Home

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.

12. Chapter 12

A/N - Thank you to all who reviewed and favoured this story, you guys ROCK :)

#SPN#

Chapter 12

After the emotionless bitch, Gretchen, refused them the room for another night at the motel, they packed their crap and got the hell out of there before Dean did something he'd regret. They found another motel on the other side of Redfern Grove; identical to the last, right down to the room layout, just built on the opposite side of the street to the other place.

One in, one out.

Dean snorts silently.

But at least the air in this room isn't permeated with the scent of sickness like the last room. They have clean sheets and no Gretchen. And though with Sammy doing better Dean would have preferred to get them out of town, they still have a job to do here.

Because at some point – hopefully the next day – they need to go back out to the farmhouse Rowena was holed up in and go over the place with a fine tooth-comb; to ensure no more fucking magic traps have been left behind by the witch for some dumbass teenager to set off.

But for the moment Dean is staring at his partner as Cas finishes up washing three of everything supplied by the motel's small kitchenette in preparation of their stay here; plates, forks, knives, spoons, bowls, mugs, glasses.

Even though Dean has told Cas the intention is to be here for only the one night; or at least he tried telling the other man that. Cas didn't listen. And left Dean wondering when his partner took a note out of Sammy's OCD book. Although, admittedly, he can't blame the ex-angel for his caution after experiencing Sammy so sick; actually respects his partner for taking that care.

"What?" Cas inquires, staring at him with a frown as Dean draws away from his thoughts and allows a smirk to filter onto his lips.

"I'm just looking."

"Well try not to do so with such …" Cas glances over his shoulder towards the couch where Sam is staring off into space with half-lidded eyes and ever present thumb in his mouth, before turning back and leaning towards Dean, lowering his voice as he continues, "… bedroom eyes."

Dean laughs lightly, lowering his own voice to just above a whisper. "Did you seriously just say 'bedroom eyes', Cas? What crap have you been watching without me on Sammy's TV? And do I need to cut his Netflix subscription?"

He knows Sammy has Netflix set up for just the one user because Dean pays for the subscription; and as far as Dean is aware that user is open to everything on the site without specific controls set down on the account. Dean will have to change that when he gets time to sit down at the laptop and go into Netflix to set up a Kid User for Sammy. He meant it when he said his innocent baby brother would no longer be watching sex splayed all over the TV, laptop or tablet. G and PG ratings are sounding good right about now. Even more so as he watches the pink-hue spread across Cas' cheeks.

"I haven't been watching anything on there, Dean."

Dean snorts and grabs another beer out of the cooler and twists off the cap. He flicks it with his finger and it glides through the air until it smacks into the opposite wall and then hits the deck. Sipping at his beer, he feels Cas' disapproving eyes upon him before he turns his head to stare into blue eyes, the other man standing with wet hands on his hips. Lowering his beer from his lips, Dean sticks his tongue in his cheek before he steps away from the work surface to pick up his discarded beer lid and dumps it in the trash.

Cas looks approving and Dean refrains from rolling his eyes. "I'll run across to the diner and pick us up some food," Cas says, drying off his hands. "Sam, what would you like to eat?"

Dean's stomach grumbles at the mere mention of food. He digs out his wallet from his back pocket and opens it, withdrawing some bills and handing them over, while glancing at Sam who has yet to respond to Cas' question.

"Sammy!" Sam jerks, blinking wide eyes at Dean who feels slightly guilty for having startled the kid. "Cas is going for food. What d'you want?"

Sam continues to stare at him, before breaking contact and going back to staring into space without offering any input as to his preference in food.

Dean sighs. "See if they have any healthy noodle dishes," he tells Cas who nods and folds the cash in half, sliding it into a pocket. "Kid's more likely to eat that. And grab some snacks from the store next to the diner. Healthy crap. You know, fruit and stuff."

"What do you want?"

Dean shrugs, not really sure what his gut is hankering for. "Might as well grab me some noodles as well it they've got 'em," he requests, then adds an extra his stomach takes a fancy too as it flies through his brain. "And a burger. Fries. Onion rings. Oh, chicken wings …"

"Would you like me to purchase one of everything on the unhealthy side of the menu, Dean?" Cas interjects with exasperated inflection.

"What? I'm starving. Get me pie too."

Cas smiles, slipping his arms into his jacket. "Any preference on filling?"

Dean gives his partner a look that explicitly tells him he's an idiot. "Pie is pie, Cas."

"Of course. How could I forget?"

"Sarcasm doesn't become you."

Cas smirks on his way out the door. Dean shakes his head, turning to face his baby brother with his mind churning as to how he can draw his kid out of the shell he's placed himself inside.

After Sammy gave back his pacifier and the conversation that followed, Dean once again tried to get his kid to open up about the nightmare that has seen Sam experience six nosebleeds. But Sammy had deflected by asking the question Dean had been silently dreading.

His knowledge of how his brother would react hitting spot on; the kid blaming himself no matter how much the events that had played out at the farmhouse were in no way Sam's fault.

Not even in touching the blood.

They have all had to do things like that in discerning clues, and it was only a matter of time before one came back to bite them in the ass.

And no thanks to that skank of a whore it did.

Unfortunately the scabbed cut decorating Cas' lower lip hadn't helped their case in expressing Sam's lack of fault and Sam had climbed into his shell, pained eyes shuttering as he softly apologised. The kid neither hearing nor acknowledging Dean and Cas' attempts to tell him it wasn't his fault.

But maybe Dean can draw the kid out without Cas in the room. Because Sammy's never been a big talker around others outside of Dean - unless it involves sprouting off information about a hunt then he's in his element - but the kid still holds a huge amount of shyness in him despite how much he has grown in that department since re-joining Dean in hunting. And while Cas isn't a stranger, Sam is still shy around him to a certain degree.

So what to do? What… to… do?

What invades his mind a moment later probably has no basis in drawing out his kid right now, but it will fulfil the promise Dean made to himself back in Wyoming and has yet to get around to.

Nodding, he crosses into the bedroom and returns to the living area with small trashcan in hand. Depositing it on the block of wood that passes for a coffee table in this room, he walks to the fat and old fashioned television set and switches it on before squatting down in front of it to flick through the channels. Landing on a channel showing Thundercats and thanking syndication for reruns, he stands and moves to the couch.

He gives his kid's closest leg a pat, gesturing him across the couch. Sammy surprisingly goes without the complaint Dean had been expecting. Considering Dean could park his ass on the free central cushion beside his kid. But Dean doesn't say anything as he's pretty sure the kid just isn't willing to remove his thumb from his mouth to argue about it, and gives Sam the space he needs in his silence, but not in physical body as Dean takes the vacated seat.

He feels Sammy shift next to him as he grabs the trashcan off the coffee table and sets it on the floor between his booted feet instead; his kid's movement actually bringing Sammy closer to big brother as Dean had been hoping. And sticking his fingers inside his shirts chest pocket, ignoring the pacifier still seated within, Dean withdraws their metal nail clippers.

"Give me your hand, kiddo."

Sam slowly draws his gaze away from the TV and raises an eyebrow, but does as asked, resting his left hand atop Dean's right knee. Quickly and with practised efficiency Dean snips off the end of each nail so they sit the same level as the tips of Sammy's fingers. The nail cuttings mostly make it into the bin, and Dean just runs his boot over the carpet to disperse any that didn't make it.

Cas can yell at him later if he notices.

He gestures for the other hand and Sam shakes his head. "Sammy, you're not having one hand full of cut fingernails and not the other, so take your thumb out. I'll be quick, buddy."

Sam stares at him for a long moment, before he slowly pulls his thumb out and wipes the spit off on Dean's jeans. Real nice, Sammy. But Dean's aware it's a not so subtle punishment for making his kid withdraw his thumb.

And just as he said he would be, he's as quick and efficient with this hand as he was with the other and the thumb returns to being between Sammy's lips before Dean even fully releases his hold. Sam's fingers clamp down on two of Dean's, the kid resting back on Dean's shoulder and curling his legs up in the free space of couch remaining, whilst his body pushes Dean against the couch cushion.

"Sammy, the way you got my fingers isn't exactly comfortable," Dean tells him, his elbow straining against the angle he's having to hold his arm. "Let 'em go a sec so I can shift my arm."

Sam's fingers slowly release Dean's, the kid tilting his head back to stare at Dean and ensure he gets them back. Dean hides his smile, wrapping his arm around the back of Sammy's shoulders and slips his forefinger and middle finger back onto Sam's open palm, his kid trapping them within his own again.

He gives it ten minutes - Cas still not having returned from the diner - before he interrupts the quiet by setting the back of his free hand against Sammy's forehead. The kid tilts his face up to look at him with hopeful eyes.

"Sorry, kiddo, you still feel warm."

Sam pushes himself up off of Dean, releasing his hold on Dean's fingers, and slouches in the opposite corner. He finally pulls his thumb out of his mouth so he can cross his arms over his chest and use his words. "You're not doing it."

Those aren't exactly the words Dean wants to hear, but neither is he surprised by them. And Sammy's currently out of his self-built shell, so there's that. "Sammy, we talked about this."

"Oh, you mean when we discussed it in the middle of a freaking store?"

"Yes."

"Don't recall it one little bit," Sam responds, shooting to his feet and moving to walk away.

Dean is quicker and catches hold of the back of Sam's sweatpants, bunching them up and getting a good grip so they won't tear. And it would be funny watching Sammy practically jogging on the spot in trying to get away from him, if his kid WASN'T trying to get away from him.

Sam stops, huffs and looks over his shoulder and down at Dean. "Why do you have to be so annoying?"

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Big brother prerogative. Haven't I shown you that passage in the handbook yet? Oh wait, it's only visible to big brother eyes."

"You not funny, you know," the kid grumbles.

"Little dude, I'm hilarious."

Sam snorts. "Are not."

His kid sighs and pushes himself backwards. Dean has to swiftly release the hold he has on the back of his kid's pants to save his hand being squashed beneath Sammy's butt as the kid plops himself down on Dean's knee. While being surprised Sam had planted himself as close to Dean as he could get rather than trying to move further away right now, Dean still instinctively winds his arms around Sammy's waist as the kid wobbles fractionally.

"You remember what you said back at the store, Sammy?"

Sam huffs, "I told you I don't like it."

"No. Before that."

Sam's eyebrows shift downwards before he sighs, his forehead relaxing. Yet, still his mouth remains closed, clearly unwilling to voice what they both remember. But Dean needs the kid to do so. They need to get passed this. Passed Sammy's embarrassment at this, because the kid hasn't known anything different his whole life. Hell, he really doesn't have anything to be embarrassed about. They're family. And this is just what you do.

It's what Dean does.

"Sam."

"I said I wouldn't make a fuss," Sam finally responds quietly at Dean's push.

Actually, the kid had said he wouldn't 'kick up a stink' but Dean lets the wording go. There's no need to argue that point as Sammy just basically said the same thing. "Then are you about ready to get this over with? Without any more fussing." Sam huffs another sigh, moving to put his thumb in his mouth. "No," Dean stops him, "I want you to talk to me right now."

"What's to talk about?" Sammy pouts. "I don't want you putting that stupid 'mometer in my bottom, but you're gonna do it anyways no matter what I say."

"You're right," Dean admits, causing Sam to stare at him in surprise. Because as much as he would like his baby brother's cooperation he will do what's necessary for his kid's continuing health. Even if that means he has to face a crying little boy. "Having your temperature taken has never been your decision," he continues. "It's always been mine. Because if I left it up to you it would never happen."

It's harsh, but unfortunately true. And it makes Dean feel like a complete asshole for saying it as he looks into wounded hazel eyes; while the fingers that have been playing with a button on his shirt - a nervous energy his kid expels on occasion - still and draw away.

"That's not fair, Dean."

"I know, buddy. But I can't afford to be fair when it comes to your health. And while you shoved me away once, and I let you, that won't be happening this time. It's just a question of whether you're going to give me a little cooperation, or if I have to continue to be the bad guy." Dean pauses to let that sink in. "So what's it gonna be, Sammy?" A thumb ascends to Sam's lips once again, and once again Dean pulls it away. "Sam?"

"The former," Sam finally responds, bottom lip jutting out.

"That's good, Sammy," Dean gives him a pat on the back. "Do you want to lay down on your bed or go over my lap?"

Sammy's eyes widen. "Uh, you wanna do it right now?"

"Yeah, kiddo, you're due a temp check." Dean looks down at his watch as he stands his kid up before standing himself. "Scratch that, your overdue one."

Leading the way into the bedroom he can hear Sammy begrudgingly following on account of the sock-clad feet dragging against the carpeted floor behind him. But at least the kid is moving of his own accord.

"Lay down," Dean instructs as he sits himself on the edge of his and Cas' bed next to the nightstand so he can ready the thermometer that has seen multiple use in the past few days.

Slotting a fresh probe cover onto the thin end of the thermometer, he raises his eyes to his brother still just standing at the end of his bed; that thumb back between his lips and eyes glued upon the instrument in Dean's hand.

"Sammy?" Sam blinks and shifts his eyes to Dean, who nods to the kid's bed. "Lay down, kiddo."

Sam shakes his head and spins on his heels. Unfortunately the movement is too quick for him and before Dean can get there to stop it, the air is whooshing out of his kid along with a grunt of pain as his body impacts the floor with a hard thud.

Dean has already dropped the thermometer and is rushing forwards, squatting down by his baby brother's side. One hand goes to his kid's back, the other on his shoulder, trying to help the kid turn over to relieve the jarring to his chest. But Sam shakes his shoulders, dislodging Dean's hand, and kicks his feet against the floor as he pushes at Dean with one hand, the other hand shooting back and splaying across his bottom.

"Go 'way! Go 'way!" the kid cries with his hoarse voice from the fever that is still potentially running mildly through his system.

"Alright," Dean says, lifting his hands away and scooting back on his feet before parking his ass on the floor. "Alright, buddy." Leaning back against the foot of his own bed with his arms resting atop his raised knees, Dean really should have known it wasn't going to be that easy. "Don't think this qualifies as not making a fuss, Sammy," he grumbles only to get a kick in the shin by a big foot. "Hey, no kicking, Sam," he scolds mildly, but firmly. "Or this tantrum is gonna see you getting your bottom spanked."

"Not tantrum!" Sammy exclaims, kicking his feet against the floor to clearly show the truthfulness behind his words. "You havin' tantrum you-you-you big meanie!"

Dean shakes his head, having to bite his lip to keep his amusement at bay.

#

Dean withholds a tired sigh as he stares at his baby brother over the top of the tablet in his grasp, the amusement of a few minutes ago now spent. Sammy's tantrum has dwindled off into sniffles but he's still refusing to allow Dean to touch him because apparently Dean's still a …

"Big meanie!" Sammy stresses for what feels like the umpteenth time now and through an even hoarser voice thanks to his tears.

… What he said.

And it once again looks like Dean's going to have to be the bad guy here.

"You about done with this, Sammy? Because Cas is going to be back soon and if you don't want him seeing your bare bottom …" Dean throws the tablet over his shoulder onto the bed as Sammy shifts his gaze around to stare at him mournfully; the pout and puppy eyes in full force amidst flushed skin.

Which hopefully is only due to Sammy's tantrum and not the fever rearing its ugly head again.

Then a slight tilt of Sammy's head – up and down - and Dean breaths a silent sigh of relief.

Pushing himself upwards, he crosses the short distance, grasps Sam under the arms and hauls him up into his arms.

"Mad at me?" Sam mumbles against his ear.

"No, bud. I'm not mad," Dean responds, rubbing a hand over his kid's back as he carries him over to the bed where he sets Sammy down on the edge, before ensuring he has Sam's full attention. "I'm not happy you threw a tantrum though." Sammy ducks his head with a sniffle, and Dean grasps his chin gently to lift his face back up. "You wanna tell me why that might be, Sammy?"

"'Cause, um, throwing a tantrum is in and of itself a form of manipulation," Dean's smart boy informs him quietly while gripping hold of Dean's shirt sleeve. "And that's really naughty," Sammy continues, staring at Dean through moist eyelashes, "'cause-'cause it might force you to do what I wants to do instead of you doing what's in my best interest."

"That's right. Good job, bud," Dean praises, using his thumbs to swipe over Sammy's cheeks where the tears have fallen. "Under normal circumstances -" that don't involve your big brother placing a thermometer up your butt no matter what you say "- what should you do instead of throwing a tantrum?"

"Talk to you," Sammy responds immediately without hesitation. "Or to Cas."

"Good boy." Dean gives a soft smile, and pats Sammy's knees. "Alright, stay here for me, bud, while I grab you a drink to soothe your throat." Sam nods, releasing his hold on Dean's shirt, and Dean crosses through to the kitchenette.

Grabbing a cup and a bottle of water, he twists off the cap and pours the water into the cup before screwing on the lid. He ditches the empty bottle into the trash on his way back to his brother. Squatting down before his kid, Dean holds the cup up to Sammy's mouth and Sam doesn't hesitate in attaching his lips around the soft spout and starts suckling the water down.

Sam's hands rise up to take hold of the handles of the cup and Dean lets go but remains ready to assist if Sammy gets tired of holding it. Eventually Sammy pulls the cup away and takes a breath as he holds the cup out to Dean, who takes note of the emptiness as he sets it on the nightstand.

Kid must have been thirstier than I thought.

"You hurting anywhere, Sammy?"

"My chest feels owie," Sammy tells him with another sniffle, swiping at his runny nose with the back of his hand.

Thanks to a hell of a lot of practice Dean manages to keep his frown from his face at hearing Sammy referring to his pain as an 'owie'. It has certainly been a while since that term came out of his brother's mouth, but just as with Sammy calling the toilet a potty, Dean keeps his mouth shut. He'll think on it later when Sammy isn't distressed over needing his temperature taken.

"I bet it does, bud," Dean says grabbing out a tissue from the packet on the nightstand. "You did a spectacular dive." Placing the tissue to Sammy's nose, he instructs his kid to blow and Dean dumps the tissue in the trash a moment later before grabbing a baby wipe and cleaning Sammy's face. "Lean back."

Sammy flops down onto his back, bouncing slightly as the mattress levels itself out again and scrubs at his eyes with his knuckles, before slipping a thumb in his mouth.

Dean feels the plastic of the pacifier sitting next to the nail clippers in his shirt pocket dig into his chest slightly as he leans over to pull Sammy's tee up to his shoulders so he can assess for any damage. And while Sam just took the sippy-cup, Dean knows Sammy won't accept the pacifier after so bluntly giving it back to Dean, so he doesn't even try and offer.

But he's pretty sure they both know sooner or later Sammy will have to fully accept the pacifier. Dean will only put up with that thumb being in the kid's mouth for so long, especially after this fever; mystical-based or not.

There's a red patch on Sammy's chest in the area of his sternum but it doesn't look as if it will develop into a bruise and he tells his baby brother as such. After giving the ribs a once over and deeming them intact, he straightens the tee back into place.

"Just knocked the wind outta yourself, Sammy." He gently rubs his hand over the area, watching Sammy's face for any sign of pain. "Anymore owie's?" he questions.

Sammy holds up the hand not situated near his mouth, revealing the slight carpet burn on the heel of the palm from where it slid across the ground in his fall. Dean leans down and does something he hasn't done in years by placing a kiss upon it.

"Feel a little better?"

Sammy nods shyly, lips curved upwards slightly around his thumb.

Dean smiles. "That's good, Sammy."

Sammy continues to stare up at him and slowly slips the thumb from between his lips. "I don't want 'mometer in my bottom 'gain, De," he whispers.

"I know, baby," Dean says taking a seat on the bed beside him and brushing back his kid's hair. "And I wish it were different, Sammy, I really do. But I can't change how your body works." He pauses. "So what say we get this done, huh?" Sammy slowly nods but doesn't move. "Gonna turn over for me, bud?"

Sammy shakes his head. "Want you."

Dean nods, knowing Sammy needs the knowledge of assurance in the safety and closeness that comes from being across Dean's lap for this. That no harm is coming to him when his big brother has him secure.

Standing, Dean pulls Sammy up to standing before retaking his seat on the bed, ensuring he's far enough back for Sam to be comfortable. "Pants down."

Sammy pushes at his sweats one handed, the other hand having returned to his mouth. Dean reaches out and makes swift work of pulling both his kid's sweats and boxer-briefs down to mid-thigh before raising eyes back up to Sam. The kid scrubs at an eye with his free hand, that black bruising present beneath both eyes now once again more prominent than they have been these past weeks since implementing Sammy's bedtime.

Seeing Sammy isn't about to put himself over Dean's lap, Dean reaches out and guides Sam over, making sure the kid's long legs and body are both supported by the mattress.

"Ready, bud?" he questions, rubbing a hand soothingly over Sammy's back.

Sam looks back at him with pink cheeks and puppy eyes in full swing. If the thumb wasn't between those lips, Dean knows the pout would be present again also. Dean swears the kid came out of the womb with that look already perfected, and he has to still himself against it as he has done on too many occasions before. Especially when he's having to do something that is for his kid's own good; a saying Dean absolutely hates, but understood a long time ago holds so much relevance where kids are concerned.

Dean rubs his back, "I know, baby. Just one minute, okay, that's all it is, and then it's done."

Sammy continues his look, before he slowly nods, mumbling around his thumb and which Dean clearly translates as, "'kay, De."

"Atta boy, Sammy," Dean responds, proud of his kid for his acceptance.

Parting Sammy's cheeks with forefinger and thumb, Dean places the end of the lubricated probe cover to his little boy's anus. Sammy immediately tenses. "I know it's difficult, Sammy, but don't tense your bum, okay," Dean gives a gentle pat to a cheek. "That's it, good job, kiddo," Dean praises as Sammy slowly relaxes, allowing Dean to slide the thermometer in the half inch required, before releasing the cheeks to close around it.

Holding the thermometer in place, he rubs circles over his kid's back. He glances at his watch, the minute countdown only having passed the fifteen second mark when the jingle of a key in the motel door announces Cas' return. Sam whimpers and wriggles. Dean has to press his hand more firmly against his kid's back to still him.

"No moving, Sammy, or you'll dislodge it, okay. And I know you don't want to start over, kiddo."

Sam stills his wriggling instantly, but his hand goes back to try and cover his exposed bottom. Dean swiftly intercepts it before Sammy knocks the thermometer sticking out between his butt cheeks and unintentionally does damage to his rectum. Grasping hold of the corner of his own button down shirt, Dean uses it to cover Sam's behind instead.

But Cas doesn't venture into the bedroom or poke his head in; perhaps sensing Sammy's distress at being exposed and Dean instead hears him whistling in the outer room.

"He's not coming in, kiddo," Dean says quietly. Sammy nods. Then the beeping starts. Parting the cheeks once more, Dean eases the thermometer out and takes in the reading, relief spreading through him as he sees the lowest reading the instrument has relayed in the past four days. "98.7. Looks like your almost there, buddy."

Almost, because Sammy's regular body temperature fluctuates between 97.3 and 97.7.

Underneath the hand once again resting on Sammy's back, Dean can feel the immediate release of tension draining from Sam's body. The kid knowing this is the last temp check unless the fever has other ideas. But Dean is just as relieved; he doesn't want to put Sammy through that again.

Righting Sammy's clothing, he stands the kid up, who immediately moves in the direction of the bedroom opening and Dean knows Sam's intention is to head back to the couch and sink back into his silent shell.

Dean stops him. "Table. Cas has dinner." Sam shakes his head, hair flopping around his face. "You're not going without dinner, Sammy. You need to eat something. And if you don't want what Cas' brought, I'll heat you up some soup."

The skin around Sam's eyes crinkles slightly as he makes a disgusted face. Dean feels for him, because he too knows what it's like to get fed up of soup after being sick. You just want to start in on proper food again. But clearly Sammy doesn't want to do either right now.

"Just give it a try, okay," Dean suggests while giving Sam a slight nudge in the back towards the main room. Waiting until the kid takes that step out there, Dean shakes his head and crosses into the bathroom to wash his hands.

"Come wash your hands please, Little One," Cas requests before Sam can drop down into the chair opposite the window.

Huffing around his thumb, Sam trudges over to the kitchen basin and turns on the faucet, rolling his eyes as Cas quickly sticks his hand underneath the water before Sam can. Cas gives a nod, drying his hand off on a dish towel and Sam sets about washing his hands. The second he has them dried Cas holds out the knives and forks to him. Sam gets the hint and takes the cutlery to set the table.

"Thank you, Sam."

Sam grunts back at him. Then glares at his passing brother as he feels a pat to his butt. Dean raises an eyebrow at him in warning.

"Did you cook the food while you were there?" Dean teases, arm resting at Cas' lower back as he leans around the other man to smell the aromas coming from the array of dishes, his stomach grumbling loudly.

"Do I or do I not recall someone asking for around ten dishes for his bottomless pit of a stomach?" Cas returns, pointing the sharp end of a serrated kitchen knife at Dean while shooting him a disgruntled glare.

Dean holds up his hands with a chuckle. "I'm a growing boy, Cas," he responds before deciding on retreat, but not before grabbing up a white cloth napkin.

"They thought I was feeding an army," Cas tells them, using the knife to slice up a fresh loaf of bread. "They didn't believe me when I said it was only for three people."

Dean snorts, setting the cloth napkin over Sammy's front, his kid now seated at the table in the chair opposite the window. Sam tilts his head back to look up at him, his expression easily reading, 'what are you doing?', and Dean returns it with his own, 'you knew this was coming, kid'.

The kid rolls his eyes, but he doesn't fight the fraction of pressure Dean applies to the back of his head to tilt it downwards. Dean quickly knots two of the napkin's corners at the back of Sammy's neck without catching his hair in it and pats Sam's right shoulder to indicate he's done.

Sam tugs at the napkin unhappily and Dean's pleased to see the thing doesn't budge. Huh, might have to steal that one or several, he muses as he takes note of the other two sitting ready on the kitchenette's work surface for his and Cas' use; though naturally not as a bib.

Sammy turns his gaze up to him once more, while his free hand goes to the knot at the back, fingers trying to work it loose.

"Yeah, that's not coming off until I undo it, Sammy."

The kid slips his thumb out long enough to tell Dean "you're still a big meanie," before it gets put back.

Dean leans down to Sam's level. "You caught me, kiddo. I've been perfecting how to be a big meanie for so many years now," Dean smirks as he watches the corners of Sammy's mouth fight not to rise and stands straight, ruffling his little boy's hair before moving off to help Cas get the food to the table.

#SPN#

Rinsing off the last of their dinner dishes under the motel's kitchenette faucet, Dean passes it over to Cas to dry. Switching off the faucet, he glances over his shoulder into the bedroom where Sammy's curled up on his bed.

Dinner had been quiet. Sammy only eating half of his noodle salad with tuna before quietly announcing he was done and pushing his plate towards Dean's remaining plate of beef stew with mushrooms and egg noodles, while Cas continued to slowly tuck into a peanut-noodle salad that in no way appealed to Dean. Dean had easily approved of what his kid had eaten, it having been a slightly larger portion than Sam usually consumes when he's feeling less than one hundred percent.

And the kid allowed Dean to untie the dirty napkin without hassle, but scrunched his face up and tried to push Dean away when the baby wipe was run over his messy face. Some Sammy stroppiness shining through and something Dean was more than happy to see reappear. It hadn't lasted, however, which brings them back to the here and now with Sammy hiding away on his bed.

His kid is bleeding frustration at the missed opportunity of catching Rowena, the misplaced guilt at his own perceived actions towards Dean and Cas, and for those perceived actions leading him to falling ill and wasting four days if he knows his Sammy. And when those types of emotions take hold of Sam, he goes quieter than usual. Or where the former is concerned, more often than not of late, frustration has seen his kid throwing a tantrum.

But tonight the equal amount of guilt has sent his little boy into almost silence.

And while Sammy doesn't snap out of a funk like that easily, the kid has grown accustomed to letting it rest and carrying on with whatever needs doing at any given time. Something Dean has grown used to seeing in his brother; having unfortunately been a catalyst for the behaviour. Seen as it's what Dean does; bury it down and get on with it.

But tonight something is different.

It's as if Sammy hasn't even started the journey into that uphill struggle. And it is a battle in getting there; no matter how silently or swiftly you reach the point where you can force a smile out and laugh once more and don't feel as if the weight of the world is trying to forcefully shove you back down into the earth feet first.

But at least they are fortunate that Sammy is the complete opposite within those emotions than Dean. Because where Dean will do his best to make sure everyone leaves him the hell alone, Sammy will actively seek out Dean's company. Even if the kid is silent within that company and doing his best to hide himself away in plain sight. And it is only when utter and all-encompassing sadness and misery takes hold that Sam bolts.

Something Dean has had to learn the hard way on too many occasions.

So Dean certainly shouldn't feel thankful that it is only frustration and guilt currently running through Sammy. He would rather Sam didn't have to experience those at all, but it is an impossibility in their line of work, and especially with their pasts.

And at least the kid is visible to Dean.

He sighs softly.

Grasping an end of the dishtowel in Cas' hands, he dries his own, before leaning back against the edge of the work surface, eyes fixed on his brother. He knows the kid isn't focused one little bit, because Sammy hasn't turned a single page of his book in the past half an hour since they finished dinner. And the thumb lodged back between his kid's lips has only left Sammy's mouth for the length of time it took him to eat his dinner and empty his sippy-cup of juice.

Watching his kid for a while longer, a lightbulb of realisation flashes so brightly in front of Dean's eyes that had it been real it would probably have blinded him. And it would be his own fault. Because the situation before him is so blindingly obvious he couldn't see it for shit.

Sammy hasn't started his uphill journey yet because the kid can't figure out how to get on that train to begin with. Dean's not even sure he wants the kid to get on it any longer. He doesn't want Sammy masking his pain. He wants Sam to talk to him; wants for his kid to share that pain so he can help his little boy through it and lay it to rest.

And for Dean to do that, he needs to get passed the teachings of his father, and of society, that have been drilled into his head for as long as he can remember, and stop being such a closed book to his kid.

For wanting his kid to share, Dean has to share too.

He has to talk. Care. Comfort. Love.

He has to be there.

Just as he had when Sammy was little. When he had felt and been so much freer in his ability of expressing all of those things because he had a baby who needed him to be… everything.

And Dean never begrudged or resented being that person for his brother.

It was who he was then.

And it's still who he is now.

He just hopes the idea now rattling around his brain will pay off.

Placing a kiss to Cas' cheek, he uses the moment to whisper "go with me on this," into his partner's ear, before pulling away to look into those blue eyes that speak of Cas' silent acknowledgement.

#

Sam gives a suck on his thumb as he silently watches his brother enter the bedroom and cross to the bed sitting adjacent to the one Sam occupies. The old and green duffle belonging to his big brother practically his entire life is picked up from the floor and dumped on the bed. Dean pulls open the zipper before digging down inside.

What looks to be a thin book is pulled out a moment later and Sam sees a flash of the front cover. He frowns as he thinks he recognises it. And his eyes widen fractionally when he realises where he's seen it before and what it actually is.

Dean bought a colouring book?

Dean has never been a big colourer; he much preferred his army men and Lego's before he became too 'old' to play with them and fully handed them down to Sam. Who would in turn get Dean to play with him and the army men and Lego's. Not that Sam knew at the time that those moments when they played together was when Dean still got to be a kid. He just loved that his big brother took the time to play with him. And if Dean did sit down with Sam when it was 'art' time, it was to draw rather than colour. Because unlike Sam who can just barely draw trees, Dean can actually draw. His big brother would draw pictures, just the outlines, and would pass them to Sam to colour when they couldn't afford a proper colouring book. Something Dean hasn't done since Sam was a little kid.

So unless Dean suddenly has a newfound passion for colouring - or maybe Cas has, though Sam really doubts that - then Dean has bought Sam a colouring book. Which isn't actually as strange as it probably should be; seen as Dean is usually the one who finds the colouring books or single prints for Sam that are geared towards adults rather than children – and not filled in any way with flowers.

But that thing in Dean's hands… that's a bona-fide children's colouring book.

The one… the one Sam was eyeing back at the store.

And the only way his brother could have known Sam had even looked at that specific colouring book is if Dean was watching him in the store. But Sam had thought he'd made sure Dean wasn't anywhere near him before he'd run his fingers over the glossy dinosaur cover before walking away and leaving the book on the shelf.

And his wanting along with it.

Or so he thought.

Sam rubs his sweaty palm against his sweatpants, unsure how he should react when presented with this new item. He doesn't want to accept the book in a display of childish need, yet he doesn't want to reject it either. Because honestly, why should it matter that the thing is a kid's colouring book?

It has never actually been the picture that relaxes Sam, but the simple act of brushing colour across a page and bringing a blank image to life in any way he pleases. And if the picture is too involved it can in fact send him off in the opposite direction. He prefers plain and simple when it comes to his normal colouring books; with no fuss and not too many tiny little spaces to fill with colour in an intricate pattern.

That annoys him.

And it isn't the first time he's thought about how a kid's book would actually be more beneficial to him in relaxation than an adults. But there's also the thought of having to admit that to his tough as nails big brother who thinks Sam long ago let go of wanting kid's colouring books for the adult-oriented kind. A big brother who already has to put up with Sam wanting to colour in the first place.

But here Dean is, holding a book expressly designed for kids; the front cover splayed with colourful dinosaurs. And Sam's admittedly confused. Which only increases when Dean, instead of approaching Sam with the book, moves around the side of his own bed. And without once glancing in Sam's direction, lays himself down on his stomach upon the mattress.

#

Ignoring the quizzical eyes he can feel upon him, Dean sets the dinosaur colouring book down in front of him. Digging his hand back into his duffle, he withdraws the new pack of markers, setting them off to the side on the mattress, before picking up his duffle by the handles and dumping it over the side onto the floor.

Concentrating upon the book once again, Dean flicks open the front cover, the first black outlined picture that of a dinosaur with a frill-thing and three horns that remind Dean of a Rhinoceros.

"Awesome," he enthuses loud enough to reach his kid's ears while he decides to begin with the royal blue marker amidst the pile.

Picking it up and removing the cover, he sets the tip to the page and starts to colour the dinosaur he has no doubts Sammy can easily name if he climbs his way out of his self-induced shell and join Dean sometime soon, just as Dean's hoping.

Glancing up a few minutes later, a corner of Dean's mouth quirks up in a half smile when Cas joins them in the bedroom, his partner taking a seat in the thick wooden rocking chair in the corner and engaging Dean in conversation.

They talk quietly; about anything that steers them clear of the subject of Rowena or spells. No matter how much Dean is now itching to discuss their next move in the hunt. But he's staved off for the past four days while Sammy's been sick, so he can stay his need a few hours longer until Sammy's in bed.

And in the morning he'll fill his kid in when these emotions are not as strongly slamming through Sam.

#

Despite his confusion, Sam's curiosity is definitely peeked at the sight of the markers Dean withdraws from his duffle. A colourful box housing markers Sam knows are brand new. He knows because it's been a while since his were replenished, having barely three that still work. And nor do they still reside within their original packaging because Sam long since trod on it and rendered it unusable.

And Sam can't stop his curiosity growing stronger with each minute he watches his big brother colouring. A building itch to get a look inside the colouring book at whatever dinosaur Dean thinks of as 'awesome' and all the other amazing dinosaurs. And it's taking every ounce of restraint he has not to bounce up and down on his bottom like an overexcited little boy.

Because the question still lingers whether Dean's bought both a kid's colouring book and new markers for himself… or for Sam? Because Sam definitely wouldn't begrudge his big brother for once buying something for himself outside of the everyday essentials of food and clothing or hunting essentials of weapons and ammo. Dean deserves to treat himself; Sam just figured that treat would involve something more… adult-oriented.

But hey, maybe Dean has finally decided to venture into Sam's relaxation method and give it a try.

Maybe they can colour together.

And that thought sends Sam spiralling downwards into a place where all he wants to do is colour, colour, colour with Dean by his side. Whether colouring or drawing or just having his presence there watching over Sam as he use to do when Sam was much smaller.

#

Dean surreptitiously glances at his watch to take in the time. It has been fifteen minutes since he set marker to paper, and only now is the first stirring of movement coming from the other bed.

Even though Cas has helped in providing stimulating conversation, Dean has been doing his best not to let his own frustrations seep in as he colours this damn picture painstakingly slowly. His goal being to engage Sammy in an activity without shoving the child book down his kid's throat, while drawing him out of his shell at the same time. Not to colour anymore of Sammy's book than necessary. This thing is for his kid to enjoy and Dean has had to prevent himself from finishing it and having to move onto another while he awaits the reaction he's hoping for from Sammy.

And here it is. The movement from the other bed turning into sock-clad feet softly padding across carpet. Then he feels his own bed dip down on his left side as his kid seats himself on the mattress beside him, a knee brushing Dean's side.

Dean turns his head to glance up at Sammy and is momentarily and inwardly startled by the child staring back at him; hazel eyes filled with shyness and curiosity and looking so much younger than he's seen them in over two decades. Not even at the farmhouse or over the past few days when Sammy's been clingy in his sickness has Dean been a witness to that much of the child he knows still lives within his baby brother.

Deciding it best not to bring attention to it in case it snaps Sammy out of it, Dean returns his attention back to the dinosaur he's colouring, and his conversation with Cas.

Sammy shifts again only a minute later and Dean feels the weight settle on his back; the kid draping himself over Dean's left shoulder. While one side of Sammy's face comes to rest against the side of Dean's; their stubble brushing together and the sound of Sammy suckling that ever-present thumb echoing in Dean's ear. It's a familiar position. Sammy has never been shy about draping himself all over Dean. Or getting as close to Dean as possible. Simply because Sammy's done it since he was a baby.

Though not so much in the past decade or so.

A smile flitters across Dean's lips. Because it shouldn't be long now. "What colour d'you reckon should be the spots, Cas?" Dean inquires with a wink as he holds up the book to show the dinosaur he's partially coloured.

"That dinosaur looks like it has the pox, Dean. Should it honestly look like that?" Cas replies, his voice playfully mystified but remaining straight faced.

And not for the first time does Dean wonder if all those times Cas has shown his clueless side were genuine or whether Cas just enjoys being that ignorant to get a reaction out of him and Sammy. The way Dean often does with Sam when it comes to research.

"That's the joy of colouring, Cas," Dean responds. "Dinosaurs can look anyway they want. Or we want as the case may be. They don't have to be uniform to what the world expects. It's free expression. Ain't that right, Sammy?"

"Mm-hmm," Sammy hums around his thumb.

"Ah, I think I understand," Cas comments, glancing at Sam. "It's like cartoons. Colouring gives you the option to suspend reality for a time."

Dean smiles, silently thanking his partner for trying to engage Sammy in the activity in his own way. "Exactly, Cas." He glances beside him. "What colour do you reckon these here 'pox' should be, Monkey?"

Dean blinks at the nickname. He hasn't called Sam 'monkey' in years, and he's expecting one of Sam's bitch-face's to alight upon the kid's face, but Sammy doesn't react. Which means Sammy either isn't really paying attention, or he's not bothered by it. And honestly Dean's inclined to lean towards the latter because both he and Cas have been using epithets towards the kid for weeks now and Sammy hasn't once brought it up. And if Sammy did have an issue with it they surely would have heard about it by now. Very loud and clear.

"Yew'ow," the soft word is mumbled against his ear from around that thumb, drawing Dean back into the moment at hand. Sammy reaches out, tentatively plucking up the yellow marker and holding it out to Dean.

"Awesome colour. Thanks, Monkey," Dean responds, taking the marker in his right and starting in on the spots.

Sammy shifts beside him again, and he feels the kid lie down on his stomach before a head is nudging at the back of Dean's left arm, silently asking for access. Dean lifts his arm, Sammy immediately wriggling underneath it and Dean ruffles the kid's hair before letting his arm just sit across Sammy's shoulders. It isn't exactly comfortable for Dean, but he really doesn't give a shit. Everything – including his own comfort – can go fuck itself right now while he savours this moment with his baby brother.

Cas moves from the rocking chair and seats himself on the floor in front of Dean and Sam, half leaning on the end of the mattress and being careful not to topple the markers off the edge. Though he doesn't look particularly pleased with having his person planted on the faded grey motel carpet.

Tilting his head to the side as he peers down at the picture, Cas questions, "What form of dinosaur is that?"

"Triceratops," Sammy quietly, but clearly states after a moment. And Dean silently cheers the fact that the thumb has finally found its way out of his little boy's mouth, and that he knew Sammy could name the Rhino look-alike. He watches the kid trace the newly coloured dinosaur's outline with his finger. "They eat all their veggies," Sammy points out, "unlike Dean."

Cas chuckles.

Dean rolls his eyes. "I wasn't born to be no herbivore, Sammy. That's what we have you for. You gobble up enough veggies for the both of us."

"But maybe if you did, too, Dean, your tummy wouldn't be so squidgy," Sammy says, that light grin of childish mischievousness once again present as Dean splutters with indignation and Cas rolls backwards onto the floor in laughter.

"You cheeky little brat," Dean finally manages to protest.

And being fully aware of the greater strength he's retained after the spell, he proceeds to tickle his baby brother. Just like he used to do before life took a major toll on them and they stopped having these kind of moments.

Sammy lets out a loud giggle as he squirms beneath big brother's expert tickle fingers. Dean hasn't heard that happily pure Sammy sound in so long it almost brings him to a stop, tears prickling his eyes.

Almost.

He isn't some girl getting all emotional over a little laughter.

Instead he grins and attacks Sammy's sides, causing more of that happy sound to ignite from his brother as the kid squirms even more. Sammy managing to flip himself over onto his back only a moment later, which just gives Dean access to the kid's now bare stomach, his tee having ridden up.

"Should I be required to intervene?" Cas comments with amusement, and Dean laughs at the absurdity of the question being sprung amongst a tickle-fest.

"Yes!" Sammy squeals. "Cas, help! The tickle monster's att -," he stops halfway through to let out another peal of giggles, before he's able to finish his sentence, "- att-attacking me."

"Oh dear. How do we rid ourselves of this fearsome tickle monster, Sam?" Cas asked, faux concern in his tone which goes unnoticed by the giggling kid.

"We hav-have to tick-tickle until go-goes POOF!" Sam manages to get out through squirming and laughing.

"Really?" Cas remarks as he stands up, contemplative eyes on Dean.

"Oh no," Dean starts, lifting his hands from Sam to raise in front of himself in the universal sign of surrender, "don't even think about it."

Still giggling lightly, Sam pushes himself up onto his knees, grinning at Dean.

"Sam, I believe it is our duty to dispose of this dangerous tickle monster immediately," Cas smirks at Dean.

And as if that is the permission he needs, Sam whoops and dives at Dean, knocking him backwards onto the mattress. Cas joins them on the bed and between them they have Dean laughing within seconds.

"Okay, okay, okay! I give! You win! This tickle monster's all puffed out!" Dean yells out between his laughter several minutes later.

Sam sits back on his knees, grinning shyly, with a small sense of happiness written across his flushed cheeks. Cas follows suit, sitting just below his own pillow and chuckles softly as Dean drags himself up to lean against the headboard. He reaches out and pulls his baby brother forward to rest against his chest, all three of them taking a moment to bring their heavy breathing under control.

Sammy yawns only a moment later as he snuggles himself more against Dean, fingers latching onto Dean's shirt and curling inwards.

"Hey, I know your tired, Sammy, but don't drop off, okay," Dean tells him, placing a kiss to the top of the chestnut head. "You need to have your shower."

"Noooo," Sammy whines, shaking his head against Dean's front. "No shower. Don't want it. Want cuddles."

"I know, bud, but you'll be in and out. And you'll feel better for it. Cuddles will still be here." And seen as they seem to have done that chick-flick thing more in the past few weeks than they have in over a decade, Dean's pretty sure his brother will be incapable of letting it go. "C'mon, Monkey," Dean jostles his kid a little as Sammy's eyes droop. "I'm sure Cas can have some milk heated and ready for you when you get out." Dean glances at Cas to ask if he's agreeable to that suggestion.

Cas smiles, shifts and stands, brushing his hand down the back of Sam's hair before leaning over and placing a kiss to Sam's forehead. Drawing back slightly, he questions, "Would you like me to cut you up an apple or banana, too, Little One?"

Sammy stares up at Cas for a long moment, before slowly nodding and mumbling, "'Nana, please."

Knowing the agreement of the banana means agreement to the shower also, Dean dislodges himself from his kid and stands up on the bed, stepping over Sammy and dropping over the edge onto the floor. Sam stares up at him in surprise.

"No standing on the bed for you, Squirt," Dean instructs with a soft grin.

"I'd hit my head anyway," Sammy responds, rubbing an eye with his knuckles.

Dean stares up at the ceiling, placing a finger to his lips in contemplation and enjoys the giggle that comes from his kid again. "Nah, you'd have a good few inches of space," he comments while effortlessly scooping Sammy up and situating him on his hip. "No good for jumping though."

"You don't think so?" Sammy says sleepily, looking over Dean's shoulder as Dean carries him into the bathroom, and genuinely sounding intrigued by the idea. Kid used to love jumping on the beds when he was allowed to.

Dean shakes his head with a chuckle. "Not unless you want to put your head through the ceiling." He sets his kid down on his feet in the middle of the bathroom and adds, "Go potty if you need to, buddy," with a soft pat to his kids rump to get him moving in that direction.

"Wouldn't be too pleasant, De," Sammy shakes his head, stepping over to the toilet and lifting the lid. "Who knows what lives up there?"

"Well it ain't monsters that's for sure," Dean tells him, and makes no mention when Sammy pushes his jeans and boxers down his hips to his knees before turning around and taking a seat on the toilet.

Nor when the distinct odour of shit starts to permeate the bathroom. Which makes him wonder when that stink stopped bothering him, because Sammy's farts alone can be toxic, but… wait, when did Sammy stop complaining about Dean invading his privacy when he's taking a dump? And sure Dean helped the kid when he was sick, but Sammy was pretty out of it. So what's changed in the past couple days that Sam's comfortable with it now he's coherent?

Because he's pretty sure it isn't just because Sammy's tired.

Shaking his head, Dean will add it to his list of things to think about when he's less tired, and instead sets about getting the shower switched on and the temperature accurate. He glances over his shoulder briefly and has to do a quick twisting dive to prevent his kid from toppling straight off the toilet onto the floor. Sammy's eyes snap back open the second Dean grabs hold of him and pushes him back upright.

"Wish this tiredness would piss off already." Sammy mumbles, scrubbing at his eyes with the backs of his hands.

"Yeah, your fever hasn't helped with that. Nor did pushing your body the way you did the other morning. No jogging for a while, okay. Unless something's chasing you. Which it better not be."

"If somethings chasing me, you'll be chasing it, so I'll be fine," Sammy states matter-of-factly.

Dean has to swallow against a sudden dry throat at the trust and faith he sees shining in his baby brother's eyes. The trust and faith Sammy still has in him even after everything they've been through; everything Dean has put the kid through these past two years alone.

Then Sammy reaches up and pokes him in the stomach with a finger. "Squidgy."

Dean snorts, clears his throat. "Shut it." Sammy quirks a small and tired smile up at him, and Dean ruffles the kid's hair again with another clearing of his throat. "You done?" Sammy nods. Keeping one hand on his baby brother, Dean grabs some tissue with the other and hands it off, "Wipe your bottom." Dean rolls his eyes a second later after Sammy barely runs the tissue up his butt crack before tossing it in the toilet. "You gonna do that properly?"

Sammy sleepily pouts up at him, "I did."

Dean sighs, grabs more tissue, unceremoniously tips his kid forward and wipes his butt clean, before tossing the tissue. "Just because your butts going in the shower doesn't mean I'm washing poop off of it," he says, standing Sammy up and leaning him against the edge of the work surface surrounding the sink before flushing the toilet.

"It's not like you didn't just wipe me clean," Sammy grumbles, a slight pink tinge crossing his cheeks as he steps out of his sweats and boxer-briefs.

Dean snorts, washing his hands under the shower spray. "It's not like it's the first time, Sammy."

#SPN#

Dean's forehead drops onto Cas' heaving shoulder, breathing heavily as he comes down from shooting his load, cock still buried deep in Cas' ass. Dropping a kiss to Cas' shoulder a minute later, Dean pulls out and lays a swat on his partner's right ass cheek.

"Get washed up," he instructs, stepping back to give Cas room in the small bathtub.

"Yes sir," Cas shoots him a smirk over his shoulder and Dean groans, the bastard knowing exactly what he's doing as he expresses the title in a way that shoots straight to Dean's cock.

Unfortunately Dean is no longer a teenager, and while he has immense stamina, his dick no longer likes to function again that quickly.

Nor will it be an issue because there's a thud from the other room, and Dean is out of the tub, snatching his gun off the sink vanity and far from caring that he's butt naked wet as he races into the bedroom within seconds of hearing the noise. He knows Cas will remain in the bathroom as surprise backup if it becomes necessary.

However, Dean breathes a sigh of relief when no sign of threat presents itself and is instead faced with Sammy's penchant for rolling his butt off the available edges of a mattress instead.

"Cas, stand down. Sammy's fallen outta bed." He calls out. "Throw me a towel would ya?"

"Is he okay?" Cas queries as the towel hits Dean in the face a moment later.

"Looks it," Dean responds, wrapping the towel around his waist securely while Sammy slowly rolls over and blinks up at him from the floor space between the bathroom wall and Sam's bed.

"Hey, kiddo. You good?"

"I fall?" Sammy mumbles, scrubbing at an eye and scratching at his head.

"I'd go with spectacularly, yeah." Dean leans down and hauls his kid up, situating him back on the mattress. "Gonna have to get you some safety rails if you keep falling out like this."

"Only once," Sammy grumbles at him as he situates himself more comfortably.

"Nope. This was the sixth time in the past few weeks," Dean corrects as he rearranges the covers over the kid.

"Was not.

Dean refrains from rolling his eyes. "Did you have a bad dream?" Sam shakes his head and Dean sees the truth in his kid's eyes. "Alright, go on back to sleep, Monkey."

"Not gonna." Sammy tells him, quickly snatching up the tablet from the nightstand while pushing off the covers Dean only just placed over him.

Dean takes back the tablet. "It's bedtime, Sam. Not research time."

Sam glares up at him and folds his arms mutinously over his chest. "Not sleepy no more. I can do research. I haven't done any in days."

Dean glances at the red numbers of the clock on the nightstand. His kid has been asleep for barely fifty minutes after falling asleep earlier in his half-eaten bowl of banana slices Cas had readied for Sam after his shower. It had been both amusing and adorable – not that he would ever admit to that - when he pulled Sammy out of his bowl with a banana slice stuck to his nose. Dean just wishes he'd taken a picture to add to his collection.

"What does your watch say, Sammy?"

An eyebrow arch's on Sam's brow in confusion at the question, but he looks down at his watch and recites, "Ten fifty-seven," before looking back up at Dean. "Why?"

"And what time's your bedtime?"

A bitch-face to beat all replaces the frown. "I don't have a bedtime!" Sam snaps. "I'm a big boy. And you're a meanie."

So we're going with cranky. Good to know. "Alright, seen as you're such a big boy, Sammy, I'll give you half an hour."

Sam smiles up at him in victory and holds out his hands for the tablet. "Gimme."

"No, Sam. You're going to spend that half hour lying there doing nothing."

"What, but you… THAT'S NOT FAIR!"

Sam's yell brings Cas out of the bathroom, thankfully with clothes on and scrubbing a towel over his hair. "What happened?"

"De's being mean," Sammy is quick to pout at Cas before Dean can get a word in.

Dean shakes his head, because hell no is his kid going to do that, and levels the look at his baby brother while telling Cas, "Sammy doesn't want to go back to sleep and I told him he can have half an hour, but he doesn't seem too pleased with the offer."

"It is past your bedtime, Little One," Cas carefully points out. "Your brother has made a generous offer."

"You would side with him!" Sam snaps throwing himself over onto his stomach and silently dismissing them both.

Cas raises a surprised eyebrow at Dean, who sighs.

Again.

"Welcome to cranky Sammy, Cas."

"Not cranky!" Sam lets them know, though it's muffled by his face being buried in his pillow.

And… Dean needs a beer.

#SPN#

"Sammy, sleep."

Dean's voice sounds irritated to Sam's ears as the man sits on his and Cas' bed. His back rests against the headboard and a map of the US is spread open on his lap; a yellow highlighter in his hand as he maps out the few sightings of Rowena they've been made aware of by the hunter network since the call went out.

Cas is asleep beside Dean and Sam feels like telling his brother to fucking join his boyfriend in sleep. Because maybe then Sam won't have to listen to Dean sighing every five freaking seconds about Sam not being able to get to sleep again.

"I've been asleep loads already, Dean!" Sam snaps back. "I can't go to sleep just 'cause your grumpy and tell me to, or 'cause it's past my bedtime," he adds, thumping his fists against the lumpy mattress beneath him.

"Then what do you want, Sammy? You want another story? Some juice? You need to go potty again?"

"Don't want nothin'," Sam grumbles.

He kicks his legs against the sheet and blanket that are tucked in too tightly at his feet, cursing himself for not untucking them earlier before he climbed in. He absolutely hates his feet tucked in.

He stills as he hears Dean shoving the map off of his lap and standing from his own bed, and curls his arm tighter around the pillow tucked into his side. Dean can be unpredictable when he's irritated, but he only yanks on the end of Sam's sheets. They come out from between the mattress and the base a moment later and Sam's feet are free.

"There." Dean turns a stern stare on him. "Now. Go. To. Sleep."

Sam huffs, staring up at the ceiling while Dean returns to his place on his bed. He should thank his brother but he doesn't feel like being gracious right now.

#

Dean sighs heavily, losing his place in marking out Rowena sightings on the map for the twentieth-odd time only a few minutes later. He knows he shouldn't be irritated with the kid. Sam's been through a lot these past few days and maybe he's entitled to be cranky and out of sorts. But right now, all Dean wants is for Sammy to go back to sleep - proper sleep where he doesn't wake after only half an hour and get out of bed – so Dean can actually get in the shower he didn't have earlier. And with some semblance of relative peace. Then get to sleep himself.

Just five selfish minutes of quiet, that's all he's asking for.

Instead he has an overtired little boy on his hands. The flopping and fidgeting around, topped with the little whines – which Dean is pretty sure his kid isn't even aware he's doing – are all indications of that.

Because despite the amount of sleep Sam has been getting lately, the kid's body is still trying to crawl its way back from the stress and lack of sleep it was put through for all those months he was under the influence of addictive pain pills, and his big brother being a dick. And the fever has only thrown them back to the beginning.

It will be a good few months before Sam's body fully recovers from the toll placed upon it. And it is one of the main reasons why Dean is keeping Sam on the strict bedtime. Though it has become a little more difficult to maintain since they hit the road.

Dean needs to get on top of that.

Unfortunately now that Sammy's feet have been released from the confine of the blankets, it has freed his kid to kick his legs up and flop them back down on the mattress with irritating thuds. And the kid wonders how he manages to end up in odd sleeping positions or on the floor.

"Sam," Dean turns his head to stare down his brother, "turn over on your stomach, close your eyes and go to sleep," he instructs, knowing the kid always sleeps easier in that position.

Sam shakes his head vigorously, arms rising and flopping back down onto the mattress. "Don't wanna sleep on my tummy," he grumbles.

"Yeah, well, my patience is wearing thin, kid," Dean snaps, once again ditching the map off to the side between him and Cas.

Getting to his feet, Dean takes the steps needed to reach Sam's bed and grasps hold of the kid's arms, flipping Sam over so he's lying on his stomach. Sam whines, trying to fidget away from him, but Dean leans over and sets his hand down on the mattress to prevent Sam moving any further.

Sam huffs a moment later after giving up trying to push against a strong arm that isn't about to budge, and thankfully too tired for his brain to work out he can go around that arm easily enough.

His movement, however, has given Dean enough space to perch on the edge of the mattress. Placing a hand on the back of Sam's head, Dean scratches lightly at his kid's scalp and rubs his back with his other hand. The method usually takes thirty seconds to a minute to send the kid out like a light, but five minutes later, Sam is still fidgeting. Still whining. Sammy's stubborn, overtired brain resisting the usual tried and tested method.

Dean stares down at his kid, mind whirring. He hears movement from his own bed, and looks over to see Cas rising up onto an elbow and digging a heel of his hand into his eye as he stares over at them.

"Sam's still awake?" he questions in surprise.

"Yes." Dean's voice rings with his baby brother's, though Sam's is a grumpy whine as he manages to flip back over onto his back, while Dean's is filled with pure frustration.

Frustration that will see Dean losing his temper if he doesn't get Sam back to sleep soon. Something that will not help either one of them. He shakes his head, moving his eyes back to his brother when his peripheral vision picks up the rocking chair sitting at the foot of his and Cas' bed.

Directing his full gaze towards it, Dean narrows his eyes, taking it in while Cas rises from their bed muttering something about making tea. Glancing down at Sam again before looking back to the rocking chair, Dean nods his head determinedly. It has been a while since it was necessary, but his baby brother is being too stubborn for the usual method.

Standing, Dean pulls the top blanket off of Sam's bed and crosses to the rocking chair. Sitting down with his feet planted firmly on the floor he pushes off, the chair starting to rock back and forth as he tests its weight.

Satisfied it will be sturdy enough for what he intends, he arranges the blanket half over one shoulder, leaving the rest flowing down his body.

And waits.

#

Sam raises his head to stare at his brother, before he flops back down on the mattress and throws himself back over onto his stomach with a huff of breath.

He knows he's being a total shit, but he just can't seem to stop himself.

And he knows full well what Dean's doing.

But Sam isn't going to give in. No siree. He refuses to be rocked to sleep in his big brother's arms like some two-year-old. He's big now. And it has been years since Dean has held him like that.

Well, years, as in a couple.

But that time really doesn't count.

And nor is it ever spoken of because Sam had been pretty out of it from the sickness of the demon trails. His walls crumbled down to the point he'd been left little ability to resist, or shove his brother away when the man hauled him over to an old rocking chair in the bunker and bundled him up in a stupid blanket; strong arms wrapping around him.

He'd eventually melted into the hold, his aches and pains feeling as if they had temporarily dissolved out of existence. And instead of pushing Dean away like he'd been doing for months prior whenever Dean tried to look after him, Sam had allowed himself a moment to be taken care of. Allowed a moment of remembered comfort from his childhood before his stubborn independence reared its ugly head again.

And just as Sam's biting his bottom lip against those remembered feelings, his brother's voice rumbles over him. The sound so soothing and memorable from his childhood – only matured with age – that Sam feels treacherous tears prickle his eyes.

"I'm right here, Sammy," Dean repeats softly.

Sam grabs his pillow and yanks it over his head to hide from what's happening. Because a strong part of him wants Dean to force it as he did back then. To pick Sam up and take him to that rocking chair and secure him within the tight folds of the blanket and rock him no matter what Sam says or does. He wants Dean to take charge of him once more and take the option of fighting away from Sam.

But another part of Sam – his stubborn independent side – knows full well he will fight against that very action.

He is NOT going to let Dean rock him like a child anytime in the near or distant future.

He's not!

Except …

A while later his body and his brain are so far beyond tired now that Sam knows there's no way he's getting to sleep without assistance. And he wants to sleep. His body and mind both need it desperately.

And… and… and he wants Dean.

He sniffles, slipping a hand beneath the pillow and wiping over his now runny nose with the back of his hand, smearing snot across it.

Dean's tired.

Sam knows this.

There's bags under the man's eyes. His big brother needs to sleep, but Sam's also aware that Dean won't sleep until Sam's out for the count.

Fighting it like this isn't fair to his brother.

Or to Cas who has to put up with the both of them.

God, does he wish he wasn't so stubborn.

That the thought of willingly placing himself on Dean's lap, in his arms, to be comforted until he falls asleep isn't so mortifying to him. Because it shouldn't be. Dean would do anything for him.

Does do anything that's required for Sam.

And Sam's an ass most of the time, treating his brother with far less respect and kindness than the man deserves.

Fuck, he curses as his resolve crumbles.

He wants his big brother right now!

#

It really wouldn't surprise Dean if he were to find impressions of his fingers grooved into the wood of the rocking chairs arms when this is over as he's gripping them that tightly. The thought however doesn't see him releasing his hold. For that grip is the only thing stilling him from just picking up his kid and carrying Sammy back to the rocking chair whether Sammy wants it or not.

Despite Dean's heart, gut, chest, everything aching to hold his kid in his arms.

Because if he knows only one thing about his brother, it's that Sam needs to accept this himself so the kid doesn't walk that path of embarrassment upon waking in the morning. Unnecessary embarrassment at that. But knowing that doesn't make watching the desperate struggle within Sammy any less gut wrenching for Dean.

C'mon, baby, quit fighting it, Dean silently pleads with his kid.

Acceptance finally arrives in less time than Dean was expecting; Sammy pushing himself backwards, butt rising and pillow slipping off his head as he turns his face towards Dean. A face that is marred with redness from being squashed beneath the pillow and his crying; it's covered with snot, and big fat tears leak from the wide young eyes.

They spear Dean straight in the chest, his kid never knowing the true impact his tears have on him. And the spear is driven that much deeper as Dean's name spills forth in the strangled and sobbed cry that speaks ever so strongly of 'Fix it, Dean.'

He's on his feet - ensuring the blanket remains draped over his shoulder - and across the room in the space of time it takes Sammy to sit his butt on his heels and hold out his arms to Dean in a display of ultimate need and acquiescence. Dean hauls his kid up into his strong arms.

Sammy's legs wind around his waist as easily and instinctively as they had back at the farmhouse. Arms slip over his shoulders and he can feel fingers grip tightly at the back of his collar when the kid buries his face in Dean's neck and atop the fold of the blanket, his body shaking with the force of his tears.

"Shh, you're okay, baby boy," Dean says, levelling his voice quiet and soothing as he holds a hand to the back of Sam's head. "I gotcha, Sammy."

His eye catches Cas standing at the kitchenette as he crosses back towards the rocker; his partner holding up the carton of milk and Sammy's blue sippy-cup with one finger pointing at the microwave. Dean nods. It won't hurt to give it a try.

Reaching the rocker, he manoeuvres Sammy's legs from around his waist and to his right side so he can sit back down. He situates his brother more comfortably on his lap, ensuring his baby boy is lying down as much as possible in his arms and settles his kid's weight.

"Shhh, two seconds, buddy," Dean murmurs when Sammy's cries intensify upon Dean gently easing his kid's arms down from around his neck.

Grasping a corner of the blanket he proceeds to wrap Sammy up snug in the fabric with remembered ease, only Sammy's head and sock-clad feet remaining outside of the folds. Pushing his feet against the floor once again, Dean starts to rock them back and forth, softly humming Hey Jude while gently stroking one finger down the centre of Sam's forehead and over his kid's nose. Just as he used to do when his baby brother was much littler and Dean would rock him to sleep like this.

Just as Dean had watched their Mom do for Sammy.

Though both of them were considerably smaller and fit more easily in a rocking chair back then; Sammy more so. It still amazes Dean some days how the baby brother who had still barely progressed passed five feet as a fifteen year old could be such a giant today.

And considering how fiercely Sammy was fighting sleep, it takes little time before he is fully relaxed in Dean's arms. His cries dwindling off into hiccupping sniffles as he burrows closer to Dean's chest. Dean offers a gentle smile to the wet eyes staring up at him, before flickering his gaze upwards at Cas holding out Sammy's sippy-cup. He accepts it from his partner with quiet thanks, Cas' returning smile holding sadness as he gazes down at Sammy.

"He's okay," Dean tells him softly, eyes already dropping back down to his baby boy.

"I know," Cas replies just as quietly. "But I don't like seeing him so upset."

Nobody does, Dean thinks as he gives the sippy-cup a gentle shake. It can make you feel like you've kicked a puppy, even when the reason for Sammy's upset is not your fault; the sight of the kid's tears ripping your heart out like a fucking bitch. And if you're lucky you won't find tears of your own straying away from your control.

Dean shakes away those thoughts as a tired whine leaves his baby boy's mouth; Sammy wriggling in his arms as much as the swaddle allows. Dean doesn't draw attention to it by shushing his kid, just continues to rock, setting the cup to Sammy's mouth as he starts to hum once again. His baby boy's lips immediately seal around the soft spout without fuss and he draws it in; Dean feeling the pull against the hand fixed around the body of the sippy-cup as Sammy starts suckling.

It doesn't take long before the kid's eyes start to droop, the pull on the cup trailing off, only for Sammy's eyes to startle back open again a moment later to focus on Dean and start suckling once more. Still humming and rocking, Dean rests his head against the back of the rocking chair, face tilted downwards to watch his kid. And for the first time in days, he feels his own body truly start to relax …

His name being called by a low voice has Dean blinking open eyes he's unsure when he even closed. He groans, hand rising to the back of his neck and he rubs at the knot he feels there from having had his head at a cock-eyed angle. He raises his eyes to Cas now seated crossed-legged in the centre of their bed, laptop open in front of him and staring across at Dean with a soft smile.

"Huh?"

"You fell asleep."

"I did?" Dean questions surprised, swiping a hand across his face before looking down at Sammy still snuggled into his arms and now sound asleep.

The soft spout of the sippy-cup has been exchanged for the cartoon puppy pacifier Sam had given back to Dean yesterday. And he's pretty sure Sam didn't put that there himself despite accepting the sippy-cup. Dean returns his gaze to Cas who has risen from the bed and is walking around it to stand in front of them.

"Mm-hmm," Cas murmurs, leaning down and resting his hands upon the arms of the rocking chair, soft lips meeting the slightly chapped lips belonging to Dean before pulling back.

"How long?" Dean queries.

"About an hour," Cas responds with another kiss. "Is it weird if I say this looks right somehow?" he questions softly, gazing down at Sam before his eyes return to Dean's. "Sam cradled in your arms like he belongs there."

Dean's gaze strays down to his baby boy, and he smiles lightly. Because hell yeah, Sammy belongs where he is. And yeah, he guesses it might be weird from a stranger's standpoint - if they decided to be nosey fucking bastards like the asshole next door to the old room - to see a six-foot-four adult male swaddled in the arms of his big brother like a baby.

But since when has Dean ever given two fucks about what strangers think?

Let's see… oh, right.

Never.

"It's only as weird as you make it, Cas," Dean finally responds.

"Then I guess it isn't weird at all."

Dean smiles tiredly. "We should put him back to bed. Hopefully we'll all have a nightmare-free night."

"We can only hope." Cas releases his hold on the rocking chair and steps back so Dean can stand with his large bundle in his arms.

Crossing to the bed it looks as if Cas did more than browse Sammy's laptop in the past hour Dean was sleeping. Sam's bedcovers have been straightened back into order and three extra pillows now sit on the end of the bed. "Where'd you find those?"

"In the coffee table."

"Huh?" Dean blinks over at his partner amused.

Cas shoots him a grin. "Turns out it's actually a wooden chest the motel seems to be doubling as a coffee table. I found Sam an extra blanket as well."

"Awesome," Dean responds, laying Sammy down in the centre of the kid's bed and carefully unravels the blanket the kid is still swaddled in.

Cas' find has given them enough pillows to place two either side of Sammy, and Dean does just that; situating them secure enough that hopefully they'll at least offer some protection from Sammy falling out again. But also leaves the kid enough leeway to fidget. Pulling the sheet and then the blanket over his kid, he tucks it in while leaving the end free for Sammy's feet. He then waits until Cas has shaken out the other blanket and laid it over Sammy also, before Dean brushes a stray strand of hair from Sammy's face and leans down, placing a kiss to his baby boy's forehead.

Cas moves around the other side of the bed to also place a kiss to Sam's forehead, offering a soft "Sleep tight, Little One," as he pulls away. A yawn slips out as he straightens.

"Bed?" Dean suggests, raising his arms to the sky so he can stretch out his back.

"Bed." Cas agrees.

Stifling a yawn of his own behind a hand, Dean sets about following his nightly routine of locking up while Cas takes first turn in the bathroom. He first checks the motel door is fully locked and then does the same with the window. He also ensures the salt line on the windowsill is still intact – an added precaution Dean has taken to setting back up again – as well as the two protective sigils on the back of the door and window panes. They are drawn in the washable colour markers Sam isn't allowed to use for his colouring and which means they can easily be removed before they vacate the room.

It had been Sammy's idea several years back; his baby brother concerned they were practically leaving calling cards in the motel rooms they stay at for the cops, FBI or the smarter of the supernatural to follow. And as long as someone doesn't wet their finger and wipe at one of the sigils swirls before then, then they're all set and protected until they wash them off.

Cas is stripping down to his boxers and tee when he re-enters the bedroom, and Dean goes into the bathroom to take a leak and brush his teeth. A yawn forces its way out as he returns to the bedroom without switching off the bathroom light, and leaves the door cracked open to the bare minimum. Just enough for the small amount of light to be visible again for Sammy if he wakes during the night.

Though Dean really hopes Sammy will sleep through until morning without any more nightmares.

#SPN#

Sam sits in the centre of his bed with the pillows he had found upon waking ten minutes ago still seated slightly askew around him. No doubt from his fidgeting, but at least he hadn't ended up on the floor again. A not too unfamiliar situation and last night clearly proved he still can't manage to keep his fidgeting butt in a bed even when it's a queen.

He glances over to the bed holding his sleeping big brother and Cas, and prays they'll both remain asleep just a little while longer so he can set his plan into motion. One he'd started working on after their trip to the store in Nebraska six days ago and is only now being given the chance to execute.

Sam sighs softly and runs his hands through his hair. He had given in last night. He had stopped fighting the emotions raging through him and they had silently led him to the startling realisation while he was wrapped tight in his brothers arms that his heart and soul want it; the care, the love, the comfort.

All of it.

Just being looked after like he's a little kid again and having total faith and trust in his big brother's ability to keep him safe and always be there.

And Dean… He had felt his brother relax; the stress seeping away from the man's body as they both drifted into sleep; Sam having been able to give that to his big brother.

But that is all a pipe dream of the part of his soul belonging to the little boy he had allowed to rise spectacularly to the fore last night when he stopped fighting it.

A dream that cannot be fulfilled. It just isn't on the cards. It can't be.

For any of them.

They're hunters. And competent ones at that. They know their jobs. And they know their place in this world is saving people. Domestication just doesn't go hand in hand with the job description. No matter how much Sam's yearned for that normalcy in the past and still does to a silent degree.

But if Sam were a little kid, he wouldn't be a hunter anymore. Dean wouldn't allow it. Sam was seventeen before he was allowed on his first official hunt. Official, because he had been doing the research for years, but Dean had never before allowed him to take the next step into the world where safety rarely exists. His brother had instead, when the time came, been forced to accept it and hide his true feelings behind his snarky attitude.

But that's not something Sam need worry about. He's a grown man, not a child. And he needs to get back to looking after himself by not relying on his brother and Cas to do it for him.

And while Dean has shown such attentiveness, taken such care as he always has, and Cas has followed his lead, it isn't fair to either. To Dean, who has been forced to take care of Sam his entire life and shouldn't have to continue to do so for the duration of his life. To Cas, who is going through the struggles of being newly human again and working out how to be in a full time relationship with Dean Winchester.

Both men should be living their own lives, not having to deal with this; the looking after, the watching out for someone who's behaviour is spiking into irrational at best, and utterly crazy at worse.

Dean's already had to do that for him.

And Cas has too, to the degree of taking hallucinations of Lucifer into himself and freeing Sam from death; taking care of Sam in his own way.

And who's to say that what's currently happening to Sam won't start happening to Dean, to Cas, further down the line?

That's not something Sam can allow to happen.

It has to stop with him.

But to do that, he needs to get a grip on whatever it is inside of him that is reacting to Dean, and bury it so that he can function rationally without turning into a whiny baby every five minutes. He needs to stop sucking his thumb. He needs to ditch the sippy-cups. The colouring. The need to be held. And the pacifier he's holding within his fingers, that he woke up holding between his lips, will have to do a disappearing act. No matter the tightness currently growing within his chest at just the thought alone or the cartoon puppy's big eyes staring up at him forlornly.

Sam draws his eyes away, enclosing the pacifier within his fist.

It has to go.

Because he needs to fix this.

He needs to figure out what the hell he did with that spell once and for all – with or without finding the witch - and set it back to rights. Before things tumble so far down the rabbit hole that there is no going back for any of them.

But first he needs to find out if this town has a decent library.

Swiping his phone off the nightstand, Sam pushes the blankets away and climbs from the bed. He dresses quickly and quietly, slipping his feet into his brown leather slip-on boots. Leaning down to pull the hem of his left jean leg out of his boot he feels the object in his hand and stares down at the pacifier still in his hold.

He blinks open his eyes a moment later – at least he thinks it's only been a moment – to find himself suckling against the silicone nipple enclosed between his lips and his body slightly swaying from side to side. And it amazes him how such a small and simple thing can actually make him feel calm; all those parents out there pretty accurate in calling it a soother.

No, Sam grabs the ring and yanks the thing out of his mouth, feeling the immediate loss and doing his best to ignore it as he firmly reminds himself it has to go.

And to prove it to himself he hovers his hand over the trashcan sitting half underneath the nightstand fully intending to drop the pacifier within. Only Sam finds his hand rising almost against his will to set the pacifier down on the nightstand beside Dean's sleeping head instead – silently giving it back to the man once again.

To look after, a little voice in his mind assures, De-De will keep it safe.

Sam firmly shakes his head, stepping away from the nightstand. Dean can do whatever he wants with it. I'm a big boy. I don't need a paci no more. So shut up. Sam rolls his shoulders and tiptoes over to the rocking chair to snag his laptop from the seat. He tucks it under his arm and crosses into the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind him.

After quickly taking care of his morning needs and brushing his teeth, Sam picks his phone up from the small work surface beside the sink and unlocks it. Trying to access the internet only rewards him with a 'You are not connected to a network' message.

Entering the settings for his Wi-Fi he taps out the motel room number on the screen as the login box is requesting. And plants his jean-clad butt on the edge of the bathtub a second later, whispering, "You gotta be kidding me," in annoyed disbelief as he stares down at his phone now requiring a wealth of information out of him just to access the damn internet.

Including payment details. Because apparently: Room 119 has expended its 5 hours free Wi-Fi.

One simple message plunging Sam's world into the equivalent of a Wi-Fi dead zone. Unless he swipes Dean's credit card. Dammit. Why didn't I say yes to a credit card this go round? He sighs unhappily, raking a hand through his hair.

If Dean were awake right now, Sam would already have that card in his grasp with one simple request. However, having his brother awake is the exact opposite of what Sam wants; it would completely go against his plan in fact. Which only leaves the swiping of the card.

Except, going in his brother's wallet without permission and retrieving the card is the equivalent of Sam planting a target on his bottom in neon frigging pink. Because Dean will know. No matter if Sam gets the card out and put back before his brother wakes, Dean always freaking knows.

Grabbing his laptop off the closed potty seat, Sam opens it and is grateful it hasn't been shut down properly. Pressing the power button it immediately boots up into the access screen and he inputs his password. Only for the screen to tell him two seconds later that the password is incorrect.

Huh.

Maybe I input it incorrectly, he muses with a frown and retypes the password, only for the same thing to happen. And it's only as he's typing in the password for the third time that he twigs to what's happening and he lets out an irritated sigh.

Although… Sam's lips curve up into a half-smirk and with a few taps of fingers against keys he inputs 3819mVytw0 into the login box. The simple password immediately gains him access to his laptop.

He shakes his head with a small snort. Really Dean?

Sam's amusement at his brother's attempt to keep him out of the laptop – and probably his tablet too - slowly dies as he tries to access what he needs to in order to navigate his way around the stupid limitation on the Wi-Fi. He's getting blocked at every freaking turn and … no, he didn't!

Sam quickly opens the control panel and finds that, yes, Dean did, and Sam's currently in an account that has full parental controls on it and no administrative access.

Rolling his eyes, Sam easily slips through several backdoors to access the administrator window and inputs the password … only to be thwarted again.

Dammit.

With the way his brother behaves it is sometimes easy, even for Sam, to forget that Dean is a lot smarter then he wishes the rest of the world to know. And that includes working his way around a computer when Dean truly sets his mind to it. Changing the login password is child's play and Dean's changed it to something so stupidly simple for the exact purpose of telling Sam the administrative password is something he won't figure out in a million years.

Which means Dean probably just pressed a bunch of random keys.

Stupid idiot control-freak of a brother!

And without that access to the internet, Sam can't download a program to tell him what that administrative password is so that he can damn well change the thing to something Dean won't ever figure out.

"Guess it's time to go old school," he grumbles, shutting his laptop and rising to his feet.

He pushes his phone into his right front jean pocket as he crosses to the bathroom door. Opening it, he glances across the room to check Dean and Cas are still sleeping before he tiptoes out of the bathroom and through the bedroom into the living area.

Grabbing up his brown leather bag he slips the laptop inside as his eyes fall upon the Impala's keys sitting atop the table beneath the window to his right. A smirk flitters across his lips. Taking the car would be a nice little punishment for Dean changing the passwords. Plus it will get Sam from A to B a lot quicker than his legs.

However as he moves to pick them up he guiltily snatches his fingers away at the ruffle of bedcovers behind him. Quickly glancing over his shoulder to look through the opening into the bedroom, he sees Dean roll over onto his side, mumbling something under his breath but still clearly asleep.

Sam breathes a sigh of relief.

And keeping one eye on his brother and Cas, he moves to pick up the keys again only to have the feeling of naughtiness for what he's doing creep back in. Along with the memory of consequences that come with taking this car. Because as pissed as he might be towards Dean for the password changes, he'd really rather not face being punched by his brother again thank you very much.

Although, knowing Dean, the punishment for Sam in regards to that rule has probably now shifted into a spanking also.

Sam huffs and leaves the keys where they are. Instead, he grabs Dean's notebook off the table and opens it, tearing out the first blank page he comes across before quietly setting the notebook back down. He quickly scribbles out a note and situates it so it can easily be seen.

Picking up his wallet, he slips it into his back jeans pocket and grabs up his jacket from the back of a chair. Sliding his arms into the sleeves, he crosses the short distance to the motel door. And as his hand falls onto the doorknob, he again glances over his shoulder at Dean and Cas' sleeping forms, chewing on his bottom lip as indecision wages war inside him.

He knows he should at least wake Dean.

Except his brother will insist on accompanying Sam and that's the last thing he needs if he's going to find some answers. He still doesn't want his brother and Cas figuring out exactly what he's researching. At least not until what Sam thinks he's been seeing lately is clear in his own head. He needs to be able to do this alone.

And for that reason, Sam snaps his gaze away and shakes off his hesitancy.

Pulling the motel door open, Sam never notices the admittance of air taking into its grasp a vulnerable sheet of paper. It flutters across the table before its voyage comes to a halt; wavering against the chasm created by the straight edge of the metal table and the slightly curved back of the dining chair seated beneath the one window. The breeze releases its hold and gravity steps in; bringing that defenseless piece of paper's journey to an end upon the seat of the plastic chair tucked away neatly under the table as silence prevails with the closing of a door.