A/N: Thank you to everyone still sticking by this story even though it's taking the author forever to get the chapter's out. Much love to you all xx
Chapter 11
"Thanks, man. Tell Kara I really appreciate it," Dean says into his phone. "Hopefully we'll be to you in a couple days…" he pauses to listen. "Alright, man. Will do. And thanks again."
Ending the call he lets out a sigh and shoves his phone back in his pocket as he turns his full concentration to the shelves before him amidst the stores variety of offerings in baby and toddler products.
He's trying to find a suitable item to cover the sheet on the mattress of Sammy's bed so its protected as much as possible from the sweat the kid's fevered body is giving off. Something that shouldn't even be necessary, but the bitch in the motel's office refuses to supply them with further bedding on account of already having needed three sets in the space of a day.
Because it all went downhill after Sammy's second nosebleed; the hundred degree temperature rocketing until Dean had had no choice but to go the route of the ice water bath to cool his brother down. And twice now they've thought they were out of the woods and the fever was ready to fuck the hell off, but each time and within the space of an hour it sauntered back in with a vengeance.
Just like clockwork.
As if it's fucking laughing at them.
And Dean has zero patience for a bitch who can show not even an ounce of fucking care for the sick kid, his kid, who occupied her precious fucking bedsheets. And there's seriously something wrong with the world when the King of Hell can display more emotion than a human fucking being.
Dean shakes his head.
He had even offered to wash the damn sheets himself if she'd just be kind enough to point him in the direction of the laundry room. But lo and behold guests are strictly prohibited from entering the laundry room.
Yeah, fuck you and your shithole of a place too, lady.
Woman's damn lucky Dean left his gun in the room.
And dammit, if Sammy wasn't running over a one-oh-three temperature Dean would have got the kid out of there and to a motel, or a hotel, that does have a fucking laundry room available to guests. But here he is standing in the middle of a store twenty minutes away from his sick kid instead. And if he didn't need to get other supplies he would be further pissed over this journey away from his Sammy.
And though Dean may have begrudgingly left Cas watching over his sleeping kid, Sammy has never taken too well to anyone else looking after him or being there when he's sick. Nor is Dean used to someone else taking care of his kid when he's sick either.
Even when that someone is Cas.
His eyes zero in on packets of bed mats next to kids night-time pants; roving over the individual packets with speed until he narrows it down to just the one packet that seems like it will do the job. A packet of Goodnites Bed Mats, which are apparently super absorbent and stick into place at the corners so they won't shift with Sammy when the kid does.
Yeah, they'd have to see how accurate that turns out to be. Sammy's even more of a fidget when a fever is raging through his system.
Dean dumps two packs in his basket and moves off; grateful the central aisle of the baby section is separated in half, with a walkway through the middle. It allows him to get to the sippy-cups without wasting time.
And shit, there's just too much fucking variety in sippy-cups!
How the hell is he meant to choose just one?
If the cup Sammy has now didn't have an unsealed fucking hole in the top for the straw that allows leakage when tipped sideways, Dean wouldn't even be bothering with this right now.
He has a sick kid to get back to, dammit.
But he needs something more secure to get fluids into Sammy; something that can be tipped sideways or upside down and won't leak a drop without his say so. And will stop them having to force Sammy to sit up when he's too tired or confused to do so.
He finally settles on a tall and plain non-spill clear blue cup with two handles that Sam will be able to get his fingers around without much difficulty, and which has a soft clear spout and dark blue lid. And it's insulated with two layers. Which will come in handy when they're in the Impala; Sammy will be able to have a drink and Dean won't have to grumble about the condensation from cool drinks getting on his seats.
He starts to move away only to go back to grab another two; one in green and one in orange. It never hurts to have extras and it'll save him another trip if need be. Plus this way, they can always have a cup at the ready.
Satisfied, he heads down the aisle only to stop after three strides as he comes to the section of pacifiers. He bites at his lip as he stares at them. Because even after all the kicking of his own ass he's done for not purchasing one back at the store in Nebraska, Dean is still debating with himself as to whether it is a good idea after all.
For while Sam had a pacifier as a child for much longer than necessarily suitable, Sam is not a baby, or a toddler, or a child any longer. Despite the recent displays of younger behaviour.
Or the way Dean may feel.
And while the cups and bed mats are a requirement at the moment with Sammy sick, does Dean really have any right to force a pacifier back on Sam just to stop the kid from sucking his thumb? Especially when this could all blow over with some right answers to the spell used to cure Dean.
And isn't that the real question?
Whether or not the thumb-sucking is going to decrease anytime soon. At least back to the level Sammy use to suck his thumb. Because if Dean knew for definite one way or another, right now and in this moment, Dean would not hold any reservations about purchasing a pacifier for his kid.
He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his hair.
Because he also holds the knowledge Sam wants his pacifier back; the longing he had witnessed in the kid's eyes in Nebraska proof enough of that.
And then his breath catches in his throat.
Because there it is.
A pack of three pacifiers.
Each one decorated with a different figure of a pup; the central one sitting back on its haunches and staring up at him with big soulful eyes that are practically begging him to pick it up.
He snorts; not quite believing that his reservations are being blown apart in the face of fucking cartoon puppy eyes as he snatches a packet off the rail and dumps it in his basket.
"Damn kid," he grumbles under his breath as he finally exits the baby department.
Ten minutes later Dean stands at the cash register, impatiently waiting for the cashier to scan the rest of his purchases when his phone blares with the ringtone attached to contacts from the hunter's network. Ditching the two bottles of Glacier Cherry Gatorade from his hands into the supplied bag, he digs into his jeans pocket and pulls out his phone. Sliding his thumb across the screen to take the call, he sets the phone between his shoulder and left ear so he can continue packing.
"This is Dean… Al, hey man, any joy?"
#SPN#
Nonononono …
The word fires rapidly through Dean's mind two minutes away from the motel as he slams his foot on the brake and prays to whoever the fuck is listening that he can bring the Impala to a stop in time.
The squeal of tyres disappears into silence three seconds later and Dean is sure he's forgotten how to do that thing where you draw oxygen into your body as he feels his heart pounding a rapid beat against his ribcage.
Because… fuck …
He nearly just …
He nearly …
Breathe, Dean … Breathing would be a good idea right about now, Dean!
And finally Dean blows out the breath that had caught in his throat at the sight before him; then draws in that needed oxygen before once again blowing it out as his eyes meet the wide, glassy, bloodshot and way too close eyes belonging to his baby brother.
My baby brother.
Who Dean nearly just ran over with his fucking car.
Peeling his fingers from around the steering wheel, Dean throws open his door and flies out the car with a call to his brother. Sam doesn't move or respond, the kid leaning over with his hands splayed out on the hood and the front bumper of the Impala brushing the front lower legs of Sammy's sweatpants.
Fuck. Way too close.
Dean grabs hold of his kid, pulling him back up to standing and checking him over for any potential injury with both his eyes and hands. Finding none, Dean's fear explodes out of him in the usual gruff manner, "What the hell were you thinking, Sam?!"
Sam just blinks at him, his sweat-dripping face awash with confusion while a whole body shiver passes through him. Dean slips his arms out of his jacket and gets it on the kid with little difficulty, covering the thin long-sleeve shirt Sam likes to wear to bed.
"Find De," the kid murmurs before those long arms wind around Dean. "'M good boy, 'cause-'cause finds De. Like De tells me. 'M good boy."
Dean closes his eyes and blows out a breath. He can feel the heat radiating off of his kid's body and he doesn't need a thermometer to tell him he needs to get Sammy cooled down again right the fuck now. "That's right, bud. You're a good boy," Dean praises, rubbing a hand over his kid's back as he manoeuvres them both around to the passenger side. "You found me just like I've told you too."
When you were a shrimp, Dean adds silently while pulling open the passenger door, and not a badass hunter that I nearly fucking mowed down with my car.
"Mmhmm," Sammy hums as one of those big feet catches on the car on the way in and the kid flops face first onto the seat.
With one of the kid's legs still hanging outside the car, Dean tries to shift the kid around but Sam just pulls the leg up underneath him on the seat. Calling for a little more patience, Dean pats a hand against the butt practically sticking up in his face.
"Sammy, you're too big to sit like this anymore, remember? C'mon, sit up straight." Sam makes no move to do so and Dean has to bodily move the kid so he has his butt on the seat instead, easily grasping the kid's wrist as Sam swats at him.
Getting the door closed, Dean rounds the car to the trunk and grabs out their green blanket before parking his ass back behind the wheel. Passing the blanket off to Sammy, Dean aims the Impala for the motel once again. Noticing Sammy has only grasped a corner of the blanket to hold against his right cheek, Dean reaches over while keeping his eyes on the road and sets the blanket to cover his kid.
"Sammy, where's Cas?" He questions.
"Birdy angry."
"At who?" Cas is already walking a fine line with Dean's anger for letting Sam wander off, he does not want to hear Cas was yelling at Sammy too.
"Vulture-bat," Sam supplies.
Dean frowns, confused. "Who?"
"I gots scared." Sammy says instead of supplying a name or description and the guilt steadily sweeps its way through Dean.
The kid had never had a problem admitting to being scared when he was little and if Dean's honest with himself, right now in this moment, that's what Sam's fully reverted to in his sickness.
"So I finds De make angry noises go 'way," Sammy continues. "Why …"
The kid trails off, and glancing over Dean watches the confusion that had still been lingering on Sam's face and in his eyes seep into an accusatory glare directed solely at Dean. One that doesn't pass muster against the kid's normal strength of bitch faces, but Dean understands what it means easily enough. And that guilt just keeps on hitting.
"I know," Dean reaches over and gives the kid's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I know, buddy. I wasn't there when you woke up."
"Where… go?"
"Had to get some stuff to help you feel better, Sammy," Dean tells him returning his hand to the wheel as he pulls them into the motel lot. "'Cause we both know you hate feeling like this."
"Feel… better?" Sammy's face scrunches up and Dean can practically feel the bench seat vibrate with the force of Sam's shivering. "Nah-uh… yucky."
"Yeah, I know, bud. It's yucky being sick. I'm gonna help you with that when we get in the room, okay, Sammy." Dean has to control the ire in his voice when he continues talking to his brother because he now knows who 'vulture-bat' is as he spots Cas outside their room; the other man looking about ready to smite the bitch from the office any second. "You gonna let me do that, Sammy?"
"Nah-uh. Cold."
"I know, bud. The water has to be cold. And I know it sucks. But you're gonna be a big brave boy for me, right?" Dean glances sideways at his kid, who is nibbling on his bottom lip.
Sam nods a moment later, strands of his damp hair clinging to his sweaty face. "'M brave, De."
Dean gives him a gentle smile. "I know you are, buddy." Dean opens his door and steps out of the car, quickly leaning down to look back in at Sam. "You stay there, you hear?"
"Uh-huh."
"Good boy."
Closing the car door doesn't draw either Cas or the women's attention. It's not until Dean plants his fingers in his mouth and whistles, loud and piercing, that they both realise his presence. And if a small fleeting moment of satisfaction passes through Dean when the women jumps, well, who's to know. It doesn't make him a bad person. It just makes him human. And a smug one at that.
"Care to tell me what the hell's going on here?" The women opens her mouth, and Dean's about had it with the screeching sound of her voice and sharply holds up his hand. "Wasn't asking you, sweetheart." The women sniffs in indignation, her less than flattering facial features twisting into a harder glare, an expression Sammy has beat any day of the week, including when he's behaving like a three year old. "Cas?"
"She…" with the amount of venom spat out through that one word alone Sammy should have likened Cas to a reptile instead of a bird, "… is trying to claim we have not paid up for tonight. Nor last night. And wishes us to vacate the premises immediately or she will call the police to remove us."
Sliding his wallet out of his back pocket as soon as Cas mentions payment, Dean snorts unamused at the man's latter words. There is no way in fucking hell they are leaving yet. And opening his wallet, he pulls out the receipt with the Redfern Grove Motel motif blazoned across the head, and the dates of their stay and holds it out in front of the women.
Dean smiles a smile that is all pissed off big brother, because let's face it, she's a major part of the reason he was nearly the cause of harming his baby brother. "Would you like me to go with you to verify in your books or on your computer …" Dean glances down at the nametag on her blouse for the first time, "… Gretchen?"
Gretchen's nostrils flare, and she turns on her heels and stomps angrily away like she's got a stick up her ass.
Cas turns to him, his anger still splayed across his flushed cheeks. "What did you say to her that pissed her off so much, Dean?"
Dean raises an eyebrow at his partner. "All I did was ask her for extra bedding like I told you. But while you were out here having it out with her did you happen to notice something different?"
"Different?" Cas queries confused.
"Yeah, Cas, different. Like maybe the room being a little emptier?"
Cas' eyes widen. "Sam," he gasps before turning on his heels to head into the room.
Dean grabs the back of Cas' shirt and spins him back around in the direction of the Impala, where Sam is now curled up against the passenger door with his thumb in his mouth. His eyes are barely open, but he wiggles the fingers of the hand connected to his mouth at Cas in greeting.
"I told you to watch him, Cas," Dean hisses in his partner's ear, his anger seeing him give Cas a slight shove towards the Impala as he lets him go. "Instead I nearly fucking ran him over with my car."
Cas spins to stare at him, guilt clouding his eyes. "Sam had only just woken when she came banging on the door, Dean. I had little choice but to open it to her. But Sam did not come passed me," he explains while swiftly rounding the car to the driver's side and opening the door.
Dean takes several breath's to bring his anger under control as Cas leans down to talk to Sam. It isn't all Cas' fault; the guy hasn't yet learnt to have six pairs of eyes where Sammy's concerned. And clearly Sam heard the shouting match and the kid doesn't do so well with 'angry noises' when he's this unwell and Dean isn't present. Sam would have taken the closest escape route away from the shouting in his need to find Dean, and for Sammy, Dean has little doubt that was the bathroom window that swings open from the bottom.
Shaking his head with an angry sigh, Dean rounds the car to the passenger side. He taps on the window, but Sam doesn't budge and Cas has to reach out and pull Sam away from the door so Dean can open it. Slipping an arm around Sam's back, Dean hauls the kid out and without physically carrying him while in public, gets Sam into the room where Dean does pick the kid up onto his hip so he can carry him through to the bathroom.
First closing the window that is blowing a cold draft into the room, Dean then sets Sam down on the closed toilet. He ensures his kid is steady and won't topple forwards or sideways before taking a step towards the tub. Unfortunately his baby brother tries to strangle him with the collar of his own tee and Dean is forced to step backwards, reaching behind him and grasping the fingers curled into the back hem of both his outer shirt and tee.
"Sammy, I'm right here, bud. I'm not leaving the bathroom, okay, but I need to get the bathwater running." Another tug on his tee, strong for his brother in his fevered state, has him halting again. "Alright, bud," Dean pries the fingers off and prevents imminent tears by scooping Sammy back up onto his hip.
Sam's head immediately drops down onto his shoulder, a small sigh leaving the kid.
Patting Sammy on the back, Dean crosses to the tub and while holding Sam with one arm secure under his butt, he twists the cold faucet on full.
#
Guilt is not a foreign concept to Castiel. And as he watches Dean help his brother into the motel room, his lack of awareness to Sam during his argument with Gretchen sees the emotion swimming through him as he quietly closes the driver side door.
Noticing the grocery bags sitting on the backseat, Cas opens the back door and grasps the bags, lifting them out of the car. Shifting them up into his arms, he closes the door and realises the key us still sitting in the ignition. Steadying the bags on top of the roof, Cas reopens the driver's door and takes the keys from the ignition, before once again closing the door and with a twist of the key, he locks it.
Carrying the bags inside their room, he sets them down upon the table first before closing the door behind him.
Though it was not just a case of my lack of awareness, the thought quietly invades his mind as he begins unpacking the bags. He had requested Sam remain in his bed while Cas answered the door. Unfortunately, the boy did not seem to recognise Cas as his friend upon waking, and Cas was granted no time to reassure him. Sam would have only seen that Cas was most assuredly not Dean; the one the boy had been searching and calling for.
However, Cas should also have known Sam would not remain when he thought he was in the company of a stranger. And Cas would have been loath to accidentally hurt his little one by trying to forcefully restrain him if it had come to that. But given the choice between restraining Sam and possibly marginally hurting him, and seeing Sam killed in the street by his own brother's car or another driver, Cas would have chosen the former.
That is if Sam had even allowed himself to be restrained. For while Cas still houses angelic strength within his human body, Sam and Dean have often proven themselves more resourceful and more dangerous than any angel or demon.
Especially where each other is concerned.
They are trained and experienced fighters. Taught to fight those stronger in physical strength than themselves - long before Dean acquired and retained demonic strength. And Castiel is confused with his thoughts behind the development of such skills. Because he is unsure if he wishes to know to which lengths John Winchester may have gone to teach his sons those skills. While also being grateful to the man for having a hand in the Winchester brothers' longevity.
If you exclude the deaths they have both experienced and suffered.
But the moment Sam woke in his fevered state without his brother's presence in his vicinity, Castiel became a potential threat. Which was accentuated all the more in Sam's reality by Cas' argument with Gretchen. And perhaps they should count themselves lucky that Sam did not come out there and attack both Cas and Gretchen in thinking them threats to a missing Dean.
For Sam is often described as the more quietly dangerous of the Winchester brothers' because he's unpredictable. And even with a one hundred and three temperature Sam Winchester can deliver serious damage when pushed to it.
If he does not climb his way out of a window first.
Hearing a splash from the bathroom draws Castiel from his thoughts and he places the packet of absorbent mats he was reading down upon the table to cross through to the bathroom. Standing in the doorway his lips twitch as he surveys the situation before him.
"Yeah, that wasn't exactly helpful, Sammy," Dean grouches, swiping a hand down his now wet face, a small puddle of water building on the floor around him.
Behind the gruff tone, however, Cas can detect the fond amusement as Dean kneels down by the side of the tub; using a washcloth to wet Sam's hair and skin to cool the fire raging through the little one's body.
And Cas has never fully appreciated just how much of a remarkable human being Dean is.
Dean is judged; often brutally and unfairly for being impatient, brash, overprotective, having a quick-fire temper, and even for being a hunter by those who would see him out of the life for good.
Preferably by no longer existing.
An opinion he himself of old had too often held; a disconnect between seeing the man and the mission.
Until he had seen the soul he had pulled from hell by his own hand. Damaged and flayed, but still with its bright core that Alastair had not been able to reach.
So much brighter than any soul that resided in hell at the time.
The truth of Dean Winchester lying beneath the surface. Just as it lies behind the facades the man presents to the world on any given day.
The pressures he upholds on a daily basis felling many others. Yet Dean Winchester shoulders them when he should not have to.
Both Winchesters' do.
And while Cas has always known Dean cares deeply for Sam and will do anything for the boy, he has never truly been a witness to how different Dean is when caring for Sam in this way. The Winchesters' very rarely allowing anyone behind the walls to see the reality behind the faces of the famous hunters.
And Cas finds himself wanting to do whatever he is able to do to lessen the impact a hunters life places upon the brothers. Even if that comes by way of the smallest and simplest of things.
He watches worried as Sam shifts in the far too small tub so he can rest his wet head upon Dean's closest shoulder, the little one clearly still feeling wretched. And Cas wishes he could do more. That he could heal this away. But he knows even if he had the use of his powers he would be unable to heal a mystical based fever, just as he could not heal the effects the demon trials had upon Sam until much later.
"Cas, can you get his back?"
Cas blinks out of his thoughts at the sound of his partner's voice, quickly running the question through his mind and is surprised to even be offered the chance to help with how angry Dean had been with him only minutes prior. But he does not give up his chance to be forgiven, and steps forward, taking the washcloth Dean holds out to him.
Dropping to his own knees beside Dean and dipping the cloth into the cold water, Cas cannot help the feeling of privilege in being allowed passed the wall to bear witness to these moments in the Winchesters' lives.
And as light shivers pass through his little one when the water cascades down his back, Cas can only hope that perhaps it may finally be because of the cool water rather than the fever coursing through Sam's body.
#
Leaving the task of drying and dressing Sam to Dean minutes later, Cas exits the bathroom intent on heating up one of the tins of soup Dean purchased at the store. And also to find the crackers he knows are amongst their belongings somewhere. He did watch the packet being processed through the cash register in Nebraska and not one of them has consumed any as far as he is aware.
So they must be here.
And he needs to find them for hopefully today Sam will feel more like eating.
But as Cas picks up the tin of chicken soup, his eyes fall upon a pack of underwear sitting amongst the purchased items on the table. And being aware that Sam has sweated his way through the small collection of underwear Dean packed for the journey, Cas pokes his head around the bedroom opening.
"Dean?"
"What?"
"Do you require these briefs for Sam?"
"Oh, yeah. Bring us a pair would ya?"
Attempting to open the packet a moment later, frustration takes over Cas when he cannot peel away the small, round and irritating piece of scotch tape sealing the opening.
Moving to cross towards the kitchenette for a knife, he instead remembers the pocket knife Dean insisted Cas keep on his person at all times and withdraws it from his back jeans pocket. Flicking it open, he uses the tip to slice through the tape. Satisfied, he returns the knife to his pocket.
Finally opening up the packet, he removes one pair of the five blue-coloured briefs as he makes his way to the bathroom. He sets the underwear upon the far edge of the vanity in easy reach of Dean who has his hands full with rubbing a towel over Sam's hair to remove as much moisture as possible.
The little one looks like he is ready to fall back to sleep where he sits on the closed toilet seat, a towel wrapped around his waist and another around his shoulders; a thumb having made its way between Sam's lips once more.
"Thanks, Cas," Dean murmurs.
Cas nods. "Oh," he turns back to face Dean only a step outside the bathroom. "Where did you put the crackers?"
Dean raises an eyebrow at him. "In a bag?"
"Yes, Dean. Which one?"
"I don't know. It was a bag shaped bag, Cas."
Cas refrains from rolling his eyes up to his former home. "I will search," he murmurs on his way out of the bedroom, picking up the tin of soup as he passes the table on his way to the stove.
Emptying the tins contents into a saucepan, Cas sets it upon the hotplate on a medium heat. Understanding from the tins instructions that he has a few minutes to wait, he sets about finding the elusive crackers. But searching the bags between intermittently stirring the soup, Cas finds nothing.
"How can they have disappeared?" he mutters.
"They didn't."
Cas spins around to see his partner has removed his wet outer shirt. He has a freshly dressed Sam perched on his right hip, the little one staring at Cas through half-lidded eyes, thumb in his mouth and fingers of the same hand gripping the shoulder of Dean's grey tee that has a few wet patches. But as the man lifts his left arm, there in Dean's hand are the crackers.
"Where were they?" he queries, taking the offered packet.
"In the canvas bag in the bedroom." Dean remarks, crossing the living space to the back where the couch resides and tries to sit Sam upon a cushion. 'Tries' is the operative word Cas believes, as Sam just clings harder to his brother and lets out a tired whine. "You know the small one with the baby wipes and tissues in. Alright, Sammy." Dean straightens again, shifting Sam slightly on his hip and rubbing the boy's back.
"I didn't think to look in there," Cas states, stepping back to the stove to stir the soup once again and check if it is heated appropriately. Scooping up a small portion onto a spoon, Cas sets it to his lips, blows and places it in his mouth. He spits it back out and grabs a bottle of water, taking a large gulp before blowing out a breath. "That is far too hot for Little One to consume yet."
"Dump it in a bowl anyway. It'll cool down," Dean advises, crossing the floor to the table to pick up one of the sippy-cup's Cas earlier placed upon the surface while Cas pours the soup into a bowl.
Dean divests the sippy of its packaging with a too sharp one-handed tug that sees the blue sippy fly into the air. "Crap." Dean grumbles, fingers curling around the cup as he catches it on its descent.
Cas raises an eyebrow, amused by the sight, while he takes one of the smallest size plates from a cupboard and sets a few crackers upon it. Setting both the bowl and plate on a tray, and leaving Dean to deal with Sam's juice, Cas picks up the nearest packet of absorbent mats from the table.
"Cas, you're not our maid, man, I can do that."
Cas arch's an eyebrow at Dean. "And feed Sam?"
"Good point. You do it."
Cas smiles and returns to carrying the packet into the bedroom. First removing blankets and pillows and placing them on his and Dean's bed, Cas then straightens out Sam's rumpled bottom sheet. He unseals the pack of mats and draws one out, unfolding it into a larger mat than he had been expecting.
Though larger, he looks from the mat to the queen bed and frowns.
Picking up the packet, he rereads it and immediately realises the problem. The mats are designed for twin beds. Clearly the manufacturers never thought of them as having a requirement such as this.
Nor, I imagine, would they think a human being could be so tragically emotionless not to offer such assistance in supplying further bedding.
Cas shakes his head, determined to keep his mind from that woman lest his anger become the better of him. And so instead, he turns his attention to figuring out the rough dimensions of the bed before him.
And with the sizing in his head a moment later, Cas decides to use four mats; two mats at two-and-a-half feet each will cover the width of the roughly five foot bed, while the mats length of three feet will cover the roughly six-and-a-half foot length of the bed. Sam is a fidget, and Cas has witnessed his little one wriggling fully across the mattress and back in his fevered state several times now so the more coverage the better.
Nodding at his assessment, Cas sets about laying the mats down, situating them all upon the mattress first as instructed before pealing back the adhesive strips and pressing down firmly to seal it to the sheet. Job complete minutes later, Cas returns the two pillows to the head of the bed and folds the top sheet and blanket at the end of the bed ready to cover Sam over.
Returning to the living area, Cas smiles lightly. Dean has managed to set Sam down on the couch with Dean seated on the coffee table before the little one. But Dean is now shirtless, with his tee residing in Sam's hand and curled against his cheek as he opens his mouth to accept the spoonful of soup Dean feeds him. The excess of which inevitably dribbles down Sam's chin and upon Dean's shirt, which also houses a few cracker crumbs.
The blue sippy-cup sits on the coffee table beside Dean, and Cas wonders if the other man has managed to have Sam accept it yet. Cas hopes so. The little one needs more fluids than he has been receiving through his straw sippy due to the hole in the lid and Sam having to be awake and aware enough to draw up the liquid.
Walking back into the bedroom, Cas retrieves a clean tee from Dean's duffle and takes it out to the man, draping it over his partner's left shoulder. Dean gives him a quick smile of thanks before returning to his task of feeding Sam another spoonful. Cas smiles in return at both his boys.
And with Sam and Dean occupied, Cas sets about making sandwiches for himself and Dean using the leftover chicken from last evenings meal. If he does not prepare it, he has become aware that Dean will not eat anything. At least until Sam is settled and asleep once more. And sometimes not even then, for Dean will sit with Sam, ensuring no more nightmares visit the little one's mind.
He would note it is not healthy for Dean to run himself into the ground in taking care of his brother, but Cas knows the words would float in one ear and out the other without implanting within what Dean calls the 'grey matter' situated in-between those ears.
So Cas will see to it that both brothers are taken care of. And that Dean especially does not fall fail of illness after they have Sam back on his feet.
#SPN#
Sammy snuffles in his sleep and shifts restlessly as he lays against Dean's chest, his nose slightly blocked with crusted blood residue from his latest nightmare and nosebleed combo. And leaning down to check the crusting hasn't turned into a liquid flow once again, Dean is relieved to find his brother's nostrils have remained dry.
Now he is able to turn his attention to the nightmare trying to invade his kid's mind once more. A nightmare Dean intends to head off at the pass and the accompanying nosebleed along with it; rubbing soothing circles over Sammy's back and scratching his fingers gently against Sam's scalp.
It takes only moments for Sam to settle and start suckling upon his thumb again. And dammit, Dean doesn't want to rock the boat but he needs that thumb out of his kid's mouth with this fever hitting him.
He and Cas are pretty certain the fever is Sam's body purging itself of Rowena's magic, but they have no way of knowing for sure as Cas can't lay a diagnostic finger upon Sam's forehead to find out without potentially and severely damaging Sammy from the backlash of power use. Something that may already be happening if the nosebleeds are any indication.
And worst case scenario - the burning has progressed exponentially and they are being given far less time to figure this all out and to set things right.
Something he and Cas have yet to voice out loud. And Dean has no intention of doing so.
But while he would love to bury his head in the sand and brush aside that scenario – that is not happening on my watch again – he is too aware it might become an extreme possibility in the near future.
Fuck, Dean wishes they could go back to the days where Sammy would fall sick with just plain old normal everyday colds and fevers. Dean knows what to do with that. Throw mystical fucking fevers into the mix and shit, he feels useless.
He felt useless during the demon trials.
And he feels just as useless now.
Just sitting and waiting for Sammy to kick its ass.
You ARE gonna kick this in the ass, Sammy, you hear me?
Please.
"Dammit!"
Dean clears his throat and leans over slightly to raise an eyebrow at Cas seated at the table in the other room.
"This message is informing me the free Wi-Fi allowance has run out," Cas explains unhappily, pointing at the laptop screen.
Of course it has. Dean sighs. Because my data plan doesn't want to work in this fucking town.
They've had to resort to the motel Wi-Fi. Which is only free for the first five hours and clearly that's just ran out. And Dean doesn't have Sammy's skill to hack the system to shut down the town's fucking confining net over its Wi-Fi and prevent it from interfering with the data plan.
Dean shifts slightly off his ass without dislodging Sammy. "Bring me the pacifier with the big eyes, and you can have the card," he tells Cas, pulling his wallet out of his back jeans pocket.
Cas appears only a moment later holding one of the new pacifiers in his fingers; using a sheet of kitchen towel to dry the plastic area and avoiding the clear nipple that has signs of wetness still upon it. Cas holds it out to him. Dean exchanges it for his credit card with the name Smith on it; the surname they checked in with.
"Shout if you need help," he tells Cas' retreating back, unsure if the former-angel has ever input credit card details into a computer before.
"I will do my best to figure it out by myself first."
"Yeah, I know."
Carefully removing the thumb from Sammy's mouth, Dean replaces it with the pacifier that has the big-eyed puppy upon it. Sammy immediately starts suckling, and Dean is all set to silently cheer when he realises the kid must recognise, even in his sleep, that the texture and size is much different than that of his thumb because Sam starts to whimper and spits it out.
However, Sam's lips are still sticking out, still instinctively seeking the comfort, and instead of giving into what Sammy wants, Dean perseveres by slipping the nipple back in between Sammy's lips. He places a finger to the pup, pressing the pacifier gently against Sam's lips to keep it in place and hopes his kid adapts himself to it fairly quickly.
Because forcing the issue is not what Dean had wanted to do.
But within minutes Dean feels the pacifier bob up and down beneath his finger and smiles. He slowly let's go and is pleased when it remains where it is between Sammy's lips.
And it should look utterly weird, but instead it's as undeniably cute as it ever has been.
Dean shakes his head at his own thoughts.
#SPN#
"Sammy, where you off to, bud?" Dean questions lightly as he watches Sam roll off the edge of the bed onto his knees the opposite side to which Dean is sitting, the upper portion of the kid's body still curled against the mattress.
"Pot… pot-tee," Sammy says slowly, eyelids sluggishly blinking up at him.
"Not on the floor I hope," Dean responds, standing and rounding the bed.
"Silly, De." Figures the kid would still be able to pronounce that correctly with his currently slurred vocabulary.
And of course Sam would choose the exact second Dean steps behind him to pick him up to let out an enormous fart. Dean nose twitches at the immediate stink and just hopes there wasn't any follow through going on there. And rather not chance the possibility, Dean swiftly scoops up his kid, whose nose is scrunched up, a hand moving up to cover it.
"De, you poo-pooed."
"Sure. Yep. That was me." Dean snorts, setting Sammy down on the toilet after pulling his sweats and underwear down, quickly checking the briefs are still clean.
Finding they are, Dean moves away and perches on the edge of the tub to wait out his now off-key singing kid, half the words jumbled and mumbled Dean can't figure out what Sammy's actually singing. That, or he doesn't actually know the song because it's some punk-ass pop music number that Dean doesn't give a fuck about.
"Finished?" Dean questions a few minutes later.
At Sammy's nod Dean makes swift work of wiping the kid clean, before hauling him up from the toilet and situating the kid's clothing back into place. Helping Sammy wash his hands, then washing his own, Dean has to forgo the towel and swipes his hands dry on his jeans as Sammy wanders back into the bedroom unsteadily.
Placing himself in front of his stumbling baby brother and grasping him by the upper arms to keep him upright, Dean steers the kid back to the bed. However, Sammy is intent on going in the opposite direction and Dean has to stop them both from tumbling to the floor.
"Sammy. This way."
"Nuh-uh. Re… Re'h…" Sam waves his hands around as his face scrunches up against the struggle he's having producing the correct word.
A word Dean knows all too well as this is the third time Sam has attempted to get back to the research since the fever hit. Except the kid had managed to get a hold of his tablet the last time while Dean was taking a desperate piss and Cas was getting them food across the street. Sam had been attempting to read the screen through unfocused, half-lidded eyes when Dean returned from the bathroom; the kid accusing Dean of changing the tablet language to Portuguese. Which… is something Dean would do. But not when his kid is sick.
"Research?" Dean supplies the word his brother is looking for.
"Mmhmm," Sammy hums.
Dean shakes his head. "Think again, bud. The only place you're going right now is back to bed."
"Nuh-uh." Sam starts to shake his own head before stopping abruptly to press a hand to his forehead. "Ow."
"Yeah, exactly. Now, c'mon, back to bed."
"Nuh-uh. 'M fine," Sammy protests.
Yeah, I've heard that before.
Deciding a slightly firmer approach is currently required, Dean turns his voice firm, "Sam. Bed. Now."
"Nuh-uh."
Refraining from rolling his eyes at the repeated phrase, Dean pokes a finger against Sam's chest; catching the kid when he too easily starts to topple backwards and lowers him gently down onto the bed-mat covered mattress.
"Yeah, you're perfectly fine, Sammy."
Sam pouts up at him. "Dumb-bum," he mutters, his eyes closing.
Dean snorts, patting the kid on the chest lightly. "Such big talk, Sammy."
"Gaaah," Sammy grumbles, throwing up an arm to wildly swat him away before finding it too energetic and the arm flops back down to the bed and stays there.
Grabbing Sammy's medicine from the cluttered nightstand, Dean presses down on the childproof cap and twists it open before picking up the spoon. Pouring the correct amount of purple liquid into the tube, he sets the spoon to Sammy's mouth and tips it up so the liquid runs out easily.
"Swallow that down, Sammy."
The kid's Adam's apple bounces as he does as instructed, before he pulls his legs up and curls himself sideways on the bed. He draws his thumb up to his lips and Dean stops him, quickly pressing a pacifier passed Sam's lips instead and Sammy starts suckling.
"Sleep, buddy," Dean says, moving slightly to grasp the sheet and thick blanket to cover Sammy back over when two large hands grip at his forearm and hand for dear life.
Dean frowns and opens his mouth to tell his kid he needs to sleep when Sammy looks up at him through his eyelashes, hazel eyes imploring, and cheeks flushed.
"S'ay?" Sammy whispers around the pacifier.
"That's the idea, kiddo," Dean twists the truth a little and shifts himself around until he's leaning back against the headboard, his legs crossed at the ankles upon the mattress.
Research can wait for the time it takes Sammy to slip into sleep.
Dean holds out his arm. Sam shifts closer and lays his head upon Dean's chest, ear above his heart and the kid latches onto Dean's shirt, fingers curling tightly into the folds. Dean wraps his arm around the kid and runs his hand soothingly up and down Sammy's arm, his frown deepening.
What's in this nightmare that's still scaring you, kiddo? He silently questions, for Sam's already proven he doesn't want anything to do with the nightmare he's been experiencing, including dishing out the cliff notes version for Dean and Cas.
They had only been lucky enough to be told about Sammy's fear that he's not really free of the demon blood, that Azazel somehow is going to feed him the stuff once again, because of the hunt at the time. And Dean at this time can't demand an explanation out of Sammy without being a complete hypocrite himself. For there are dreams and nightmares he isn't willing to share with his kid.
And that's been the rule for a long time; they don't have to share in a chick-flick moment by spilling their guts to each other.
But maybe it's time they changed that up. They're brothers. If you can't talk to your own fucking brother, who can you talk to? And maybe that's really where they've gone wrong with each other over the years.
Not fucking talking.
And while Sammy may only be young, he's far from being an idiot; he's been through and seen so much more crap than any child, adult, human being, should ever have been put through or seen.
Sam is the one who keeps Dean fighting through every day without wanting to nosedive off a cliff.
His kid is all the strength Dean needs to keep going.
But neither one of them is whole anymore.
Nightmares scream through their minds on almost a nightly basis.
And whatever this ongoing nightmare is about its having a much deeper impact on his kid than Dean likes.
It's scaring the shit out of his baby brother.
And Dean can't gank its ass dead for it.
Running his free hand over his hair, he sighs and looks down at his sleeping kid as he feels Sammy shifting. There's a very familiar grimace twisting Sammy's face and Dean has already grabbed the trashcan before Sammy lurches awake and upright, the kid's body heaving as he throws up his brunch; the soup and crackers from earlier.
"Alright, buddy," Dean murmurs, rubbing a soothing hand over the kid's back while Cas joins them, drawing Sammy's hair into a hand to hold it out of the way.
Feeling the force of Sammy's dry heaves in the muscles beneath Dean's hand on Sam's back makes his heart hurt for his little boy. And his anger soar at Rowena. The fucking witch is getting ganked when Dean catches up to her. But he doesn't allow his anger to surface because Sammy will feel it and think it aimed at him.
It's a good thirty seconds after Sammy's dry heaves stop before Dean queries if they're done. Sammy's answer is to slump back against Dean, exhausted. Reaching over to the nightstand, Dean picks up the bottle of water and sets it between his thighs so he can twist off the cap one handed. Setting the bottle to Sammy's lips, he gently tips it up so it trickles into the kid's mouth.
"Rinse and spit, Sammy." The kid does as asked, spitting the water into the trashcan, and they repeat the process twice more before Sammy swallows the fourth round.
"I'll empty the can," Cas states quietly, grasping hold of it and Dean releases his grip so the other man can take it into the bathroom to empty and rinse.
"Go on back to sleep, Sammy, okay," Dean says, brushing back Sammy's damp hair. "I'm just gonna get you into some dry clothes. You've sweated right through these ones."
"Mmm," Sammy hums, already mostly into sleep.
Which is fine by Dean right now; it allows him to change both Sammy and the bed mats beneath the kid now absorbing urine. And it shows just how fucking awful the kid feels because Sammy hasn't even noticed he's wet himself. The kid would be embarrassed, despite being so sick and out of it.
"I'll grab some fresh clothing," Cas says setting the trashcan down in front of the nightstand and smelling the obvious sign of an accident.
"Check if his sweats and long-sleeve tee are dry first," Dean instructs. He had had to wash out Sammy's clothes in the bath earlier, the kid sweating through them so much. "There's sweats and a tee in my bag if not."
Cas nods, going back into the bathroom to check the drying rack on the wall behind the door while Dean slides Sammy over to the side of the bed where the bed mats are dryer. They'll be changing all four so it doesn't matter if the urine soaks through from Sammy's briefs. Cas returns without Sam's clothing and goes to Dean's duffle, withdrawing the suggested clothing.
Between them, they get Sammy stripped and wiped down with the baby wipes before Dean carries him over to his and Cas's bed to dress him in the fresh clothing, while Cas strips Sammy's bed of the bed mats and replaces them.
Sammy sleeps through it all.
#SPN#
It's been a day and Sammy has so far managed to keep down the half-bowl of soup and the cracker he ate for dinner; the first food he's accepted since throwing up yesterday. And now the kid is sleeping once again so Dean is the one who opts to run to the diner across the street to pick up his and Cas' dinner order Dean earlier phoned in.
If only to get some fresh air into lungs that have been breathing in the stale air of sickness for who knows how long now.
He barely sets his ass down on a stool at the counter when his phone beeps with the notification of an incoming text message. Digging his phone out, he reads the screen with a deep frown of concern, wondering how his kid manages to do these things in the space of a fucking minute.
Dinner order forgotten, Dean hightails it back across the street to the motel. Cas stands in the squared-entrance of the bedroom when Dean throws the door open, arms crossed over his chest and worry creasing the man's forehead. But there's no sign of Sam as Dean had been expecting.
"Where is he?"
"In the bathroom," Cas informs him sombrely. "He won't let me in."
"You get the knife off of him at least?" Dean questions as he pulls his gun out from his back waistband and drops it on his and Cas' bed before heading towards the bathroom.
The silence behind him is answer enough and Dean refrains from cursing at his former-angel as he uses his finger to twist the lock in the bathroom door, then pushes it open.
He finds Sammy curled into the far corner between bathtub and wall, the kid holding the demon knife to his chest like a security blanket. A very sharp security blanket that is sitting far too close to the vulnerable skin of Sammy's neck for Dean's liking. And he takes a step forward, only to freeze when that blade flashes forward in a shaking hand.
It takes a fraction of a second for Dean's eyes to rove over his brother's neck and when no blood starts gushing out he's allowed the quiet sigh of relief.
Good. Point it at me, Sammy, he silently encourages as his kid stares up at him with eyes that are once again wide, glassy and bloodshot in the height of fever.
"Yeah, you're feeling pretty crappy again, aren't you, kiddo," Dean states softly, raising his hands before him with fingers splayed in a non-threatening manner to show his hands are weapon-free as he squats down a little way from Sam.
It's all it takes for Sam to recognise that its Dean now occupying the bathroom with him, but the arm doesn't drop and for the second time in just over a day, Dean is receiving a glare full of accusation.
"I know. I did it again. I'm a crappy big brother, Sammy, and wasn't there when you woke up. But I'm here now, okay, Sammy. See –" Dean holds his arms out and gives a gentle smile, "- it's just me, buddy. And this really doesn't require the use of weapons, Sammy, does it?"
Sam's expression softens and his bottom lip begins to tremble, the shaking of his hand becoming more pronounced and Dean is able to easily disarm him. He slides the knife backwards across the vinyl flooring without turning away from his brother, knowing Cas will snatch it up, for Dean would rather not have it within Sam's furthering reach right now in case that confusion seeps back in.
And it becomes a little too reminiscent of Lucifer knocking around his baby brother's head when the kid is this sick and weapons are being waved around. Dean would rather not roll out the welcoming mat to the memories of what that bastard did to his kid.
Sam blinks, then his face twists into that familiar grimace and Dean just manages to grab up the empty trashcan from beside the vanity and hold it beneath Sam's mouth before the kid throws up the little he ate earlier. It lasts only moments before dry heaves are all that's left. Then Sammy turns his head away and Dean knows he's done. Standing, Dean disposes of the trashcan's contents down the toilet before flushing and sticking the can in the sink for rinsing out once he's done with Sammy.
Squatting down in front of his kid once again, he questions, "You feel up to coming out of there, Sammy?"
The kid stares, before he blinks again as he shifts, hands and knees hitting the floor and unsteadily starts to crawl across the space separating them.
Dean drops down onto his own knees and reaches out, already feeling the heat emitting from his kid's body before he even gets his hands on Sam. And here they are again, standing on the edge of dangerous with this fever.
"Cas."
He hears Cas step into the bathroom behind them only a fraction of a second later; Dean having known the other man hadn't gone very far after retrieving the knife. Dean doesn't even need to tell the former-angel to get the bath running this time, Cas is already on it, dropping and pressing the stopper in the drain and running the cold water.
"All right, Sammy, what say we get you cooled down again, huh?"
And with minimalist shifting of his kid as not to unsettle Sammy's stomach anymore, Dean manages to strip Sam out of his sweat-soaked clothing. He makes a quick mental note to check for laundromat services in town as they're bound to need it before they get out of here with the rate Sammy has been going through not only his own clothes but Dean's as well.
Lifting Sam up, Dean once again sets him in the bath and it shows just how shitty the kid is feeling as Sammy does little more than gasp as he's lowered into the very shallow pool of slowly rising water. The water pressure in this place as shit as everything else.
"How'd he get the knife?" Dean questions his partner as he sets about wetting Sammy down with the trusted washcloth.
"How'd he get his tablet?" Cas retorts.
Touché.
Dean had stashed away the tablet when it wasn't in use as well as he had the weapons. And yet still his Sammy is getting hold of the damn things. But the tablet can't accidently slice his kid open, only cause fucking eye strain.
"I'm sorry," Cas murmurs. "I needed the bathroom. I guess I shouldn't have had that last tea."
Dean sighs, shakes his head, and gives a soft smile to Sammy as the kid holds his pacifier still attached to his finger up to Dean's lips in offering. "Nah, I'm okay, Sammy, that's yours. You keep it, buddy."
Sam scrubs at his eyes, before catching the nipple of the pacifier between his lips. It pops back out again a second later and Sammy nearly pokes himself in the eye with it as he again rubs at his eyes. The pacifier returns to Sammy's mouth and the kid whines a moment later when his finger doesn't detach from the ring, though it's no wonder as the kid is trying to pull his finger the wrong way. Dean reaches out and easily detaches the finger from the ring and is rewarded with a sleepy Sammy smile from behind the pacifier, the kid wriggling his fingers through the cold water, before an enormous shiver passes through him.
"The kid's smart enough to circumvent whatever measures we put in place to keep him from things while he's sick, Cas," Dean tells his partner quietly as he stands to grab the bath-towel off the drying rack behind the door. "We just have to be more vigilant."
"I'm not sure how much more vigilant we can be, Dean."
And there's the rub.
For while Dean wants to keep things away from Sam that could cause harm while Sammy is not exactly with it enough to know better, Sam still finds ways to thwart the idea; still unknowingly displaying his stubbornness. And as much as Dean tries, he can't watch the kid every second.
What he can do, however, is this, "You're getting dinner, Cas. And anything else we need outside of this freaking room for the foreseeable future."
Cas actually looks relieved as he stands up, before helping Dean get Sam up onto his feet in the tub. "I am agreeable to that."
"Good. 'Cause it wasn't a suggestion."
#SPN#
Seated on his bottom miles away from his target, Sam contemplates the best way to traverse the breadth of terrain laid out before him. He intends to reach his goal without injury and without awakening the sleeping giant that is the Great Mountain.
Lifting his hand to secure the Whistle of Summons better between his lips, the whistle ready to be blown to summon the avenging trolls if danger arises, Sam sets off on his long journey.
He silently ponders, hours later while he takes a breather and swipes a forearm across his sweaty brow as he stares up at the enormity of the Great Mountain, why the black screen off to the side is playing the theme tune to Mission Impossible.
Sam doesn't even like Mission Impossible.
But he does have a mission of his own to complete. And lowering himself down onto his tummy Sam silently slides his way beneath the large bridge that juts out from the Great Mountain.
Though he isn't sure if it's a people bridge or a vroom-vroom bridge.
Maybe both?
But he is pretty sure he's reached his goal. And stretching up his arm onto the Great Mountain, Sam snags the artefact he's seeking and quietly pulls it down to join him before starting on his retreat. He is in the process of shimmying himself backwards when the bridge above him starts to move.
Suspension bridge, flitters through his mind and he has to hurry to seek shelter. For any moment now the bridge will tumble down and Sam will not reach a far enough distance to be safely away before it does.
And he only just manages to make it into a hideaway when the bridge collapses down upon the floor with two great thuds, kicking up a puff of dust that makes Sam sneeze. He quickly covers his mouth and nose to prevent anymore sound escaping.
"Sammy," the Great Mountain speaks with a giant rumble.
Sam stares wide-eyed, artefact clutched to his chest when the head of the Great Mountain dims the light around him to only shadow as it rolls down over the mouth of his hideaway, green orbs of displeasure staring at him as a great hand invades his space.
"Tablet. Now."
Sam allows the Whistle of Summons to slip from his mouth. For if he and the Great Mountain are to peacefully coexist with one another words of grave importance must first be imparted. "Nuh-uh. Mine."
"Dean... what?"
Oh no! There is another mountain lying in wait behind him! How could he have not seen it? And it has hands upon him, pulling him away from his hideaway. Sam grabs hold of the sides of his hideaway but in doing so he releases the artefact and it is snatched away from him by the Great Mountain.
"No. Mine! Mine!" Sam cries moving to grab it back but his head collides with the top of his hideaway, tears immediately bursting from him as his hands fly up to his boo-boo and he calls for his big brother. "De-De!"
#
Wincing at the bang of Sammy's head colliding with the underside of the coffee table the kid is trying unsuccessfully to hide his giant frame, Dean throws the tablet onto the couch and swiftly lifts the table up and off his crying little boy. Dean picks up his kid and sets Sammy on his hip, bouncing him a little as he rubs Sam's back.
"Shh, shh, it's okay, Sammy. You're okay," Dean soothes while checking for blood and is relieved when he finds none.
Cas comes up behind Sammy with both a fresh pacifier and a wet washcloth. He manages to get Sammy to take the pacifier as well as move Sam's hand away from the spot and place the cloth over it instead. Sam cries harder and tries to push Cas away and Dean has to grasp his kid's hand in his own and bring it to his chest. Sam stares at him with wet eyes, his breath hitching around his pacifier with his next sob.
"Aww, baby, it's gonna help, I promise."
And as promised, minutes later Dean sits on the couch with a much calmer Sammy on his lap, his little boy too enthralled with watching Finding Nemo on the tablet to notice Dean rubbing a small amount of ointment over the bump on the crown of Sam's head that will develop into a spectacular bruise later. Sammy lets out a sudden gasp, his pacifier slipping from his mouth, and Dean pauses.
"Sammy, you okay?"
"De," Sammy tugs on Dean's sleeve even though he already has Dean's attention. "The daddy fishy lost his baby fishy," the kid tells him softly before Sammy bites at his bottom lip and stares at Dean with those big eyes. "He gonna find him 'gain, De, right?"
Dean has to quickly think if he knows anything about this movie when he hasn't seen it in its entirety. He only has a vague recollection of the dad and son possibly finding each other. "Yeah, bud. They'll find each other again."
"Promise?"
"Promise." And the movie better hold up to that promise because it's a kid's movie. And when do kid's movies ever have a sad ending?
"Okay."
Dean smiles lightly and returns to his job, squeezing the tube of ointment to give him a little more before once again separating Sammy's hair and rubbing the cream in.
"Here, Little One, drink some of this please," Cas requests as he sits on the returned coffee table and holds out the green sippy cup to Sam.
Sam leans forward and Dean goes with him. He's pretty sure the kid's got his mouth open and waiting because Sammy hasn't made a move to accept the cup into his own hand. And Cas leaning forward, cupping Sammy's chin gently and setting the cup to Sam's mouth a moment later only proves that. He can feel Sammy swallowing his juice and that's another reason to like the new sippy-cups; they don't allow for Sammy to guzzle from it and make himself sick like the kid's prone to do.
Done with his juice, Sammy leans back against Dean, who rests back against the couch cushions, setting the tube of ointment on the arm. A yawn splits Sam's mouth wide and he turns into Dean's chest, eyes still glued to the movie. Picking up the pacifier, Dean sets it to Sammy's lips, the kid accepting it in and suckling.
#SPN#
Stifling a yawn, Dean slowly extracts himself from beneath his now much cooler and peacefully sleeping baby brother after going through the process of bathing him in a cool bath when Sam's temperature spiked dangerously once again. After carefully settling Sammy back down onto the pillow, Dean brushes a hand over his kid's hair, before pulling up the blanket to fully cover Sammy's shoulders.
Stretching out his back, Dean enters the bathroom to relieve the pressure on his bladder. Drying his hands, he walks back through the bedroom and into the living room, wearily dropping down onto the couch as he stifles another yawn behind his hand. All the while silently praying that finally, finally, Sammy's fever has broken for the last time.
"What day is it?" Dean questions his partner as Cas pours hot water from the kettle into two mugs.
"Sunday," Cas supplies.
God, Dean feels like they've been here for weeks already, when in reality it's only been four days.
Four long fucking days.
He scrubs his hands over his face, hearing the chink of ceramic meeting wood a moment before feeling the couch dip down beside him and fingers squeeze his shoulder.
"You should take some rest as well, Dean." Dean drops his hands down from his face and slowly turns his head to look at his former-angel as the other man continues. "I will keep an eye on Sam."
"You already know my answer to that, Cas," Dean sighs. "I dunno why you keep bothering to bring it up."
"I bother because I am concerned about you, too, Dean. You have barely slept …"
"I've survived on less," he interrupts the speech he knows is coming. "And I will again."
"So stubborn," Cas murmurs.
Dean raises an eyebrow at him. "Pot calling the kettle black, Cas. You've been known to be just as stubborn as me," he adds in case his partner doesn't understand the idiom.
Cas shakes his head, reaching forward to pick up one of the two mugs now sitting on the coffee table. A fresh sippy-cup also waits off to the side ready for when Sam wakes again. Cas holds out the mug to Dean, who takes it. "You should still sleep."
"Case in point, Cas," Dean rolls his eyes, leaning back into the couch cushions behind him and wishing Cas will just let the issue drop.
Because Dean will sleep when he's ready to fucking sleep.
A moment later it seems like Dean's wish has been granted because he hears his partner sigh, the other man leaning forward once more to pick up the other mug. The one that undoubtedly holds Cas' Chinese breakfast tea rather than coffee. And which Dean might actually be inclined to drink - rather than this piss-poor watered down shit the shithole motel seems to think is coffee - if the smell of that tea wasn't worse than the taste of this crap in his own mug.
"What was Sam's temperature?" Cas questions while twisting himself around on the couch seat and drawing his legs up, tucking them into each other like a freaking Buddha statue.
Don't become a drugged out hippy, Dean silently appeals, remembering a future human Castiel that didn't come to pass, and doesn't want to either, because Dean won't put up with it.
"Dean?"
"Huh? Oh." Question. Temperature. "Hundred point four."
"That's an improvement on the last reading," Cas says hopeful.
Dean nods, closing his eyes and rubbing his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose. He's just about to take a sip of his coffee when he hears a cough from the bedroom, followed by a call of his name, his kid's voice sounding even scratchier from all the vomiting he's done.
"I'm coming, Sammy." Dean hauls himself to his feet, swiping the sippy-cup up from the coffee table as he goes.
#
Sam groggily rubs at his eyes as he rises into the waking world, his stomach feeling much more settled than it had the last time he remembers waking. He calls for his brother, only his throat is so dry it produces a barely there whisper. Coughing, he tries again, pleased when sound actually leaves him this time, though his voice sounds wrecked.
"I'm coming, Sammy," his brother responds.
A pulse of happiness floats through him, and Sam wriggles on the bed to find a more comfortable spot. His hand rolls over something harder than the mattress, and which moves under his hand. Frowning, he curls his fingers around whatever it is and pulls up slowly, experimentally, just in case it is a bedspring that has broken through the material, though it doesn't feel like metal, rather more like plastic.
Withdrawing his hand from beneath his blankets and uncurling his fingers, Sam is more than surprised to find a pacifier sitting on his palm. He feels his cheeks heat and it has nothing to do with fever as he stares down at the pacifier, probably in a way that says it's an alien life form from outer space.
Hearing his brother's footsteps approaching, Sam's fingers enclose the pacifier within his fist. Mine, the thought wanders in, and Sam slips his hand into the pocket of his hoodie before he fully realises he's doing so. He guiltily shifts his gaze away from the door, and instead his eyes fall upon the nearest front corner of the nightstand.
Where that thermometer sits.
Sam turns his half-lidded eyes to his brother as the man enters the bedroom. "Did you even try?" the question quietly slips out, admittedly accusingly, and damn, those weren't the first coherent words he wanted to say to his brother.
"Tried each and every one of 'em, actually." Dean responds without heat as he seats himself on the edge of Sam's bed and holds out an orange sippy-cup.
Sam feels the heat across his cheeks deepen, vaguely remembering the eagerness of drinking from a blue sippy-cup earlier after he had thrown up. And seriously, first the straw tumbler and now sippy-cups? Why did Dean even get sippy-cups? Sam's been more than capable of drinking from proper cups for quite some time now.
Being thirsty, however, sees him taking the cup, but he unscrews the lid and holds it out to Dean. Dean takes it, probably sensing the argument Sam is willing to put up if he pushes the matter.
"They did what they always do and crapped out," Dean explains while Sam takes a drink of cherry Gatorade.
"So it wasn't the demon blood causing it," Sam says dejectedly, lowering the cup to his lap. "And we still don't know why my body reacts the way it does."
"Maybe it is just as the docs said, Sammy," Dean responds. "That your body's electrical current just runs faster."
"But why?"
Dean sighs. "We know better than anyone that life's mysteries sometimes just don't get answered, kiddo. Like the mystery of you being taller than your big brother. Because, I mean, dude. If you're looking for something that isn't normal, I'm pretty sure being a Sasquatch is it, kid." Dean teases, his lips curving.
"Just because you're jealous you got stuck with them ol' bowlegs," Sam snickers softly.
"I'll have you know these 'ol' bowlegs' are good for many things, thank you."
"I don't wanna know what half those things are."
Dean smirks. "No, you probably don't."
"Ewww," Sam pushes at his brother's shoulder lightly, "gross, De."
Dean chuckles, and pats him on the chest. "How ya feeling?"
"Better. Tired," Sam says truthfully. There's no point lying when his brother can see right through him. Speaking of which, he eyes Dean. The man has grey shadows beneath his eyes and at least four or five days' worth of stubble going on. "How long have I been sick?"
"Four days."
Damn. No wonder Dean looks so frigging tired. Sam knows all too well his brother would have barely rested for those four days. He rarely does until whatever ailment Sam's inflicted with passes.
"You should get some sleep, Dean. You look like crap."
"Yeah, back atcha'," Dean snorts.
"I have been trying to get him to rest."
Sam's gaze drifts to Cas leaning a shoulder against the wood of the entryway into the bedroom. "Hey, Cas."
"Hello, Little One," Cas gives him a soft smile. "It is good to see you awake and coherent."
Sam smiles sheepishly, feeling the light blush creep across his face again, and takes another drink to partially hide behind his cup. He knows from remembered experiences that he's not the best patient. He tends to act like an idiot when fever is coupled with the medicine given to counteract the fever and well, just his general dislike of being ill. Plus he knows he's clingy to his brother when he's sick, as embarrassing as it is to admit. And he's pretty sure this time wasn't any different.
"Think you feel up to eating something?" Dean queries.
Sam nods slowly, lowering his cup back down. "Maybe some toast?"
"How many slices?" Cas questions.
"Um… I'll just see how I get on with one for now."
Cas nods, moving away. Sam lets Dean take his empty cup to set down on the crowded nightstand.
Sam yawns, before saying, "I gotta go potty."
Pushing the covers back, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and plants his feet on the carpeted floor. He wobbles as he pushes up to standing and Dean's immediately there, steadying him with strong hands.
"I'll help you to the bathroom, alright? I don't wanna be picking your face-planted butt up off the floor."
Sam hides his smile behind his bowed head, his hair hanging lank in front of his face as he places one foot in front of the other. And that really shouldn't be such an effort; he's in good shape.
"You're exhausted." Sam shakes his head lightly to clear his face free of his hair so he can glance sideways at his brother. "Don't give me that look. I ain't no demonic sonuvabitch reading minds. I just know the way you think, kid."
Sam nods after a moment as they reach the doorway of the bathroom. "Right."
"Think you can manage from here, kiddo?"
Sam nods again. "Yeah."
"You sure?"
"Yes, Dean."
"Alright. Shout if you need me."
Sam nods and the door gives a soft click as it's closed behind Dean a moment later.
He releases a sigh, digging his hand within his hoodie's pocket to find the item held within.
#
Sitting on the edge of the bathtub a minute later, Sam's lips curve slightly, sadly, as he stares down at the huge eyes staring back at him. And damn his big brother for doing that. For playing into Sam's love of puppies.
And he wants to be mad at his brother, real mad, for transfiguring his longing for a pacifier into a solid need; one that won't let him go. That door having been flung wide open again and Sam can't get it shut any longer for love or money.
But Sam can't bring himself to be mad at Dean for only trying to help him.
Because Sam doesn't want to close that door.
Not for this.
But he just doesn't have a choice.
He can't have a pacifier again.
He just can't.
He's already nearly lost himself to a magical fever, and he doesn't remember a lot of it, but this… this he remembers. The texture, the feel of it, the comfort derived from this simple piece of silicone.
And as much as his mind says 'hey, it's okay, why shouldn't you?' it also tells him he's way too old to be needing a pacifier. It takes him being a freak to a whole other level of extraordinary proportions.
And while he has come to terms with being a freak, he shouldn't have to feel any more different than he already does.
He just needs to go out there and tell his big brother and Cas as such without allowing his need to get the better of him.
#
Seated at the table, Dean hears the bathroom door open followed by the shuffle of his brother's feet across the bedroom's carpeting before the sound of Sammy's voice also draws Cas' attention.
"As much as you two seem to have it in your heads that I'm somehow younger than I actually am -"
Dean tenses, ready to jump in once again as Sam wobbles on his exit from the bedroom, but the kid does the sensible thing and drops down into the dining chair closest to the entryway. The reason Dean set Sam's plate up there to begin with.
"- I'm not a baby," Sam continues while placing the pacifier down beside Dean's hand.
He had known it was coming, so Dean doesn't understand the sudden loss he feels as he places his hand over the pacifier and picks it up, twiddling it in his fingers. It isn't as if he's the one that uses the thing. But he'll accept it back if that's what Sammy wants.
For now.
But he does need to set his kid straight on one thing.
"Sam," he waits until he has his brother's full attention. "This thing," he gives the pacifier a little shake for emphasis, "has nothing to do with you being a baby. And everything to do with you suckling on something that carries far less bacteria than your thumb."
"I know that, Dean," Sam nods. "But a pacifier isn't necessary …" he adds, giving a shrug of stiff shoulders, "… as I don't suck my thumb all that much anymore."
Dean's eyebrows arch in surprise. He glances at Cas who seems to be as miffed as Dean, before his gaze automatically drifts back to Sam. Does the kid honestly not realise how much he sucks his thumb? The damn digit has barely left the kid's mouth in the past few weeks since that spell.
How can Sam not realise that?
You're talking about Sammy Winchester, Dean, he can almost see his inner-self rolling his eyes, the kid does know, ya idjit.
Dean narrows his eyes as he takes in Sammy's posture and the eyes that are no longer looking at him, along with the flush across Sam's nose and cheeks that has nothing to do with a fever. Or lack thereof at the moment.
Oh yeah. Sam's fully aware of it.
Kid's just making a show of not registering his behaviour for the sake of giving back the damn pacifier.
Damn kid.
"Alright, Sammy," Dean makes his own show of slipping the pacifier into his shirt pocket. "You let me know when you want it back."
Sam's eyes narrow slightly as he crosses his arms over his chest. "I won't."
"Of course not," Dean nods once. "And we don't see you as young, Sam."
"Don't patronise me, Dean." Kids on the ball, can't disagree with that. "You've both individually told me as such." Sam picks up the blue sippy seated on the table in front of him and looks to Cas. "I'll have my straw tumbler if that's okay?"
"Of course." Cas says, confusion still creasing his forehead as he stands, taking the cup from Sam who has already half-risen with the intention of changing it himself. Dean hides his smiles as Sam plops back down into his chair with a disgruntled huff, while Cas crosses to the kitchenette. "I have to admit I do not understand why we shouldn't state you are young, Sam, when you are young," Cas adds, pouring the contents of the blue sippy into the straw sippy.
Dean keeps that amusement from his face, too.
"Well, to you, Cas, I guess I am young. I mean how old are you exactly?"
Dean snorts, swallowing down his mouthful of cereal. "Don't start him on the age thing, Sammy. Cas will bore your ears off for hours trying to explain how he may be this age or he might be that age."
"Well you should try not knowing how many thousands of years old you are," Cas grumbles setting the straw sippy in front of Sam.
"Dude, I'm thirty-six and we are leaving it at that."
"Thanks, Cas," Sammy says shooting Dean his disapproving bitch-face as he takes some juice from the straw. "And I'd like to hear your story some time," he adds as Cas retakes his seat opposite the kid.
"Not right now," Dean points his spoon at his partner as Cas opens his mouth to spill the long and boring tale.
"Why not? Sam clearly wishes to listen. Unlike you who fell asleep halfway through."
"'Cause I don't wanna fall asleep in my breakfast."
Sam smiles fractionally.
Noting his kid has yet to touch his lightly buttered toast, Dean taps the plate's edge with his spoon, indicating his expectance with both the move and the look he levels at his kid. Sammy needs to get his strength up, and eating will go a long way towards achieving that.
Sam sighs, but picks up the lone piece of toast and takes a small bite, rolling his eyes at Dean's satisfied expression. "Are we headed to Vancouver?" Sam asks stifling a yawn the kid doesn't think Dean notices. "We're already so many days behind Rowena's trail."
"You are headed nowhere but back to bed."
"But Dean …"
"Sam," Dean interjects firmly, immediately stilling his baby brother's protest. "Kara's on it," he supplies.
"Kara?" Sam arch's a surprised eyebrow. "Tom Jeffries wife Kara?"
"That's the one."
"I thought she was done with hunting."
"She is. Mostly. She's just doing us a favour while you're sick."
"Have you heard from her?"
"She checked in yesterday," Cas explains. "At which time she had no sighting of Rowena."
"She doesn't think the bitch is there," Dean tells his kid. "But the intel was definitely good."
"Did we get any confirmation on the theory she's running Crowley's demons into hunters?"
"Oh yeah. Kara talked to that kid who told Cray about sighting Rowena up there. Says he exorcised a demon chasing after her."
"Just like Mike," Sam nods, scrubbing at an eye with the back of his knuckles.
Dean nods his own head. "And Joe Banbridge and Al Grey have checked out two more sightings for us close to their own hunts. Both busts for Rowena being there, but again the intel was good."
Sammy shakes his head. "What's her end game?" the kid says more to himself than Dean or Cas.
"Not sure she has one," Dean supplies anyway. "She's just running."
"I guess we'll just have to get her to stop then."
Dean smiles. "That's my boy."