in his original path. However, as Sam swerves around the man, his arms are caught within the grasp of the man's strong hands. He tries to jerk out of the hold, but …

"Stop," he's told softly, but forcefully. Sam shakes his head in response to the direction, and then his face is being cradled between large hands that still him in place. "Yes," is gruffly accentuated but Sam shakes his head again, or tries to; the hands are pretty strong in holding his head still so he has no choice but to look into blue eyes. "It's time to stop, my little one."

Sam's chest heaves with rapid breathing out of his control. His legs are burning against the pace he put them through. His vision is once again blurred by tears. His bottom lip trembles. And yet, even as Sam is swiftly drawn into Cas' arms, the former-angel almost crushing him against his chest, Sam wants to shove Cas away. To tell the man he isn't worth the offering of comfort; he isn't Cas' little one and will never be. Just as he'll never again be Dean's kid; too much water has passed under the bridge between them for Sam to still hold that position in his brother's heart.

But the words are stuck somewhere in his throat. And instead, he finds himself fiercely returning the embrace; his fingers catching the folds at the back of Cas' shirt and gripping tightly. While the sob he's been so desperately holding back is unleased from his mouth in a strangled cry and he buries his face into the crook of Cas' neck. So different from his brother, yet just as strong and unyielding, and allows his tears to flow; barely registering the arm sliding under his bottom and boosting him off the ground.

#SPN#

Dean sits at the table beneath the only window in their latest motel room with his dad seated opposite. Both are poring through lore books in researching for the latest hunt. He looks up at the sound of the small cough coming from his baby brother curled up under a blanket on the ratty couch, the kid's concentration focused on the book in his hand.

Watching as Sammy reaches up and scrubs at an eye with his knuckles, Dean glances over his shoulder at the clock screwed into the wall above the kitchenette. He's surprised to find they've been working away for close to two hours since they'd sat down to an all but silent family dinner.

"Sammy," Dean calls, waiting until Sam raises his eyes from his book to look at Dean before continuing, "go make a start on getting washed up for bed," he instructs. "I'll be there in a minute." He hears his little brother groan lightly, but lets it go as Sammy sets his book down on the cock-eyed coffee table in front of the couch, then pushes himself up from the couch to do as Dean asked. "PJ's," Dean reminds and Sam blinks before jogging back to grab the forgotten sleep clothes off their shared bed.

Sam gives him a small smile which falters as his eyes flicker to the side of Dean, who can feel the hard brown eyes of their father on him rather than on Sammy. Dean shoots his kid a quick reassuring smile and a half-nod towards the bathroom and Sam scurries inside, closing the door behind him.

Dean returns to the lore, only to raise an eyebrow at his dad a moment later when he still feels those eyes on him. "What?" he questions trying to keep the irritation out of his tone.

"Sam's still in bed by eight?" John queries, incredulousness prominent in his tone.

Dean's mood darkens instantly. Because it's just fucking typical of his dad to drop on by for one measly fucking day after a three months absence; to remember he actually has two sons because he needs the help of his oldest. And then decide he suddenly wants to start paying attention to those two sons by questioning Dean's methods of raising his baby brother. And just like every time before, Dean has to stifle the majority of his anger so it doesn't blow up into a full-on argument – especially with Sammy in the motel room.

"It's a little late for you to be questioning Sam's bedtime now, isn't it, Dad?" Dean uses every ounce of control he has to keep his tone casual, setting the rim of his beer bottle to his lips and taking a swig.

John's face twists in anger the way it always does when being spoken to like that, but Dean really doesn't give a fuck; it's just too little, too late, as far as he's concerned. "The boy is fifteen, Dean. His lazy ass should be helping you with research, not sleeping the fucking night away," the older man hisses.

"He usually does help me, Dad," Dean snaps back, slamming his beer bottle back down on the table, "but you're here tonight, so he's allowed to have this one fucking night off! And yeah, he gets put to bed a damn sight earlier than other kids his age, but I don't give a flying fuck about them or what their parents let them do! My responsibility, as always, is my baby brother. And how I raise that boy is no longer any of your concern, remember, if it ever fucking was ..."

"Don't you dare take that fucking tone with me, boy," John snarls, pounding a fist down on the table, knocking both their beer bottles over and rattling the dishes from their earlier dinner.

"I'll take whatever fucking tone I want with you when you open your mouth and start questioning my parenting methods!" Dean shoots back. "A privilege you damn well lost after what you did to him three years ago."

"I did nothing to that boy that he didn't rightfully deserve to get! The discipline you've clearly failed to instill in him!"

Dean's anger explodes as he stands abruptly, chair skidding away from him as he slams both his palms on the table. He takes little satisfaction in the small twitch in John's jaw, the only indication that the man was startled from the action. "Don't you dare sit there and tell me what you did to him was discipline! Don't you fucking DARE! You tore into him until he bled! You left scars on him that aren't just physical! You lost your fucking MIND and BEAT him, Dad! Your fucking lucky I ever let you near him again …!"

"He's MY son! You don't get a say in whether I see him or not, Dean!"

"That's where your wrong, Dad," Dean responds, barely holding back a snarl from his words. "You lost your right to Sam the day you never took him back from ME. You haven't been Sammy's father since he was six months old and you stand there now proclaiming he's your son? Don't make me fucking laugh. You don't give a shit about him except as another homegrown soldier in your personal war of a vendetta!"

Dean abruptly straightens, squaring his shoulders as he does his best to rope in his anger at the man before him. He knows he needs to bring this situation back under some semblance of control because Sammy is probably listening to every damn word being said. And for that reason alone, Dean quickly snatches up their pile of dirty dishes and crosses to the small kitchenette to get away from his dad for two fucking seconds, depositing the dishes in the sink a little more forcefully than necessary. He leans his hands on the edge of the work surface; just trying to quell his anger, only to hear John kick back his chair, the heavy boots crossing the floor towards him in angry strides, the man never one to back down when spoken to the way Dean had just done so. Well that's just too fucking bad because Dean isn't done either, and he spins back on his heel to face the older man.

"You really wanna know why I put Sam to bed at eight, Dad?" Dean could care less whether the furious man does or doesn't want to hear it, because Dean's about to tell him anyway, the words angrily bubbling to the surface. "It frees me up for a fucking hour to do whatever I need to do here, before I have to leave Sam here – alone – to go out and hustle us some cash to keep us afloat. Because hell knows you haven't given a fuck about our cash flow for the past five fucking years! You fucking happy now? Sam knows the score and he does as he's told."

John snorts, never one to believe Sam capable of doing as told just because the old man in front of Dean can't get Sammy to listen to him without an argument. It infuriates Dean, and he wants nothing more than to clock his Dad one, but he refrains, unwilling to allow his baby brother to become a witness to it.

"Dean," John's voice is controlled rigidity, "the boy needs to learn to man up and take his share of the fucking weight. And you need to stop fucking babying him! Its past time he starts joining us on hunts …"

"NO!" Dean explodes once again, anger searing through his veins now more than ever. "You never get it do you?! He's only fifteen years old, Dad, he is just a baby! All you've ever fucking told me is 'watch out for Sammy, Dean', 'keep your brother safe, boy'. Taking him out on hunts isn't keeping him fucking safe! Sam does the research, WE do the hunts. My kid is never gonna be a hunter. He's better than that! Better than us! And I'll NEVER fucking allow it!" Dean promises, even if he has to take Sammy away from the man in front of him indefinitely as he's been planning to do for over a year now. And he will do it.

He really should have anticipated it, but he hadn't. So when the powerful punch impacts the left side of his jaw, it knocks him backwards and half-spins him around, the right side of his body smashing straight into the kitchenette work surface. It elicits a groan from his mouth as pain shoots across his ribs. But unwilling to show any ounce of weakness in front of his father, he spits the welled blood from his mouth into the sink before straightening and turning back to face the man.

"Yeah," Dean laughs darkly, roughly swiping the back of his hand across his mouth with the blood smearing across his skin going unnoticed. "That's just you to a T, isn't it, Sir. Don't like hearing it, so you lash out, beating 'em down."

John's face contorts with fresh fury, clenched fist rising again and ready to lash out at Dean once more. Movement catches Dean's eye and fear cascades through him as his half-naked baby brother streaks across the room to get between them.

"YOU LEAVE MY DADDY ALONE, JOHN!" Sammy screams up at the man. Dean can hear the waver in his kid's voice, the not yet three and a half foot little boy shoving at John's thighs to push him away from Dean.

John stops, hand frozen in midair as his gaze snaps down to Dean's half-pint-sized little boy in surprise.

Dean waste's no more time and quickly hooks his hands under Sam's armpits, lifting his much smaller baby brother's shaking form up into his arms and shifting his kid around his body until Sammy's wrapped around his back. And out of the way of harm.

John blinks, all anger disappearing from him. Dean could swear he actually sees tears in the man's eyes, a very rare occurrence that only happens on two specific days of the year when the man's too drunk to realise any different. It deflates some of Dean's anger. Some, but most definitely not all.

"Sam …" John starts, voice hoarse.

Sam responds by burying his face against the back of Dean's neck; Dean feeling his kid's button nose digging into his skin. And a complete dismissal towards their father for Sam's part. Which is no real surprise. John is practically a stranger to the little boy, and Sammy is always shy around strangers. At least until he can warm up to them. And John hasn't stuck around long enough the past fifteen years for that to happen between the pair. All Sammy knows from the man is barked orders he's expected to obey without question.

And it breaks Dean's heart to know Sam doesn't know the father Dean had once known; a very different father before the night that had torn their family apart. A father who had relished him and Sammy with hugs when he'd come home from work at the garage; wanting to do so the minute he got through the front or back door, and before he even washed up. Which would always earn the man a scolding from Mom along the lines of "You touch my children with those grease-monkey hands, John Eric Winchester, there'll be hell to pay." And watching his big, strong daddy getting scolded like Mom scolded Dean, always drew out amused amazement. His dad throwing him a wink before responding with a "Yes, dear," then sneakily tickling Dean or Sammy's stomach's, and ending up being chased out of the room, leaving Dean laughing. A father who enthused so much excitement at being able to take them all to the park at weekends, playing ball with Dean whilst Mom and Sammy watched from the picnic blanket, or flying Sammy like an airplane that made the baby giggle crazily.

Dean has always hoped somewhere deep down that man still exists, and Sam will one day get to meet him. But that hope dwindles a little more with each passing day.

And though John looks hurt by Sam calling out the utter lack of relationship the pair share; that the kid sees Dean as his father, as well as Sam calling John by name to his face when it's always been irrefutably Sir before, and by the youngest Winchester's blatant dismissal, it won't last. Because rather than trying to fix what's downright broken, the man will shove it to the back of his mind. Like he has done everything else. He'll go back to being what he has been since Mom died – a drill sergeant.

Dean understands it. He does. He wants the thing that killed his mother too, but not at the expense of his brother, or his dad. Never at their expense. And while he knows he can no longer save his father from the path he's walking, he'll be damned if he has to watch his baby brother, his kid, go down that road too.

Meeting his Dad's eyes, Dean watches the shutters slam closed. John steps away; marches to the motel door, snatching his brown leather jacket off the hook before yanking open the door. It slams closed behind him with an eerie finality …

The creases at the corners of Dean's eyes intensify as he scrunches his face into a frown at the weird dream that isn't disappearing upon his waking. It's one of those that just feels so real. Like the handful of other vivid dreams Dean's been experiencing of late intermingled amongst his nightmares, and feel as if they should be memories.

But it was nothing more than a dream.

Because Dean doesn't remember Sammy having been so much of a shrimp at fifteen like the kid had been in the dream. Sure the kid hadn't stood anywhere near the height he now stands, but the kid had been pushing five feet. Noticeably small for his age, but definitely not as tiny as in Dean's bizarre dream. And 'Daddy' had stopped leaving Sammy's mouth in regards to Dean when the kid was twelve, shortly after Dean's return from Sonny's. Nor does Dean remember getting into it like that with his Dad over Sammy on that day. And he does recall the events of that day. Of John questioning the bedtime Dean had Sam on; of wanting Sam to join them on hunts. And while Dean had strongly disagreed on that day, it had been only another year and a half before Dean had little choice but to see Sam dragged into hunts when John required another teenage soldier.

Sighing bitterly at the reminder, Dean scrubs a hand across his face and a twinge of pained tightness flares across his cheek. As he shifts onto his side, an arm sliding across the mattress, he suspects he has a prominent bruise across his cheekbone where Sammy's head collided with it. Sammy. Dean's hand pats around empty space, his eyes snapping open a second later as he bolts upright. The memory of events that had played out in the early hours of the morning swiftly rush back in and knock the dream off its perch in the forefront of his mind.

Because not only is the space next to him free of sasquatch-sized baby brother, the far side of the bed is empty of Cas as well. And the motel room vacant of either one. So where the fuck is his kid and Cas?

Kicking himself for not having felt or sensed Sammy crawling out of his arms, Dean throws back the blankets and jumps out of bed. He grabs up his jeans and shoves his legs into them as he crosses to the motel door. Turning the doorknob and yanking open the unlocked door, he steps out into the frigid air only to stop dead in his tracks. Because not twenty feet in front of him and in the light of the rising sun, Dean silently watches as his baby brother crumbles into Cas' arms like a cookie being crushed into crumbs within someone's fist and scattered in the breeze.

Swallowing against the sharp lump growing rapidly in his throat, Dean has to fight against every instinct telling him to head over to the pair and take his crying kid into his own arms to give the comfort he knows Sammy needs. Because Dean knows he also needs to trust that Cas can adequately calm Sammy in his own way and without Dean's interference. And in time, also be another source of strength and comfort for the kid.

Because Dean hasn't been blind to Sam displaying younger characteristics lately. First with the thumb sucking, then the tantrums, and lastly earlier this morning. However, as much as Dean might still see Sam as a kid, that kid doesn't generally display these types of younger characteristics unless sick or injured to a bad enough degree that Sam's barriers drop. And he'll seek comfort from Dean or sometimes just has to know Dean's presence is there before he can sleep.

And Dean is doing his best to go with the flow and react accordingly to the Sam he's facing in any given moment; the kid's erratic behaviour triggering the paternal side of Dean that he's had locked down tight since Sam went off to Stanford. Just one of the reasons why Dean has considerably tightened the reins on his kid; and why he needs to know Cas can handle Sammy if these younger behaviours hang around much longer.

Especially if they can't figure out what the fuck that spell did to cause it.

#SPN#

With his sobs eased off into sniffles, Sam slowly raises his face out of Cas' neck. The familiar heat spreading across his cheeks as the realisation that he's being held in Cas' arms and in public to boot finally kicks in. He wriggles and the arms holding him shift, and then Sam finds his butt resting on something uncomfortable.

Blinking to clear his eyes of their blurriness, and feeling several stray tears drip down from his eyelashes onto his cheeks, Sam's surprised to find himself partially staring at the grill of the Impala. And tilting his head downwards to find out what's digging into his butt cheeks, he realises pretty quickly that it's a low and wide black pole. One that stands as a barrier to prevent inept drivers from smacking into the low wall and fence that separates the land of the motel from the main road.

He can't say he's ever sat on one before and now he knows why. They are entirely uncomfortable and not well balanced for sitting on as Cas' hands are the only things keeping Sam from toppling off either side. Getting his feet more firmly beneath him, Sam is able to steady himself and prevent the poles edges from digging into his butt so much, even if his knees are almost touching his chin.

He feels Cas' hold retreat, before the pads of two thumbs are gently swiped across Sam's cheeks to remove the residue of his salty tears. Sam drops his head further downwards, firmly staring at his lap rather than facing the man in front of him. He hears Cas release a soft sighing breath above him, before he feels rather than sees Cas squat down in front of him, the man's hands coming to rest upon Sam's knees.

"Sam, please look at me." Sam keeps his gaze glued on his thighs. A moment later gentle fingers catch Sam's chin, encouraging him to look back up at Cas. And as much as Sam doesn't want to, he still does so anyway, raising his head just enough to look at Cas through his moistened eyelashes. "I am sure your mind has been telling you otherwise since the moment you awoke," Cas says softly, or as softly as his gravel voice allows, "but nothing you did last night was in anyway erroneous, Sam. Your mind, your body, only reacted in the way it knew how …"

"Sure. Yeah." Sam can't help snorting bitterly. "Because we all behave like frightened toddlers after waking from a nightmare."

"I think you know better than anyone fear can take over, Sam," Cas says, staring at him firmly through unblinking blue eyes. "It can present itself in all different manners. And just because a person is brave, doesn't make one fearless. Do you think your brother's never felt that all-encompassing and paralysing fear or disorientation upon waking from a nightmare, Sam?" Sam swallows against the memories of hearing Dean screaming in his sleep in the following days after his return from Hell; hearing the screams of Sam's name coming from his brother's mouth in the months after Dean killed Cain. "Do you think I haven't?"

Sam's eyebrows turn downwards even more than they already are. "You were an angel …"

"Exactly. I was an angel. And I did many things wrong in this world, and in Heaven, as an angel. And now that I am human, I experience nightmares just like you, just like Dean. Nightmares of my past; of my inability to save your brother, to save you. My greatest fears locked in my mind and brought forth by my subconscious in those hours of sleep …"

"I'm sorry you have to experience that, Cas," Sam interjects softly, placing a hand on Cas' shoulder – the one that isn't still wet with Sam's tears. He really doesn't wish those kind of nightmares on anyone, especially a man who probably has yet to experience what a good dream can be like. Sam misses those.

He's surprised to witness tears in the blue eyes before him as Cas huffs a halted laugh. "You never cease to amaze me, Sam." Sam frowns. "You offer me comfort when I am supposed to be comforting and reassuring you."

Enlightenment touches Sam and he shrugs lightly, a slight blush heating his cheeks again. He's not sure exactly what he's meant to say to that. Offering comfort and reassurance to others is just something he's done since re-joining Dean in hunting. A means of paying back something Dean wouldn't let Sam give him anymore like he had when they were kids. As a child Sam could sense when his brother was upset and the only thing he'd had to give was himself. He would snuggle up to his brother, wrapping arms around his brother's neck or shoulders. Even when Dean would try and push him away, not wanting Sam to see the upset, Sam would just hold on tighter until his brother got the silent message Sam couldn't then understand how to say out loud:

You may be the big brother, you may be in charge, and it may seem like you're all alone in this, but I'm here for you too.

It's all he's ever wanted. For Dean to know he isn't alone. Tears sting his eyes again and begin to blur his vision, but he throws his all into holding them back. He shouldn't be crying over every little thing; he doesn't even remember doing that as a child, let alone as an adult.

A soft squeeze to his knees draws Sam's attention back to Cas, who reaches up and brushes back a strand of Sam's hair. "I am truly sorry we haven't always had a great relationship, little one," Cas says apologetically. "And that I've thrown you aside more than I've helped you up."

Sam shakes his head, surprised by the turn in the conversation. "You don't have to apologise for any of that, Cas," he says adamantly. "There's been fault on both sides. And I already forgave you your part."

"You have," Cas acknowledges with a soft smile, but it is quick to slide away. "And you have forgiven many a transgression against you, by not just myself, but countless others also. Yet… you cannot forgive yourself for acting on instinct after a nightmare."

Sam stares, then snorts humourlessly. "I walked right into that one, huh?" He shakes his sweaty head of hair. "I… I don't think it's just about forgiving myself, Cas, it's… it shouldn't have happened to start with. I get what you're saying about fear being a great conductor in a person's behaviour and responses. We all know that. But I've dealt with nightmare's my whole life, Cas, and I… I can't remember behaving like that after one outside of when I was a child. But I'm not a child, and last night I was… was like a little kid so dependent on my big brother and then just standing there while you …" Sam trails off, a blush once again coating his cheeks even as he sees the understanding seep into Cas' eyes.

"Little one," Cas gives his knees a gentle squeeze again, "I promise you, you have no need to be embarrassed over your nakedness in front of me," Cas tells him softly. "I am a former angel. I was around when humans had little to nothing in the way of clothing. So nudity means very little to me."

"I know," Sam says softly, reaching up to scrub at an eye with a closed fist, "Dean's told me. It's just… I've never been like Dean, Cas. I've never been able to brush it off like he can, as if it's nothing to be seen naked by anyone outside of my big brother."

"Feeling that way is nothing to be ashamed of, Sam. I'm sure you're not the only one in this world to feel that way. And while you may not be a child, you are still only young, Sam."

"Yeah, so you and Dean keep saying," Sam huffs lightly. He feels his nose start to run and quickly swipes the back of his hand under it. Cas tuts, and Sam can't help giving him a watery and sheepish flicker of a smile. "I didn't exactly bring a tissue out here with me."

Cas rolls his eyes and stands, grasping hold of the end of his tee and gently swipes it over Sam's nose in lieu of the tissue neither one of them has. Thankfully Sam's nose is too clogged to smell if the fabric stinks or not. Not that Sam really notices what with his staring up at Cas, and taking in how much of a Dean move that just was.

"It's in need of a wash anyway," Cas comments in response of Sam's continuing look.

That flicker of a smile on Sam's lips creases into a half-curve. "You shouldn't pick up all of Dean's bad habits you know, Cas," Sam says with a touch of amusement. "It might not be too good for your continuing digestion."

"Do not worry yourself, little one, I will be ensuring I always have tissue on my person from now on, so I believe my constitution will remain in working order." Cas says and Sam snorts softly. "But speaking of your brother, do you feel ready to return to the room before he comes out here demanding it?"

"Yeah. We can do that."

Sam allows Cas to pull him to his feet, the former-angel quickly planting an arm firmly around Sam's waist as Sam wobbles. He's stiff and weary and cold, and will no doubt be spending another day sleeping off and on within the car, but that's okay by him. For right now he just needs to make sure his tired legs don't start cramping. And oh yeah, face a no doubt worried big brother as Dean is bound to be awake by now.

And as they enter the motel room they're greeted with Dean pacing the limited floor space in front of the bureau and looking like he's going to burst with worry when he spins on his heels to face them. His eyes are assessing as they quickly rove over Sam, but Sam's the one who freezes in concern at the bruise he sees crossing his brother's left cheekbone. That bruise hadn't been there last night when he went to sleep the first time and Sam doesn't remember having hit his brother …

"You didn't," Dean cuts into Sam's assessment, and Sam figures he must have said something out loud. "You were confused, tried to fight Cas holding your nose and the back of your head collided with my face." Dean holds up a hand as Sam opens his mouth, green eyes staring at him firmly but with no trace of anger. "You didn't do anything wrong, kiddo, so you have nothing to apologise for, you get me?"

Sam swallows sharply at the unspoken message behind his brother's words, and nods his understanding, some of the tightness in his chest loosening with the realisation Dean doesn't hate him after last nights dsiplay. He can't help looking imploringly at his brother and Dean rolls his eyes, waving his hands towards himself.

"Fine, yes, you can have a hug."

Cas snorts beside Sam and quietly releases his hold as Dean steps in and draws Sam against him. One arm rests at the back of Sam's neck, while Sam feels the other splay against his back, pressing him tighter against his brother as Sam returns the hug. He closes his eyes, and once again melts into the quiet affection and strength of his big brother.

"M'sorry," Sam says quietly after a moment, despite directions not to.

Dean sighs against his ear, and the hand on Sam's back moves, dropping lower and a second later a swat lands against Sam's bottom as a reminder to what Dean had just told him rather than correction of misbehaviour. But still a small yelp releases from Sam's mouth at the sting his brother's strong hand draws out across his left butt cheek. Then Dean's pulling back, holding him at arm's length briefly before Sam lets out a startled squawk as he's hauled up into Dean's arms.

"I can walk you know," Sam grumbles as he's carried into the bathroom and seated on the closed potty. Whoa brain! This thing I'm sitting on is a toilet, he silently scolds his own mind, not a frigging potty. A toi-let. Got it?

"You need to go potty?"

Oh for the love of … "No, Dean, I don't 'need to go potty'. This is a toilet. Did my head crack your skull?" Sam reaches up to check his brother's face.

Dean snorts and smacks Sam's hand away with a roll of his eyes. "Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever you say, Sammy."

"What's that for?" Sam questions, completely ignoring his brother's sarcasm, as Cas carries one of the metal and plastic dining chairs into the bathroom.

"I thought it would be more beneficial for you to be seated in the shower with the way your legs are shaking," Cas explains.

Sam has the grace to look sheepish. He had really overdone it in his run and is most definitely going to be paying the price, so he doesn't object to the offer of being able to sit for his shower.

"Stick it in the tub, Cas, and get the shower running," Dean instructs in his usual gruff manner. His fingers grasp hold of the hem of Sam's hoodie and pull it upwards while Sam's protests become buried amongst a mass of fabric as it bunches around his head. "What's that you're saying, kiddo? Thanks so much for helping me, big brother?" Dean tugs the hoodie the final way off Sam's head. "I know. I'm awesome," Dean gives him a smirk.

Sam rolls his eyes, and can't help laughing slightly as he brushes back his hair only to have it back in his face a second later when his t-shirt is tugged over his head. Then Dean's eyes narrow as fingers prod just below Sam's left shoulder. And Sam had completely forgotten about the mild burn, its soreness of yesterday having eased off, as has the pinkness.

"Looks better, kiddo, but I'll put some more ointment on after your shower."

Sam nods, having known that was coming. But before he can tell his brother he can put the ointment on himself, Cas' voice interrupts.

"Is this the correct temperature, Dean?"

Dean steps over to Cas who is half holding the shower curtain across the tub so the water doesn't spray all over them. Dean sticks his hand in, testing the temperature, and shakes his head as he pulls his hand back. "Slightly cooler."

Cas nods, returning to the faucets. "This?"

Dean repeats the process from a moment ago and when he pulls back it's clearly the correct temperature as he gives Cas a quick grin. Cas smiles, clearly happy to be able to help, even if it comes by way of getting the water temperature accurate. And it makes Sam wonder how left out Cas must sometimes feel being around Sam and Dean who share so much more history with one another. And against Dean's experience of Sam-rearing in particular. Not that Dean and Cas are doing that for him again now. That would be stupid. Like he told Cas, he's not a child. He doesn't need rearing.

"… our things packed," Cas is saying to Dean. "Assuming that you want to leave as soon as possible?"

"Yeah. Once we've all got our quick showers in we'll hit the road. I want to be in Olympia today."

"What about breakfast? Little one at least needs to eat."

Sam opens his mouth to tell them both he can go without breakfast. Because the less stops they make in the journey, the quicker they'll reach their destination. And the quicker they might get hold of Rowena. But Dean places a finger under Sam's chin and coaxes his jaw shut. Fine, Sam huffs silently, I can take a hint. But only because he knows Dean wants to stop for breakfast to fill his never-ending pit of a stomach.

"We'll get breakfast on the way, Cas," Dean says with a quick grin at Sam. "Don't worry, little man will get fed."

Sam rolls his eyes at his brother's words. He really needs to stop being seen as 'little' in these two men's eyes. No matter how much the nicknames and endearments warm him inside.

He smiles lightly up at Cas when the former-angel runs a hand down Sam's hair, before the man has to step over Sam's feet on his way out the door. The latch on the door clicks into place as it's pulled closed behind Cas.

"All right, Sammy, pants off."

#SPN#

Sam raises his eyes from the tablet resting on his knees as the engine shuts off, surprised to find the car shrouded in darkness. When did night fall? Has he honestly been so absorbed in his research that he hasn't taken any notice of time ticking seamlessly on from chilly and cloudy blue sky into the darkness of evening? Flicking his gaze back down to his tablet, the time of 19:34 tells him that, yes, he has missed the outside world flying by beyond the Impala's windows since he had been asked the question of what he wanted for their on-the-go lunch around two.

Actually, if he's honest, Sam's pretty sure he's missed a whole bunch of stuff since leaving the motel in Wyoming a little after seven this morning after Dean had run across to the diner and grabbed them breakfast to eat in the car. Not surprisingly Sam ended up with the corner of a napkin once again shoved down the collar of his shirt before he started eating, and his lidded tumbler with straw handed to him filled with juice. And now here they are with a roughly eighteen hour drive cut down in true Dean fashion to twelve. And as he raises surprised eyes from his tablet, he spots Cas staring back at him from the front passenger seat, the man's eyebrows drawn together in concern.

"Sam, what is it?" Cas questions, immediately snapping Dean's attention away from staring out the driver side window and around to Sam as well, his brother's own forehead creasing into a frown.

"Sammy, something wrong?"

Sam parts his lips to answer, only to be startled when gibberish spills forth. It takes a mere fraction of a second for the realisation to click that his left thumb is wedged between his lips and he doesn't remember when he put that there either. He pulls it out, absently swiping the spittle off on his jeans as he opens his mouth again to respond to their concerned questions, except Dean is already beating him to the punch.

"Yeah, kiddo, it's evening," Dean teases lightly, clearly having understood Sammy Winchester babbling. "It's usually what follows afternoon."

"Very funny," Sam grumbles as his brother and Cas chuckle. "I just didn't realise it was this late." He frowns when both men in front shake their heads. "What?"

"Between napping and grabbing this thing again before you've barely even woken up -" Dean responds, his hand curling around the top of Sam's tablet with four large fingers coming down directly onto the screen in a tight hold. Sam's eyes widen fractionally; he doesn't think his brother would have had the forethought to pack something like Sam's screen cleaner. It's not a necessity in Dean's mind. "- Which, by the way, you've had enough of for today," Dean adds, using his hold to quickly snatch the tablet away before Sam can get a tighter grasp upon it.

"Ah, Dean, c'mon," Sam grumbles, feeling a little stupid for having been more focused on big brother's fingerprints smearing over his screen than seeing that move coming.

"Nope. Because this thing -" Dean holds the tablet up, waving it in the air, "- has kept you from taking an ounce of notice to your surroundings for most of the day," Dean continues, ignoring Sam's protest as he folds the case around Sam's tablet, the magnetic strap ominously clicking into place.

Sam can't help but cringe lightly at his brother's words as he watches Dean pass his tablet off to Cas, who opens the glove compartment and sets it inside before closing the box back up. He knows Dean would bust his butt more severely for lack of awareness to surroundings if they were anywhere else but the safety of the Impala. Because the only other space Sam can get away with that behaviour is in the bunker.

For within the walls of their heavily protected base, he and Dean are both free to loosen the reins on that long ingrained aspect of their lives. It allows them to wander free without constant need of weapons, or having to fully worry about if a demon or another supernatural critter is going to jump out at them any second. That is, Sam's free to do so as long as the dungeon is empty of one of those entities. And only as far as the corridors and rooms they've already cleared and inspected. Because there are at least a dozen hallways, each with a handful of rooms of their own, that they have yet to check out. Despite their three year tenure in the place. Time has been a capricious thing for them lately - if not always - and after the fiasco with Dorothy and the Wicked Witch, rooms are not cleared alone.

And as he takes their green blanket Cas is passing back to him and sets it down on the free space of the bench seat, Sam really hopes Cas will eventually come to see the bunker as just as much of a home as Sam is learning it is to him. Dean pretty much accepted the place as a home straight away, but for Sam it is taking time because he's never truly had a material home outside of the sturdy metal framework he's currently sitting within. The bunker still only resembles a home to Sam rather than a workplace when Dean – and now Cas – are there sharing it with him.

"How's that any different to when I'm usually researching?" Sam blurts without thinking, and hopes his brother or Cas don't think to ask what exactly that research entails and simply think it's a continuing study on the spell and its aftereffects.

Which, technically, it is. He hasn't stopped researching the spell in its entirety. He's just been concentrating more on the effect Sam thinks it's having on his brother.

Because maybe the spell not only amplified the protectiveness in Dean but the innocence the man sees in Sam also. The reason Dean can no longer get behind the thought of Sam having sex; seeing only that someone would be hurting Sam. Because in Dean's brain Sam's too 'young' to be able to give the appropriate consent of an adult indulging in safe and consensual sex. And Sam doesn't in the slightest way understand the relevance of the spell causing that kind of reaction. Though at least he can understand the protectiveness a little more; it having spiralled across the border into possessiveness even before Dean died and became a demon again. And clearly some aspect of that has remained within his brother and been translated into the extreme overprotectiveness Sam's experiencing now.

It's a theory. But it doesn't explain Cas.

For while he and Cas had definitely grown closer during the business with the Mark of Cain, perhaps before that with the shit-storm wrought by Gadreel, Sam would not have considered Cas as protective of him. Friendship, yes, but protectiveness? Even those few times Cas stepped in front of him to prevent the Mark of Cain infused Dean hitting Sam – or killing him as Dean wanted to do – it was more out of preventing Dean from making that huge mistake than protecting Sam. So he's not so sure that fully existed in Cas' mind before he cast the spell.

"… usually pick your head up for air at least once or twice when you're researching, kid," Dean is saying, staring hard at Sam. "Whether your surrounded by the Impala or not."

Sam sighs and has to give his brother that. The car that has given them so much protection in their lives only gives Sam so much leeway on watching his surroundings. He should have at least picked his head up from his tablet once or twice to take in his environs; maybe find out if his brother and Cas were having a pertinent conversation he should be listening to. But he hadn't. He had instead allowed his mind to become lost in his research for hours.

"You could have pulled me out," he accuses lightly.

"We both tried getting your attention, Sam," Cas speaks up. "You'd mumble around your thumb but remain oblivious to what your brother or I were actually trying to say to you."

"Oh," Sam mumbles. He doesn't remember either man trying to get his attention since lunch. "I'm sorry. I just…"

"Got lost. Yeah, we figured that. You get a free pass this time, Sammy." Sam nods his understanding; it's a clear warning to keep focused and not get lost in his head again. "All right then, let's do this shall we?" Dean says before climbing from the car. Cas and Sam follow, Sam stretching out his legs and wincing as his muscles reproach him with twinges of pain at the movement. "You good for this, Sammy?"

Sam blinks at his brother, lowering his right leg back down to the ground. "Yeah, Dean. I've dealt with worse."

Dean stares at him, eyes haunted. "I know you have."

Sam tears his eyes away and raises an eyebrow at the dilapidated building he can just make out at the end of the dirt path Dean's parked the Impala. "This is it?" He questions, trying to draw Dean away from any bad memories of those times they've both had worse injuries and still done their jobs. "The place Cray told you about?"

"Yep."

"Huh. Nice place," Sam says, leaning back into the car to retrieve his gun from his laptop bag. Closing the door behind him, he turns back to his brother and a moment later is staring at Dean in confusion.

#

"Err… Dean?"

Dean stares down at the gun now in his grasp. Sam's gun. That he just snatched out of his brother's hand. He clears his throat, quickly releasing the clip, looks at it, before shoving it back in place. "Just wanted to check what rounds you had in there, Sammy."

Sam's forehead creases with lines as his eyebrows arch into it at Dean's slip up. "Uh-huh."

Dean holds the gun out to his brother, his hand making a jerky movement because even as Sam takes it, Dean wants to rip it back out of his kid's hold. But Dean is quick to school his countenance before his baby brother can read anything from him, gaze meeting Cas' across the roof of the car. His partner's expression is momentarily pained with understanding before it too is schooled behind a mask as Sam shifts his eyes to look at Cas.

And as they walk the dirt path towards the farmhouse, Dean can sense Sam's gaze boring into the back of his head and can practically feel his little brother's cogs turning. That humongous brain trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Something Dean intends to completely ignore for as long as possible. Because what is he supposed to say, "Sorry, Sammy, I just can't see you playing with guns any longer, or knives, any weapon, you know."

No. Sammy won't know. He won't understand. And why would he? When Dean doesn't even understand it. When Cas doesn't understand it. And that man was an angel for a fucking long time.

Dean does know he and Cas need to knuckle down into the research on this issue and the rest when Sammy's in bed. Because maybe Dean missed something in the few hours he took to research last night; he was after all beyond fucking tired.

Though on top of that research he and Cas have been trying to ascertain what exactly a power burn means when the powers aren't physically within the body of the one they're burning out. That has been a huge part of their focus ever since Cas came up with what was then just a theory, but has unfortunately since been proven accurate. But they also need to try and get a handle on why he and Cas are so freaked out by the thought of Sammy playing… handling… weapons. Why the protectiveness has kicked into overdrive, especially on Cas' front. Because for Dean, protecting his baby brother has always been a part of him for as long as he can remember, but he's learnt to control it. Until recently. Because whatever is happening is slowly taking that control from him; stripping him back layer by layer and Dean hates it, especially after the loss of control he experienced under the Mark of Cain's power.

And what good is Dean in protecting his family when he doesn't even know what's going on in his own fucking brain?

Dean angrily shakes those thoughts away and metaphorically straightens his shoulders. He can't deal with this at the moment. Hell, he's just given Sammy a warning about staying focused and out of his own head and not ten minutes later here's Dean doing the same damn thing. He needs to focus on the here and now. Deal with the rest of this shit after they potentially have a run in with a witch in this farmhouse. Otherwise all of this… it's going to drive him fucking nuts.

Reaching the farmhouse, it becomes clear the place is in even more of a ramshackle state then Dean had first thought. Practically every window at the front has a hole or two in it, or is missing entirely and bordered up by someone's haphazard job. And from what he can see of it, the roof is in even worse shape with gaping holes where tile covering should be.

If Rowena had bunked here it wouldn't have been too entirely pleasant. A thought that cheers Dean up considerably.

Despite big feet and the tough boots attached to those feet treading on the wooden floor of the veranda, the three enter silently through the farmhouse' front door into a hall with stairs situated directly before them. Their movements kick up dust from the floor, but they still remain silent, until the crunch of a leaf underfoot echoes loudly throughout the house. They still. Green and hazel eyes zero in on Cas, who apologetically lifts his foot from the offending piece of nature.

Dean shoots him a glare.

"He's not the only one gonna be treading on leaves," Sam points out quietly, flashlight lit beside his gun as he flashes it across the floor. Hundreds of leaves are scattered across the wooden boards having no doubt blown in through the broken windows for too many years.

"No point worrying about that now," Dean whispers back. "Just keep focused."

"I am focused. What about you, Dean?"

Dean ignores the jibe from his perceptive little shit. Instead, he indicates for Cas to take the second floor, while he and Sam sweep the first. Cas nods, his movements silent as he starts up the stairs. Sam makes a move to go into the room on the left while at the same time Dean moves to go into the one on the right. He reaches out to grab his brother, intending to have the kid remain with him, only to stop himself just in time. His hand grasps air as Sammy disappears around the wall, the kid completely oblivious to the struggle his big brother is again inwardly facing.

Winchester, get a fucking grip on yourself, he scolds himself harshly as he starts on his own sweep around to the right. You got a job to do. So does Sam. The kid's gonna be gone a minute at most.

He sweeps his flashlight and gun over what looks to be old and broken dining room furniture, clearing the room before crossing into the joining kitchen. He shoves down an irritating itch to go grab Sammy and place his kid beside him where he can be shielded, protected, at the drop of a hat.

Because as much as he knows Sammy's more than capable of taking care of himself, a much larger part is telling him he shouldn't let Sammy out of his sight. Shit. They've already touched base on Sammy not going off anywhere alone, but does this qualify? Sam isn't technically alone. Dean's just in the next room. And Cas is upstairs. Except, Dean's been in the same room as the kid a million times over and the kid still gets hurt; still disappears from under his brother's nose; still gets thrown into walls and bookshelves; still collapses …

"Sam?" Dean quietly calls. Big brother overtaking the hunter, even as he clears the second of two tall cupboards, an ideal hiding location.

"I'm here," Sam responds just as quietly. And relief spreads through Dean's body - without his body physically relaxing from the hard hunter stance he's in full awareness that he adopts on the job - the second his baby brother steps into the kitchen from the left side. "Place is clear on this side."

"Clear here too." Dean silently gestures to a door sitting fractionally ajar and best guess, it leads to the basement.

Sam nods, raising both gun and flashlight to just below shoulder height; the stance Dean taught him and Sam has perfected to his own style in the past decade, and a note of pride swims through Dean at the sight. Placing a hand on the door, Dean gives it a slight shove and it swings all the way open. His assessment is correct as he lowers his flashlight beam slightly to reveal the stairs leading down. Nothing jumps out at them and Dean starts his descent, hearing Sam following behind him. They sweep the room; the basement empty with not even a piece of furniture or a box of old junk nobody wants.

"Dean," Sam calls from a far corner.

"Find something?" Dean questions, joining his brother who is crouched down, his flashlight directed downwards at the floor. Three dark smears are visible within the light. "Blood?"

"Yeah." Sam reaches out, dipping a finger into the blood before drawing back and rubbing his finger against his thumb. He looks up at Dean as he observes, "It's still tacky."

Dean raises an eyebrow at the news. Neither one of them need to say the words to know that if this is the witch's blood, they've only missed her skipping out of dodge by an hour or so.

Mid-process of swiping his thumb and finger off on his pant leg, Sam quickly turns in his crouched position, gun raised. Dean instinctively clamps a hand down on his brother's shoulder while directing his own gun towards the stairs at the sound of footsteps travelling across the floor above. Cas appears halfway down the stairs and in the beam of their flashlights a moment later. They lower their guns and Dean removes his grip on Sam, allowing his kid to stand.

"There's sulphur on an upstairs window and the floor beneath it," Cas informs them, continuing down the stairs to join them. He holds up two fingers and illuminates the yellow powder on the tips by way of his flashlight.

"Most of the windows are busted," Dean observes. "Nice open house shithole she opted to take shelter in. This is the only secure room. No windows. One door." In the beam of his flashlight Dean catches sight of his baby brother's furrowed brow and slightly narrowed eyes; a thoughtful expression which always signifies the ticking of the kid's brain. "What's flying through your noggin, kid?" Dean questions.

"Nothing good," Sammy responds as he jogs across the floor and back up the stairs.

Dean and Cas follow, Dean planting a foot on the bottom step to ascend them after his kid and whatever Sam's figured out, only to draw to a stop when Sam closes the basement door. He and Cas aim their flashlights up at the door along with Sam's, and the three beams of light catch the blood sigils drawn on the back of the door.

"I was hoping I was wrong," Sam says as he crouches down to get a better look in the light of his flashlight.

"NO, SAM!" Cas abruptly roars, tearing up the stairs and grabbing a startled Sam up into his arms. He rushes back down with Dean's little brother, while Dean can only blink at what's riled Cas up, his gun aimed and ready to shoot whatever threat there is.

"Cas! Get off me!" Sam struggles, shifting himself away from Cas' arms and closer to Dean as he's set on his feet on the basement floor. He rounds on Cas, his face set and angry. "What the hell was that, Cas?"

"You were about to touch one of the sigils I didn't recognise," Cas scolds.

"Sam, that true?" Dean demands, lowering his gun only slightly as understanding of Cas' abrupt actions seep in. He can't say whether or not his brother had done as Cas said because he hadn't seen anything beyond Sam's head and back, so he wants to hear it out of his kid's mouth before he dishes out punishment for such a stupid mistake.

"No. I wasn't gonna touch it," Sam shoots back, but Dean can hear the defensive edge which always indicates the opposite in his little brother.

"Sam," Dean drops his voice even lower than normal, his baby brother's name spoken in a dangerous growl of displeasure. Sam looks at him, spooked and one hand readying to cover his backside, a pure sign of guilt, and Dean steadies his voice so it holds less bite. For now. "You know better than to touch an unfamiliar sigil. Especially a blood sigil."

"I couldn't help it! I just felt like I needed to touch the damn thing!"

"And we generally call that a trap, Sam!" Dean gets a grip on his kid's upper right arm, cursing the fucking witch as he does.

"A witch of Rowena's calibre will know how to work her spell's into blood sigils," Cas states, taking hold of Sam's other arm, "or hide spells behind them."

"I know that, Cas!" Sam snaps. "I'm not stupid."

"Yet you were a fraction away from placing your fingers upon one unfamiliar to you. And you are trying to get back up the stairs as we speak."

Dean watches his kid blink, glance down at the hold Dean and Cas both now have on his upper arms, one foot raised in the process of trying to place it back on the bottom step.

"Shit. I didn't… I can't…" Dean tightens his hold on his kid when he sees a flash of lime green in Sam's eyes, a glare overtaking the confusion as Sam's upper lip turns upwards. "Get off me!" Sam snarls and starts struggling fiercely, trying to shake off their holds and it is an effort even with Dean and Cas' combined extra strength.

"We need to destroy, oomph," Cas grunts as he receives an elbow straight in the mouth, "destroy that sigil, Dean!"

"We'll just get him outside!"

"That would be ineffective! Sam's going to continue wanting to set off whatever spell is fused into that sigil until it's destroyed… or Sam is!"

"Shit. Okay. You're gonna have to go do that while I restrain him, Cas!" And if Dean can't physically restrain his baby brother by himself he's going to have to knock him out; something Dean is far from wanting to do at this point, but will still do so if necessary. He quickly tilts his head backwards to avoid a flying fist. "Sammy. Shit. C'mon, kiddo. Stop fighting us!"

But it's like his baby brother doesn't even hear him anymore. Dean nods to Cas and between them they drag Sam to the furthest point from the basement door. Dean leans back against the wall, positioning Sam's back flush to his chest and then quickly slides them down the wall, Sammy landing between his spread legs. He quickly hooks his ankles over Sammy's struggling legs, his arms over Sam's bucking torso, tightening his hold enough to lessen Sam's struggling but not to do harm.

Dean looks up at Cas, and slightly breathless says, "Go!"

Cas does so, charging back up the stairs. He carefully opens the door back up and steps into the kitchen before ripping the door off its hinges from that side as not to disturb the blood sigils on the basement side. Dean hears him rush across the floor upstairs, footsteps heading for the back door in the corner of the kitchen. Hears the back door kicked open. Then the only sounds he's left with is the sound of Sammy's heavy breathing as the boy continues to try and buck against Dean's hold on him.

He is unaware how long it takes, whether it's five minutes, half an hour or an hour, but Dean knows the second Cas manages to destroy the sigil because he's startled by the unnatural screech that leaves Sammy's mouth. The kid falls silent after only a few seconds; his struggles instantly ceasing and he slumps against Dean, eyes closed and his chest heaving as if he's just run a marathon. Dean slowly loosens his grip, gently tilting Sammy's face up, brushing back his hair as he calls his kid's name over and over until Sammy starts to stir with a groan.

"D'n?" Sammy's voice is soft, young and scared.

Or maybe that's just Dean's brain telling him he's hearing that in the sound because the eyes peering up at him look young and scared. "Right here, buddy."

"W'at hap'n?" Sammy questions groggily.

"Witch. Spell. Usual." Dean replies succinctly, the adrenaline still racing through him.

"Oh," Sam mumbles before the ever present thumb rises and slips into the kid's mouth, the boy curling on his side and snuggling his face into Dean's chest. "Sleepy, De."

"Sleep then," Dean replies quietly, continuing to run his hand down Sam's hair.

There is no point telling Sam to stay awake until they get their asses out of here. He knows when Sam's not going to be able to keep his eyes open and this is one of those times. He hears Sam's breathing even out into sleep not thirty seconds later and Dean rests his head back against the wall, just giving himself a moment to feel the relief. His kid's okay. But that could have worked out a whole world of different. Fuck. Sammy hadn't even touched the damn sigil and it still somehow controlled him; pulled him in to do its bidding to trap them or kill them all for that redheaded skank. If Cas hadn't been there to recognise that the sigil was one he didn't recognise...

"Dean?" Cas voice rings from above.

Dean sits straight again. He's back. No more wallowing in what could've happened. It's done and they need to get out of here. They definitely need to get Sammy out of here.

"Did it work? Is Sam okay?" Cas questions, now descending the stairs.

"Yeah, Cas, he's good." Dean responds, carefully manoeuvring himself and Sammy so he can pick his kid up.

Cas moves into help and they get Sammy standing between them. Dean then hooks his hands under Sammy's arms and lifts him onto his hip, his arm sliding beneath Sam's butt. Sam's legs instinctively rise up and settle around Dean's waist and his left hand comes up to grip at Dean's jacket even in his sleep. Sam's head flops against the curve of Dean's neck, soft puffs of air blowing against his skin from around the kid's thumb.

Dean smiles lightly, holding the back of his kid's head as he starts up the stairs, Cas bringing up the rear with Sam's dropped gun and flashlight. That feeling of his baby brother breathing against his neck had comforted Dean when they were younger just as much as Dean's arms being wrapped around Sammy comforted the kid. It's knowing they're both there, both together. Safe. And it still comforts Dean now. Not that Dean would ever voice that out loud.

Reaching the Impala, Dean carefully situates Sammy in the back seat and closes the door, just shy of slamming it, and rounds on Cas. "I want her dead," he snarls.

"We need her alive," Cas speaks calmly in the face of Dean's anger, but Dean can see the fury in the blue eyes. "At least until she's expended her usefulness."

"And when that time comes, I'm taking her fucking head."

"Agreed."

#SPN#

Driving into the parking space in front of room one-twenty-seven that belongs to the Redfern Grove Motel, Dean climbs from the car and closes his door behind him. Opening the driver-side rear door, he is just about to get his hands on his still sleeping brother to lift the kid from the car when he senses eyes on him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Straightening to full height, Dean tracks his own eyes to the window of the room next to the one they've been given. He glares at the salt and peppered haired guy blatantly staring out at him. The guy hurriedly releases the curtain to fall back into place over the window.

Nosey fucking bastard.

But as Dean leans back into the car and lifts Sammy out into his arms, he makes a mental note to keep an eye and ear open to the snooping neighbour during their stay here. Or possibly find a way to test the bastard and ensure he isn't a demon, or shapeshifter, or any other fucker wanting to get in their faces.

Dean frowns as his kid's head rests against his neck once again. Shifting Sammy on his hip to free up one arm while keeping the other firmly beneath Sam's butt, Dean places the back of his hand to Sammy's visible cheek. He curses at the warmth he feels radiating from his kid.

"Hey, Cas," Dean calls over the open trunk where Cas is grabbing their stuff, "grab the med kit out as well," he instructs.

"Is Sam hurt?"

"No," Dean says, clearing the door so he can get it closed and joins his partner. "At least no more than a few bruises. He feels like he's developing a fever. Grab my car key outta my jean pocket and lock up Baby while I lay him down."

Cas nods, hand slipping into Dean's right jeans pocket to retrieve the key. Cas in turn places one of the two motel keys in Dean's hand. Dean nods his thanks and turns on his heel and carries Sammy the short distance to their room door.

Dean slips the key into the keyhole and twists it before turning the doorknob, the door swinging wide as he gives it a slight shove. He takes little interest in the room's layout aside for the location of the beds which are not directly in his visual path. But a quick look to his left produces a square opening into a separate area which holds the two required queen beds.

Laying Sammy down on the second bed, the one furthest from the main door, Dean sets about stripping his kid out of his jacket and boots. Completing the task, he exits the bedroom area and crosses over to an alcove holding the kitchenette almost directly in front of him.

Dean digs out a glass from the one storage cabinet and rinses it thoroughly under the faucet. Trekking into the bedroom and uncaring that the glass in his hand is dripping water every other step, Dean sets it down on the nightstand. He returns to the living portion of the room, and squats down just in front of the door where Cas has dumped one of the bags of supplies they'd picked up back at the store yesterday. Specifically the one holding several bottles of water. Grabbing one, Dean returns to his sleeping brother and with a twist of the cap, opens the bottle and fills the glass so it stands half full.

"I think I brought in everything we may need."

Dean turns to look over his shoulder at Cas who is biting at the corner of his lip and staring down at the bags sitting on the floor. He holds in the snort that wants to break free of him, pretty sure Cas has divested the trunk of everything bar the bag holding Sam's new toys, and the weapons and supplies within their hidden compartment. But Cas looks worried and Dean doesn't think it the right time to tease his partner about it, so he lets it go.

"I'm sure you have." Dean returns his attention to his sleeping brother. He brushes a sweaty lock of hair away from his kid's face, heart aching at the innocence displayed there.

"How is he?"

Dean takes the med kit from Cas and sets it on the end of Sam's bed. "It's probably only a mild fever, but I need to make sure he's not sitting on the cusp of it becoming a raging one."

Pulling open the zipper of the larger duffle than his and Sam's own duffles, he draws out the separate paper bag he set the new thermometers in when Sammy wasn't looking. He also grabs up the canister of disinfectant probe wipes and the small tube of lube stored in the kit and dumps both on the bed. After transferring the med kit over to the other bed, Dean grasps hold of the end of the bag and tips it upwards, the assortment of thermometers tumbling out onto the blanket.

Cas squeezes his arm lightly. "I'll get his sippy cup ready for fresh use."

Dean nods; Cas stepping back into the living portion while Dean parks his butt on the end of Sam's bed. He divests one of the two blue and white digital thermometers made for the mouth and armpit of its packaging. Connecting the battery, it gives a long beep before shutting up and he checks the LCD screen has a readout before pressing the button to take it back to the two dashes that indicates it's ready to start. He then switches it back off. Opening the canister of wipes, he withdraws one and uses it to wipe over the probe. Satisfied the thing is clean a good minute later, Dean dumps the wipe off to the side.

Glancing at Sammy, he pats the kid's leg. "You know… you didn't need to go and get yourself sick to save yourself losing your allowance for a couple months, kiddo," Dean tells his kid affectionately, even if his voice is gruff with the concern he's feeling. He can't always shield it from his voice, and right now, with Sammy sleeping, he doesn't even need to try. "I would've waived that condition."

Sighing softly and with another pat to Sammy's lower leg, Dean stands and rounds the bed. Taking a seat on the edge at Sammy's hip, Dean dips the thermometer probe into the glass of water, swishes it around for a moment, then draws it back out and gives it a shake to clear it of any excess water. Turning the small machine back on, Dean sets a finger on Sammy's chin and presses downwards with gentle pressure. Sam's lips part just enough for Dean to slip the thermometer inside and ease it carefully beneath Sammy's tongue.

Dean holds it there, watching the readout, and knows instantly the thing is not working properly. The readout plummets to a number indicative of a dangerously low temperature and then shoots rapidly upwards, sailing past the one-oh-eight mark before it starts beeping erratically. Dean pulls it from his kid's mouth a second before it craps out, the covering of the LCD screen cracking.

Oh the joys of Sammy temperature taking, Dean sighs.

Ditching the piece of crap on top of its packaging, Dean grabs up the other one. He repeats the process of stripping it from its packaging and checking it already works properly, before switching it off again and cleaning the probe. He sets it upon the nightstand before his fingers work the button of Sam's shirt sleeve open and pulls the kid's arm out. He doesn't remove the undershirt, only pushes it upwards enough on one side so he has access to his kid's right armpit. Grabbing the thermometer, he places it where it needs to be; enclosed within the skin of Sammy's armpit and his arm. Again he watches the readout. And when it instantly plummets Dean pulls it out. No sense losing this one too. He rights both of Sam's shirts, apologising softly as his kid shivers.

"Cas, can you turn the heat up a fraction?"

"Of course," Cas calls back and Dean hears his partner's feet crossing the floor to the motel room's heater.

Well, Sammy, two down, one to go, Dean silently tells his brother. But Dean really isn't holding out much hope of the ear thermometer working. Yet he still goes ahead and tries it once he pulls it from its box, cleans it and tests its working prowess. Seeing it's working fine, he slips the probe covered tip into Sam's ear. Dean watches the readout produce the same result as the other two in dropping low and shooting high, except the speed at which the reading shoots upwards blows the battery with a pop.

"Dammit!"

"All of them?"

"Pretty much," Dean sighs, glancing over his shoulder at Cas, who's eyes drop down to the last of the packaged thermometers that clearly reads 'Rectal Thermometer' sitting almost innocently on the bed.

"That's the only one remaining to try?"

"Yes. But there won't be any trying with it. It'll work." Dean snorts softly, setting the busted ear thermometer with the rest. "Sammy's butt I can trust to give me an accurate reading."

"Then why go through the whole process with the other ways, Dean?"

Dean stares at his confused partner. "Because I promised him we could try." Understanding seeps into Cas' eyes, and Dean feels the need to add, "And you are my witness, Cas. Along with the busted thermometers." Because he knows his baby brother, and that's the first thing Sam will accuse him of; not even trying all the other ways.

Picking up the rectal thermometer, Dean removes it from its packaging and goes through the process of ensuring its working properly with the test readout before he switches it off again and cleans it. Setting it aside, Dean unfastens Sam's belt buckle, then his jeans. Lifting Sammy's hips with one hand, Dean tugs the jeans down and lowers Sam's butt back down onto the mattress before pulling the pants the rest of the way off. Carefully easing Sammy over onto his stomach, Dean tugs the boxer-briefs down to just below the kid's butt.

Picking up the thermometer, Dean slips the probe cover over the pointed end and smears a small amount of lube over it. Using his thumb and forefinger to gently ease Sammy's butt cheeks apart, Dean slides the probe into his kid's anus, a soft whimper leaving Sammy as he wiggles his butt in his sleep against the intrusion, dislodging the probe, but doesn't wake.

"I know, buddy," Dean says softly, rubbing his kid's back, and Sammy settles down. "But I gotta do this," he adds as he returns to doing his job, once again spreading Sammy's butt cheeks. He raises his eyes to Cas who seats himself on the bed beside Sam and opposite Dean. He nods at his partner in thanks as Cas starts rubbing gentle circles into Sam's back.

This time Dean is quick, but still just as gentle in sliding the probe in, ensuring it goes in enough to cover a half inch before Sammy can start wriggling and dislodge it again. Cas' back rubbing however seems to be keeping Sammy settled. Dean releases his hold on Sam's butt cheeks so they trap the thermometer between them, while his fingers still remain attached to the instrument sticking out of his kid. He watches the small screens readout with a sense of relief as it does the job it was made for and works properly, giving him an accurate reading of his kid's temperature when it beeps a minute later.

"One hundred," he states, removing the thermometer.

"What does that mean?" Cas questions worriedly, standing and joining Dean to look down at the readout.

"Relax, Cas," Dean instructs as he returns the underwear to covering his kid's butt, then pops the probe cover from the thermometer into the trashcan under the nightstand. "It's a low-grade fever," he says, using another wipe to clean the end of the thermometer again. "We'll keep an eye on him, but that's it for now unless it advances."

"Which we don't want, correct?"

"No. We definitely don't want that," Dean responds, brushing his hand down Sammy's hair.

"Do we have the necessary medicine required for a fever?" Cas queries and practically buries his head in their med kit as he starts rummaging through it.

Dean smiles lightly, but doesn't answer. He needs to wash his hands, but he realises he can utilise this moment as another lesson in human reality. People get sick. Sam's gotten sick numerous times before, but really only around Cas during the trials to try and close up Hell. And, save for a few short times where his wings have been clipped or he's been human briefly, Cas has relied heavily on his powers to assess and heal what's required without the necessity of medicine or medical care coming into the picture.

So Dean waits and watches as he clears up the crap from the useless thermometers, dumping it all into the trashcan.

Cas eventually pulls out the two new bottles of Children's Tylenol, his lips moving as he reads over the boxes housing them. "Ah, here, acetaminophen," he says raising his eyes to Dean, who nods. "That's what you used on baby Tanya when I was human the first time, yes? When Ephraim tried to kill me."

Dean blinks, having to think back to who exactly baby Tanya and Ephraim are. It takes a moment, but he finally remembers Ephraim was the creepy 'Hand of Mercy' angel smiting 'suffering' humans over two years ago. And baby Tanya was the kid Cas was babysitting when he performed the task of putting Ephraim down. "That's the stuff."

"And this is suitable for reducing the fever in someone of Sam's size also?"

Dean nods again and stands, grabbing the blanket up from his and Cas' bed and draping it over his kid's form. "Just have to up the dosage from three spoons to four roughly every five hours," he replies before crossing into the bathroom to wash his hands.

"And we're not giving Sam any yet, because?"

Dean's mouth half curves again as he dries his hands off on a motel-supplied hand towel. "Because the fever's a good thing at the moment." He steps back into the bedroom and places a brief kiss to Cas' lips. "It means Sammy's immune system is doing its job in fighting against whatever foreign substance is invading the kid's body."

"And when it isn't a good thing?"

"That's where that stuff comes in," Dean replies, jabbing a finger at the Tylenol in Cas' hand. "Just like with baby Tanya. What?" He questions at Cas' furrowed brow.

"Do you think this is an aftereffect from Rowena's spell?"

"I don't know, Cas." Dean moves them into the living area. "But it'd be a hell of a coincidence if it wasn't. I mean Sammy was fine when we went into that farmhouse and here he is with a fever barely half an hour after being hijacked. We've seen what Rowena's magic can do …"

"Only in humans whose bodies cannot withstand magic," Cas responds, crossing to the green cooler and opening the chest, drawing out two beers. Dean takes his, twisting off the cap. "We know Sam is stronger than that, Dean."

"I know," Dean scrubs a hand down his face, leaning his butt against the edge of the kitchenette's small work surface and sets his beer bottle to his lips, taking a deep swig of the liquid. He sighs as he lowers the bottle, his eyes resting on his baby brother's sleeping form. "I just hate knowing that fucking bitch got to him without even being there, Cas." he turns his gaze to his partner. "And how exactly did she do that?"

"I have never seen or heard of a spell like that before. It could have been anything. Something she set off remotely. Something in the air …"

Dean shakes his head. "That would've seen all three of us affected."

"Perhaps something he touched …"

"Touched," Dean murmurs, his mind going back to what Sam had touched in that farmhouse that neither he nor Cas did.

Sam reaches out, dipping a finger into the blood before drawing back and rubbing his finger against his thumb. He looks up at Dean as he observes, "It's still tacky."

Dean closes his eyes. "Shit." Setting his beer bottle down on the work surface behind him he crosses back into the bedroom, long strides eating up the distance.

"Dean, what is it?"

Dean ignores Cas' question for the moment as he pulls the blanket partially away from Sam and grasps Sam's left hand. He takes in the dried blood smeared on thumb and finger. "There was a few blood drops on the basement floor. Sammy touched the stuff to see how wet it was. Then he rubbed his fingers together. This is how she did it," Dean indicates the bloodied finger and thumb, before he grabs the canister of wipes - never mind the fact they're for thermometer probes – and uses one to scrub the blood from Sam's skin.

"I'm sure the spell is no longer upon Sam, Dean. Not since I destroyed the sigils."

"Aware of that. But I ain't having this crap on my kid's skin another second longer."

Sam starts to shift again, a soft whimper leaving his throat as his head twists from side to side. Dean places a hand on his kid's chest to try and soothe him. But then the blood starts trickling out of Sammy's nose. Swiftly sitting Sam up, Dean draws his kid onto his lap and pinches his nostrils. Unlike last night, Sammy's eyes don't snap open into immediate waking, but Dean's name is mumbled from his lips while fingers anxiously scrabble in the centre of Dean's chest, opening and closing around air.

Damn. Dean closes his eyes and brushes a kiss against Sam's hair in silent apology as he knows what those fingers are seeking. What they always did when Sammy was sick or hurting or just wanted comfort after the Christmas of '91. The amulet Dean no longer wears about his neck, or owns.

He had regretted throwing it away the minute he'd stepped out of that motel, but was still too pissed with everything to walk back in that room and retrieve it from the trashcan while his brother was still inside. And then it was too late; they were driving away. In utter silence. And too late was it when he realised he had been played by that fucked up angel Zachariah. Again. A play to leave him with no faith, in anyone, including the kid in his lap, and prepared to say yes to an archangel to end it all. He'd told that kid, Marie, he doesn't need a symbol to remind him how he feels about his brother, his kid, and that's still true. But Sam… To Sam the meaning of the amulet was always twofold. Because Sammy hadn't gifted the amulet just to his twelve-year-old big brother, but also to the 'man' he saw raising him every day.

Fuck. "Sammy, I'm sorry," he whispers softly against his kids' hair and purposefully avoids the piercing eyes he can feel staring at him. "If I could get it back, I wouldn't hesitate."

"He knows, Dean," Cas says with quiet understanding.

Dean shakes his head, eyes shifting to his partner. "If…" Dean has to stop to clear his throat, "… if he knew that, Cas, he wouldn't be searching for it."

Cas stares at him until his eyes fall to the wad of tissue in his hold now seeped with Sammy's blood. "Is this normal, Dean? Of a fever or a nightmare?"

"When have we ever dealt in normal, Cas?" Dean shakes his head again before placing his chin atop Sam's.