Chapter 18: Part One
Dean scrubs at an eye, glancing at his watch, the luminescent hands revealing it to be nearly five AM. He's managed to get in a good couple hours' of sleep, better than he's had in a while. Now, what the hell woke him up?
Sammy is sleeping peacefully beside him; his head pillowed on Dean's right arm, pacifier hanging from his lips and fingers curled loosely into Dean's black tee. Dean's gaze then drifts to Cas sitting up in bed and scrubbing hands over his face.
"Cas, you okay?"
"Knock on the door."
"Huh?"
A light knock on the guest room door clues Dean in. He slides his free hand beneath his pillow, withdrawing his gun and holds it beside his right thigh, the opposite side to which Sam lies. He curls his arm protectively around his kid, while Cas slides his angel blade from beneath his own pillow. There may be protective wards in and around the Jeffries' house and grounds, but there is no way either of them is going to take any chances.
Cas rises from the bed, crossing the room with his angel blade held behind his back. Pulling the door open, he is surprised by the giant of a man standing on the other side. A man that would undoubtedly make even Sam look diminutive in comparison if the two were to stand side by side.
"Stand down, Cas. We're good," Dean quietly instructs, carefully extracting himself from Sam to pull on the clothing he earlier discarded before climbing into bed.
Sliding his blade into the back waistband of his lounge pants, Cas actually has to take a step back to take the giant of a man in. And he now understands the size dimensions of the doors and ceilings within the Jeffries' house that he had seen on the way in. With salt and pepper beard, receding hair and a thick neck, the man has to be seven feet tall or more and early to late sixties. Hazel eyes leave Cas and find Dean as Dean joins them at the door.
"Sorry it's so damn early," the man observes with a rumbling voice, quieted for the hour, and an accent Cas is unable to place. "Kara says you need outta here a.s.a.p."
"Yeah. Thanks for coming back from L.A. earlier than you were planning, Tom." Dean holds out a hand to whom Cas can now only assume is Tom Jeffries, the very person they came here to see. "It's good to see ya again, man."
"It's been too damn long, lad," Tom responds, large hand almost dwarfing Dean's. "But I know you boys usually have ya plates full of crazy these days." Dean arcs an eyebrow, wondering how much of that crazy has filtered back to the Jeffries' over the years. Rae had clearly had an idea back at the clinic. "You must be Castiel. Tom Jeffries."
Cas nods, shaking the outstretched hand, taking in the strong grip and callouses. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"You too." Tom shifts his eyes back to Dean. "You up for heading out to the parlour?"
Up for it? Dean would say yes even if he wasn't. It's only the whole damn reason they're here, after all. He nods, grabbing his jacket from the back of the desk chair he slung it over earlier. "Cas, stay with Sammy. If he wakes, tell him I'll be back soon."
Cas nods, returning to the bed and sliding his angel blade back beneath his pillow, while the door snicks closed behind Dean. Sam shifts and whimpers in his sleep as if sensing Dean's loss from the room.
"Shh, little one, do not worry, he will be back soon," Cas soothes, climbing back into the bed and close to Sam, placing a finger to the boy's pacifier just as he has seen Dean do until Sam is once again sucking lazily in his sleep.
#
Dean scrubs his hands over his face to wake himself up a little more as he follows Tom across the yard. Though the cold morning air alone is doing a better job of waking him up. A minute later, they enter the detached double garage that houses Tom's wood shop on the ground floor and the home tattoo parlour in the upper floor loft. Dean climbs the stairs after the older man.
"Ya absolutely sure ya wanna do this, Dean?" Tom queries the moment Dean's closed the door behind them.
"It's definitely not blood magic?" Dean counters, for his own peace of mind.
He knows Tom's had time to delve into the information and the added protection it will offer. Dean sent it to the man months ago. Somewhere between Sammy bringing him back from demon-hood with a little slice of human blood, and that ghost ganking his Mark of Cain infused ass.
He had started in on the research after realising Sam still hadn't had his tattoo redone. Even though the kid had been tussling with demons in his hunt for a demonic Dean. Not the most sensible of ideas and Dean can only be grateful nothing worse came of it. And thankful Sammy's not as stupid as he can sometimes act; the kid having protection in the shape of the old talismans Bobby gave them years ago and which now reside on Sam's ankles.
Still, Dean hadn't been impressed.
But knowing how much the kid hates needles, Dean had tried to find a way to get around that issue. He hadn't wanted to push his brother into getting it done again. Especially when he was the one who ordered the burning of the original.
Needless to say, finding a way around marking Sam's skin again with a tattoo had been a complete bust. But it had brought him the information he'd found hidden amongst the Men of Letters numerous archives. A means of creating a greater protection within an anti-possession tattoo by way of familial blood.
And while Dean's done the research, looked into it in depth and is sure it's genuine, he trusts Tom Jeffries to tell him if the information is legit or absolute hokum.
Tom shakes his head while parking his ass on a wooden stool clearly made for his height. Tom's own work, more than likely. "I'd'a told you to take a hike long before now if there were blood magic involvement in this, laddie. It'll heighten the protection of the sigil, that's all. My concern is your blood's gonna be introduced to Sam's body …"
"I'm a donor match," Dean interrupts without going into detail.
Tom knows the life. He doesn't need to hear how many times Dean has had to give Sammy blood over the years. The kid seeming to always find some way of losing that life-giving fluid. Or more often than not it's the assholes who find numerous ways to hurt on Dean's kid.
Like asshole vampires wanting to take a meal on the road. Or the ghouls posing as their dead half-brother, Adam, and Adam's dead mother; the bastards' slicing Sam's arms open to bleed him dry. Dean having had to give Sam a rudimentary transfusion and stitch up the cuts and stab wounds in the middle of a shit-hole cabin. Fear of the kid potentially being locked away on suicide watch keeping him from taking Sam to a hospital.
It would especially not do to mention that revenge against John for killing the ghouls' father years prior was the motivation behind that incident. Tom had never been John Winchester's number one fan. Dean snorts silently. His dad seemed to have had that effect on near enough everyone he'd known.
But if Tom turns around right now and tells Dean this idea will have a detrimental impact on Sammy's health, even with Dean being a donor match, then the blood will get scrapped. Sammy will just have to have a regular anti-possession tattoo. Because Dean will not risk his kid like that.
A giant paw of a hand pats his shoulder far gentler than you would think a man of Tom's size capable of, and Dean unconsciously holds his breath while he awaits the older man's decision.
"A donor match is good enough for me, lad."
Dean steadily breaths out and nods gratefully.
He takes the sterilised knife Tom holds out to him and presses the blade's tip against his left hand, right at the edge of the palm. He ignores the sting as blood immediately rises. Setting the knife off to the side, Dean holds his hand over the sterilised vial Tom holds. And with the accuracy in number of drops required, both their concentration focuses fully on the slowly dripping substance.
Reaching the count of thirteen, Dean draws away, eyes meeting Tom's for verification.
"Thirteen," the man agrees.
Dean nods, grabbing out a bandana from his jacket pocket and binding it around his hand to stop the bleeding. "How long?"
"Good few hours."
Dean nods his head in acknowledgement, knowing beforehand that having to put the ink together in this way would take some time. "So, how's this gonna work?" He questions, curious as to how Tom will make the blood and ink gel together seamlessly.
"It works by way of you buggering off and leaving me alone to work, lad."
"Right." Dean probably should have seen that coming. "Gotcha."
"I'll text you when it's done." Tom throws him a smirk. "Now get some sleep, Dean. You look like shit."
Dean flips him the bird before making his way back down the stairs, chuckling at the sound of Tom's booming guffaw trailing behind him.
#
With several hours to kill and now too awake to go back to sleep, Dean decides to deal with the necessities. Namely their laundry. They won't have time to do it on the road in the coming weeks and Sam can't go hunting in nothing but Iron Man pj's.
Returning to the guest suite, Dean's pleased to see Sammy is still out for the count; sucking contentedly on his pacifier as he takes up the majority of the space on the side Cas is lying, the former-angel now all but hanging off the edge of the bed.
Snorting quietly in amusement, Dean kneels on the bed and shifts Sammy closer to the middle. The kid wriggles and lets out a soft whine as his hands rise to rub at his eyes, but thankfully he doesn't wake and settles back down easily. "Why didn't you just move him?"
"I didn't want to chance waking him," Cas responds gruffly, voice fogged with sleep as he shifts back fully onto the mattress. "Thank you," he adds as Dean crosses the room to silently dump out his and Sam's duffles on the unused sofa-bed, separating clean clothing from the dirty, with the light from the hall offering enough illumination in the darkened room. "What time is it?"
"Nearly half-five," Dean responds to Cas after a quick glance at his watch. "You got any dirty laundry?"
"The plastic bag in my pack," Cas responds, letting his head drop back onto his pillow. "You need to sleep more, Dean. These coming weeks will probably not allow for it."
"I'll get enough. Go back to sleep, Cas." Dean slips out the door after retrieving the plastic bag from Cas' backpack and stuffing it in Sam's duffle with the rest of the dirty laundry.
Needless to say, the dirty pile was larger than the clean.
Reaching the kitchen, Dean sets about mixing and warming a morning drink for Sammy, knowing that although the kid needs to sleep, it won't be much longer before he wakes. A usual habit when they're on the road, for both of them. Only the bunker now allows them the luxury of sleeping late. That is if they don't set alarms like Sammy has a tendency to do.
It is only a few minutes later when Kara joins him, dressed for the day and offering a tired smile. "Morning, Dean," she greets, crossing the kitchen to the coffee machine.
"Morning. Did I wake you?"
Kara shakes her head, pouring herself a coffee. "I didn't really get to sleep. Where's the baby?"
Dean sighs, stilling the wooden spoon he's stirring around the small pan sitting on the cooktop embedded into the kitchen island. "Look, Kara," his eyes find hers, as he returns to slowly stirring the pan's contents, "I appreciate you guys putting us up and Tom doing the tats… but I'm gonna tell you what I told Rae. I'll admit Sam has traits you no doubt see in the adult-babies and littles you have around this place, he is a young soul, but this, what's happening right now with my brother… there are extenuating circumstances."
Dean would love nothing more than to fool himself into believing Sam is just a Little; that the spell hasn't fucked with his baby brother's brain. He would love that. But he knows that would do them all a disservice; to just brush it under the rug with a potential answer, when there is far more going on here than just Sam's regressive behaviour. A regressive behaviour that doesn't follow any pattern Sawyer told him of when explaining age-play all those years ago. And from what he's found online since.
Sam doesn't drop down into a headspace. It's a constant shift. And if Sam was a Little, Dean knows the kid wouldn't allow himself to be openly little more than a few hours a week, if that. Especially if it was Dean caring for him. The kid too stuck on being a burden to his big brother. Which is so far from the truth, it's ridiculous Sam hasn't caught on yet.
Sure, they've had their moments of pissing each other off. They've done wrong by each other more than once. But the kid has never been a burden on Dean. He has no idea where that thought even came from. No, Dean corrects himself, he does have an idea where it stems from. But it raises too many conflicting emotions within him to take stock in present company.
"And these circumstances might be?"
Kara's question draws Dean from his thoughts. He shakes his head. "Not something I can discuss with you, Kara. But if those circumstances are drawing out little traits in Sam," he continues, "fair enough, I'll support him all the way because he's my kid. What I won't put up with is any of this being broadcast to Sam by an outside source." So, don't refer to Sam as a baby in front of the kid remains silent, but Dean can see the understanding seep into Kara's eyes.
She nods, message received. "But you can't keep it from him forever, Dean. Especially not here."
"I got no intention of hiding it from him, Kara."
"Will he accept it?"
"What goes on here, you mean?" Kara nods and Dean can see the hope for understanding in her eyes on Sam's part. "To a fault, probably," Dean replies truthfully. "After he's researched it. Sammy isn't judgemental." He shoves a spoonful of cereal into his mouth and chews, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "Outside of his big brother's bad table manners, that is," he smirks, cleaning the milk residue on his hand against his jeans.
Kara huffs a laugh. "So, where is Sam?"
Dean offers a small smile in thanks for her using Sam's name. "Still asleep. You mind if I commandeer your laundry room? Sam went through most of his clothes and mine when he was sick."
"Go right ahead," Kara responds, waving in the direction of the door across the kitchen that leads through to both the laundry room and mudroom. Leaning back against the kitchen counter behind her and closing her eyes, she savours her coffee. She would offer to do his laundry for him because Dean looks beat, but she had just received a sharp reminder not to overstep bounds with the Winchesters, especially Dean.
"Thanks. You and the mug wanna get a room?"
"Can it," she shoots him a grin, moving to sit at the breakfast bar. "Has that husband of mine been in yet or is he still out in the parlour?"
"The latter." Dean sets the heat beneath the pan to simmer, to keep the milk within warm without allowing it to boil again. "You got any tea?"
"Cabinet above the coffee machine. Thought you were a coffee man?"
"Oh, I am," Dean agrees, opening the door of the kitchen cabinet and pulling out the box of tea for Cas. He still doesn't understand the former-angel's affinity for the disgusting brew. It just tastes like cardboard to Dean, but whatever floats Cas' boat. And Sammy's.
Where that boy got a liking for milky tea is anyone's guess.
Kara stands again, crossing to the double fridge and opening both doors, perusing the contents. "What do you boys want for breakfast?"
"We're good with just some toast." Kara looks back at him disapprovingly, which only deepens further when Dean's stomach grumbles loudly. "Or not," Dean chuckles, feeling a faint blush across his cheeks, considering he's already consumed a large bowl of cereal.
"Breakfast burritos it is," Kara says, pulling out numerous items from the fridge and dumping them on the island. Overstepping bounds with the Winchesters doesn't include making sure they get a decent meal. "They're always a favourite. Chili peppers or sweet peppers?"
"Sweet peppers," Dean provides, knowing Sam doesn't handle spicy, even the slightest heat, as much as the kid likes to think he does. Dean – or Bobby – always had to separate out a bowl of very, very mild chili just for Sam before adding the rest of the spice to their own. And he's not sure if Cas even likes spicy, seen as they've yet to have any together. "But you don't need to go to any trouble on our account, Kara," Dean objects half-heartedly because Kara's breakfast burritos are the best he remembers ever having.
The objection earns him another disapproving scowl. Dean gives in with a shake of his head, taking one last bite of cereal before scooping up Sam's bag from where he dumped it on the kitchen table. Heading for the laundry room, he gets the clothing situated into appropriate piles before dumping it all into the twin machines and setting them to run.
Returning to the kitchen, he moves to help Kara dice and slice up some of the ingredients (bacon, eggs, potato, sweet peppers and cheese) for the breakfast burritos, but she waves him off. Rolling his eyes, he takes a seat at the table after grabbing a mug of coffee for himself and pouring a fresh cup for Kara.
Kara nods her thanks. "What time you boys planning on heading out? I'll make an extra batch to take with you."
Dean doesn't even bother mentioning it's not necessary. Kara will just do what she wants anyway when it comes to food. "Depends on when we can get the tats done. You need us outta here at a specific time?"
"No," Kara shakes her head. "You know you boys are welcome here for however long you want. I just know you can't stick around today with us old folks."
"You ain't old, Kara."
"You're sweet. And full of shit."
Dean quirks a half-smile. "We'll come back for a visit when things aren't so craptastic."
"I would hold you to that, Dean, but I know the life. It doesn't open a lot of opportunities for a vacation. And you boys seem to have had it a hell of a lot worse than most if rumours are to be believed." Kara levels a look at him, and Dean has a feeling some of those rumours are a little too close to home, to the truth.
"Yeah, I wouldn't put too much stock in those rumours. We ain't the best liked."
"Think you'd be surprised how many hunters out there actually respect you boys. Silently, of course. And those rumours… there is truth buried in the majority of them."
"There's always truth buried in rumours, Kara," Dean rises to take the pan of milk off the cooktop and shut off the heat. "It's the distortion of 'em from hunter to hunter that creates a problem."
"Guess it's handy to have some… what was it Bobby called them? Ah, yes, Winchester Gospels, to provide some truth then."
"Bobby," Dean curses the man. "If that old bastard weren't already dead, I'd kill him. Along with Chuck."
Kara can't help smiling sadly at the affectionate lilt in Dean's tone when he speaks of Bobby, even when the man is cussing out the deceased hunter. "Chuck?"
"The damn writer! Please tell me you haven't read those things," Dean almost pleads, remembering certain parts he would prefer Kara – or anyone – never read.
Kara shrugs, setting up a couple frying pans on her cooktop. "They made for an informative read. I mean, do you really have a birthmark the shape of a cactus on your left teste?"
"Kara!" Dean protests, though he is just as equally amused as he is mortified. He feels his cheeks heat, Kara one of the few women he knows who can embarrass him to the extent of Sammy-level blushing. For which she is obviously taking great enjoyment in.
"Aww, honey, I won't spread it around," she winks at him, laughing.
Grumbling under his breath about invasive prophets, and books some people just shouldn't read, Dean gives the milk a brisk stir, almost spilling it over the edge of the pan in his exuberance.
Pouring the milk into Sam's blue sippy cup a moment later, Dean's annoyance drifts away as he hears the familiar sleepy-shuffle of Sammy's sock-clad feet coming towards the kitchen. The kid's lone footsteps indicating Sam made his escape from the guest room without waking Cas.
"In here, Sammy," he calls, making his presence known to his searching kid.
#
Her mirth under control, Kara raises an eyebrow at Dean, before shifting her face into a smile when Sam (dressed in Iron Man pj's) enters the kitchen, eyes barely open and hair sticking up every which way. And while her hands skilfully continue to prepare for breakfast (hell she could probably do it in her sleep), she unobtrusively observes the Winchesters as Sam leans his tall frame over slightly so he can plant himself against Dean's right side.
And though it has been a few years since Kara has had the pleasure of having the Winchester boys in her home, or even seen them (save for the few photographs Bobby had shared of 'his' boys after one too many whiskeys), she is still surprised by how much Sam has actually grown since he was a teenager. The boy had looked as if he would be hard-pressed to reach Dean's shoulders, let alone surpass his big brother's height.
Yet here he stands. Several inches taller than Dean, but still clearly every inch the baby brother. And she offers a smile when Sam's eyes flicker towards her. The baby (Dean can't stop her using the terminology for the boy in her own head) fully aware of her presence. Made all the clearer as he buries his pink face in his brother's neck and tries to wrap himself around Dean. Clearly embarrassed at needing the comfort of his big brother in front of Kara, yet unable to stop himself from seeking it.
Dean's eyes roll for her benefit as he wraps an arm around Sam to draw the baby up onto his hip, gently bouncing the boy as he talks quietly, reassuringly, against his baby brother's ear. Dean obviously unaware that in this moment it is easy for her to see beyond the exasperated big brother exterior to the pure love he holds for Sam.
"Here," Kara steps in when she sees Dean struggling to figure out how he's going to carry two hot mugs, a sippy cup and Sam in one go.
She grabs out a couple adult to-go mugs with handles, pouring the tea into one, the coffee into the other and snapping on the lids. It will also keep the liquid warmer if Castiel is still asleep. Returning to the brothers, Dean has obviously managed to get Sam to hold his sippy cup. The boy holding it close to his chest with his good hand, his face still turned away from her.
Dean nods his thanks as he takes one cup into the hand attached to the arm around Sam's waist and the second cup into the other. She doesn't bother to question his strength. Hunters work out. They have to if they want to stay alive. And her son, Mason, with the strength in his upper arms, would undoubtedly be able to lift Sam for a time, too. It helps, of course, that Sam is clinging to his big brother like a limpet.
#
Returning to the guest suite, Dean quietly enters with his kid. Setting down the beverages in his hold, he spares a glance at his sleeping partner while retrieving the sippy cup from Sammy, sitting it beside the others. Cas' mouth is hanging open, hissed snores escaping him, along with the drool.
"D'you think he knows he sounds like a kitten when he snores?" Sammy says, staring at him in all seriousness but all Dean can do is snort in amusement. He's been trying to place what Cas' snoring sounds like for months now, and Sammy just hit the nail on the head.
A freaking kitten.
He chuckles.
"Do you?" Sam continues with a pat on his shoulder. "Think he knows?"
"You know you sound like a baby dinosaur when you snore?" Dean counters.
"Do not," Sam pouts in denial. "I sounds like a huge dinosaur," the kid spreads his arms wide to prove how big a dinosaur he sounds like. "Huge, De-De. As big as a skyscraper."
Dean laughs quietly. "That right, huh?"
Sammy nods. "Cause I's as big as a dinosaur. A velociraptor." The kid makes a claw with his hand and hisses at Dean, before giggling. "And you sounds like a growly lion when you sleeping."
Dean fakes a gasp. "I am positively offended, young man."
"You can't be offended by the truth, silly."
"Oh really?" Dean pokes his kid in the tummy a couple times, causing the kid to squirm and giggle. They both hush as Cas shifts on the bed and Dean moves them off, carrying his kid through to the private bathroom, grumbling, "I guess it's better than being likened to a kitten."
"De-De?"
"Yeah, buddy?"
"If yous a lion and Cas a kitten, does that mean he's always the girl in your relationship?"
Dean's eyes go wide. Because seriously? It's too early to get into a conversation with his little boy about guy-on-guy sex. Scratch that, it's too early ever to discuss it with his baby. But he knows he's going to have to give Sam something, otherwise, the kid will never let the subject drop.
"Cas is very much a guy, Sammy."
"What that mean?"
"Err … so, you sleep okay, buddy?" Beautiful deflection, Dean, keep it going. "No nightmares?"
Sam huffs at not having his question answered, but allows the change in topic. "Think I was dreaming," he says with faint recollection, fingers fiddling with a button on Dean's shirt. "Maybe moving into nightmare territory, but then it kinda fizzled and-and… I think I sensed Cas was near. But I couldn't feel you. That's what woked me up. Wanted De-De. I gots scared and my skin felt all tingly and itchy until I was with you."
Well, that's a nice dose of guilt for the morning, Dean thinks. It's the third time in recent weeks Dean's sixth-sense hasn't alerted him to his kid having a nightmare, or potential nightmare. "I shoulda been there when you woke up," he says by way of apology as he sets Sam down on the toilet.
"S'okay. Wasn't a nightmare. 'Sides, you can't be everywhere."
"Can try."
"Even if you could use 'em, your powers aren't that extraordinary," Sam remarks before sticking his pacifier in his mouth.
Dean blinks, realising the kid had been holding it in the curled fingers of his casted arm this whole time. "That right, huh?"
Sam nods, then yawns, his pacifier tumbling free and Dean easily catches it. Sammy claps as if it is the most remarkable feat he has ever witnessed, then mumbles "owie" with a glare at his casted arm, which the kid holds to his chest as he pouts up at Dean.
"You're okay," Dean soothes, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I'll give you some medicine once we've got you washed up. You want a shower or just a quick wash?"
"Wash. Got no cover for this," Sam gestures at his cast.
"That's a good point. Remind me to grab some."
"Okay, De-De."
Dean offers a smile, even as his heart constricts whenever Sam calls him 'De-De'. Because the way his little boy says it, makes it sound so much like 'daddy' that it is a painful reminder of a time when Sam did call Dean by that moniker. When the boy had this weird belief that Dean was his daddy and not John. 'De-De' became a way to hide that fact from John the times the man was around. Because Sammy was adamant his truth of their world was accurate.
"Sammy… you know John's your daddy, right?"
Sammy tilts his head to the side to look up at Dean. "What make him Sammy daddy?" he questions with all the seriousness, confusion and the curiosity of the child he is.
Dean opens his mouth to answer, but no sound comes out. He slowly deflates as each answer he comes up with that might satisfy his baby brother gets dumped by the wayside of his mind. Because where they stand at the moment, the only thing making John Sam's father is blood.
And as Uncle Bobby once told them when Sammy curiously asked why Bobby is their uncle, "family don't end with blood, squirt."
Doesn't start there either.
Dean has long since stopped holding Sammy out for their dad to hold on his return from a long - or short - hunt. Or hinting at John that the kid needs a bottle or a diaper change or one on one playtime with their father. There was only so many times John could reject doing any of that for Sammy before Dean got a clue. Now he just doesn't even try.
It isn't fair to Sammy.
And Dean won't stand for anything hurting his kid, not even their father.
The feel of tiny hands squishing his cheeks together draws him out of his thoughts to the baby face of his little brother in front of his own, their noses practically touching. "No be sad, Daddy. You gotsa Sammy. An' Sammy gotsa De-De-Daddy. 'Kay?"
"You and me," Dean swallows back the sharpness stinging his throat, "we're a team, right, Sammy?"
Sammy nods his head vigorously up and down. "Abo… apsoo… yep-yep."
Dean shakes away the sudden burst of memory, trying not to think about how much he misses being called daddy by his little boy. Because it's stupid. After all, he's gone twenty years without hearing that moniker slip from Sam's mouth. He can't even remember how or why that conversation between them came about. He only knows that he had wanted to reassure Sammy that John was his dad, too. But Sammy's stubborn nature had been unwilling to budge. The hardest part of it was their dad didn't seem to notice that Sam saw Dean that way and not John. At least, not until the kid reached a respectable age to hunt and then the man had demanded Sam's total obedience to him.
Of course, John and Dean's version of a respectable age for Sammy to be more intricately involved with the hunt outside of the research had also differed hugely. Unfortunately, Dean had also been 'daddy's little soldier' and when it reached the point of little choice, he couldn't argue and Sam was thrust in at the deep end. Literally. The kid's first hunt a water wraith that preyed on teens. Yeah. Not only was Sam on the hunt, he was the fucking bait. Dean failing to recognise John's true intentions for that hunt until it was too late. Until his kid had nearly drowned.
Dean startles as he feels water splash against his face. He blinks, scrubbing a hand down his wet face. He surveys his surroundings, quickly realising he had been so lost in thought, he walked through getting everything ready for Sammy's wash on autopilot.
"You splashing me, kiddo?" he again pokes his kid in the tummy a couple times, Sammy giggling and splashing him again from the water-filled sink. Thankfully, the casted arm looks to have remained dry. "Alright, baby. Enough. Time for washing."
Sammy tilts his head to the side fractionally, so much like his younger self from Dean's memory, that it kind of hurts, just a little. "Where'd you go?" the kid asks, dunking his hand into the water again to draw out the washcloth to give to Dean.
"Nowhere, buddy," Dean offers a smile he's sure Sam doesn't believe, as he takes the cloth and runs the kid through a quick wash. He feels the kid's assessing eyes on him the entire time, but Sam doesn't say anything more until Dean starts drying him off.
"You sure, De? You're not smelling toast?"
Dean shakes his head, getting the kid into some fresh briefs. "No, Sammy."
"Okay. Um, we forgot the rest of my clothes."
"We're gonna have to put you back in your pj's until the laundry's done."
Sam shrugs, unconcerned. "I likes them. They're comfy. You like my jammies, De?"
"I think they're awesome, bud. Cas made a good choice, huh?" Sam nods his agreement. "Alright," Dean drapes the used towel over the heated towel rack once Sam is fully dressed. "You ready for some milk?"
"I loves milk!"
Dean huffs a laugh. "Shh, Monkey, little quieter."
#
When Sam had proclaimed his love of milk, he hadn't envisioned being fed from a sippy cup like a big baby. Although, he admittedly hadn't put up a great deal of a fight. Actually, he didn't put up any fight, much to his chagrin. He had just let Dean manoeuvre him into position for feeding after tying a cloth napkin (that Sam is pretty sure is one Dean stole from the motel in Redfern Grove) around his neck as a stupid bib.
So, here he is, tucked safely into his big brother's arms, his eyes closed as he loosely holds onto Dean's wrist as he suckles his warm milk from his cuppy, Dean holding the cup for him. And, honestly, Sam's intention had been to take just a couple mouthfuls after being given his medicine and ear-drops, but then he had tasted the vanilla and banana mixed with the milk and he was gone.
Though he did shoot a glare up at his brother over his cuppy, the man giving him a soft smirk in return. Dean knowing full well that flavour combination is Sam's favourite.
His thumb absently brushing against Dean's hand, Sam frowns when he brushes something that feels like fabric rather than skin. And he knows what that fabric is.
One of his brother's bandanas.
But the only reason it would be wound around Dean's hand is if he was injured. Sam hadn't seen any injuries earlier.
He opens his eyes and reaches up, patting Dean's cheek lightly to draw his brother's attention away from the text message he's answering. He squirms and Dean pulls the cuppy away, sitting him upright, the man's large hand briskly rubbing and patting down Sam's back. Sam opens his mouth to ask Dean about the bandana, but he instead involuntarily lets out a burp. A small residue of milk escapes his throat into his mouth and Sam cannot help but spit it out.
Because… yucky.
"There you go. Good boy," Dean praises, using Sam's makeshift bib to wipe away the mess now running down Sam's chin.
Dean moves to tip him back to feed him again and Sam grabs hold of Dean's hand, remembering he got his brother's attention for a reason. A reason that didn't involve Sam being burped like a frigging baby.
"Booboo?"
"It's just a small cut, Tiger," Dean assures. He had removed the bandana earlier after it stopped bleeding, not wanting Sammy to worry. But the small cut had split open and started bleeding when he was washing the kid. He had had little choice but to replace the thing.
Sam frowns, pursing his lips. "Why d'you have bandana if only a small cut?"
"Cause it was bleeding."
"Needs stitches?"
"No. No stitches, Sammy. It's tiny. I promise."
Sam huffs and turns his head away, pulling away from his brother's hold as he stands.
"Where you going?"
"To get a band-aid for booboo," Sam states in that tone that says he would have thought that was more than obvious.
"Not needed, Sammy," Dean counters, but Sam ignores him.
Seconds later, Sam nudges the med-kit over to Dean with his feet. "'M not technically touching it," he says, wiggling his fingers to prove his point.
"Pretty sure I said you're not allowed anywhere near it, save for an emergency," Dean corrects as he unzips the bag.
Sam shrugs, "Semantics." He drops down to his knees in front of the bag. "We need band-aid's."
"We really don't," Dean contests, but still digs around for the baggie of band-aids he knows is in there somewhere. He sticks his tongue out at his brother when the kid bitch-face's him, happy to hear the giggle it produces.
A huff leaves the kid half a minute later when Dean still hasn't found the stupid bag. "They're not that hard to find, Dean."
"Well where are they then?" Dean questions exasperatedly, swapping out the thumb Sam's stuck in his mouth for a pacifier.
Sam points to the outer front pocket and Dean remembers stuffing the bag in there the last time they had need of it. He rolls his eyes, yanking the zip open and of course, there it is. Pulling the bag out, Sam dives his hand in as much as he can when Dean holds it open for the kid. He allows it because they are freaking band-aids. The only harm they can do to his kid is getting stuck to his skin and maybe yank out a few hairs.
Sam bounces on his knees as he proudly displays the band-aid he pulls from the bag, while Dean refrains from groaning at the sight of the animal-print adorning it through the clear wrapping. Bought when band-aids were required and the gas station they pulled into only offered kid variations.
Suitable for Sammy, not so much Dean.
Not that Sammy's currently caring about age-appropriate band-aids as he crawls up onto the bed and gives the thing to Cas. After shaking Cas awake, that is. Dean could have intervened on the former-angel's behalf, of course, but it's time for his partner to get his ass up anyway.
"Little one? What's wrong?" The newly awoken former-angel scrubs at an eye with the heel of his hand, staring at Sam to Dean in confusion, before looking back to Sam, who spits his pacifier out onto Cas' chest and supplies, "Dean's got a booboo. You need to fix it, 'kay?"
Cas' gaze snaps straight to Dean. "You're hurt?" He demands, immediately wide awake and out of the bed within a second.
Dean rolls his eyes, wrapping an arm around Sam when the kid runs to him and sits back on his lap. "It's nothing. The tiniest cut going, Cas. Not even worth a band-aid," he complains, only to hold his hand out to his partner at his baby brother's withering gaze.
Cas refrains from smiling as he patches up the admittedly minuscule cut. To their little boy, however, any cut on his big brother is clearly a big deal.
"Is it really owie, De-De? How you get it?" Sam asks quietly, worriedly, leaning back against his brother's shoulder, his thumb finding his mouth again.
"Nah, no owie," Dean presses a kiss to the side of Sam's head while pulling the kid's thumb from his mouth. "As to how I got it," he adds before Sammy can make a fuss about his extracted thumb, "there are some papers in the front pocket of your messenger bag. Go get 'em," Dean instructs.
Sam bounces off his lap and runs to the armchair the bag is sitting on, Cas staring at him in bemusement. "Entirely too much energy," he grumbles through a yawn, slicing a hand roughly across his face.
Dean watches the kid retrieve the plastic sleeve he stored the papers in; the information regarding the added protection of the anti-possession tattoo. He knows this energy Sam has this morning won't last. The kid is still exhausted. Now more so for having been put under anaesthesia yesterday. But Sam has spent the majority of his life pushing through exhaustion and injury, even when his insides were practically being held together by threads. There's no way the kid will let it get the best of him. All Dean and Cas can do is make sure Sammy gets the rest he needs.
Dean quirks a half-smile as Sammy snags his pacifier from the bedsheets on the way past, sticking it in his mouth. The boy returns to him and he accepts the kid back onto his lap; seemingly Sammy's favourite place today. Not that Dean minds. And with his hand now back in his own possession, the animal-print band-aid sitting prominently on the edge of his palm, Dean retrieves the papers from within the sleeve and holds them in front of Sam.
"Go on. Have a read." The kid's concentration shifts from inspecting Dean's band-aid, straight onto the printouts. Leaving Sam to it, Dean looks to Cas, gesturing at the second to-go cup sitting on the table. "Your tea's cold."
"You made me tea?"
"Don't act so surprised. Just 'cause I hate the stuff, doesn't mean I'm not generous enough to make it for ya."
Cas smiles, taking a seat and testing the heat of his tea with a tentative sip. "It's warm enough." Rising slightly, he leans across the table to give Dean a morning kiss. "Thank you."
"Whatever. I still think you're weird."
"Says the nine AM beer drinker."
"Shut up."
It is not long before Dean's speed-reader brother raises his head from the printouts, passing them off to Cas when the former-angel holds out a hand for them.
"So that's why you got a booboo," the kid states knowingly after removing his pacifier. Dean nods. "You really wanna do that?"
"Tom's mixing it up as we speak. And on this… the decision is yours, Sammy. We'll use the ink with my blood or we'll use regular ink. Either way, you're getting the tat done."
"No passing 'Go' without that gift, huh?"
"No leaving here without that 'gift'."
"Cause that decision's not mine anymore?"
"Answer to that hasn't changed between yesterday and today, Sammy."
Sam sighs. He knows as much as Dean does that the protection tattoo is necessary. But the closer they get to zero hour, when needles will be introduced to his skin continuously for however long it takes to complete the tattoo, the warier he becomes. "Any risk factors?" he questions.
"You think I'd even bring this up to you if there was any risk involved, kiddo?"
"No. But we're talking about mixing blood with sigils. There's power there. So, are we sure it's not blood magic?"
"I'm sure, Sammy."
"Okay then."
"Okay?"
"Okay."
"Which one are we okaying, Sammy?"
"The former." The kid gestures at the pages in Cas' hands. "If you trust it, then so do I. But you should've woken me up so we could go to Tom together, Dean. So, he could mix up your ink."
"Whoa. No, Sammy. I'm not getting my tat re-touched. At least not today," Dean is quick to add when his kid's face falls, knowing exactly what Sam is thinking. "We're here only to get yours done. And Cas'. Mine will hold up for a long time yet."
"How do we know you becoming a Knight of Hell didn't cancel out its protection in you?"
Damn it's annoying when Sammy makes such valid points, but … "Having demon blood in your system never cancelled out yours. We can only assume …"
"Exactly. Assume. You've been so gung-ho about getting me re-inked, you haven't even thought about the fact you may no longer be protected from the very same thing, Dean."
"We don't know applying fresh ink won't cancel it out either, Sammy," Dean declares, before turning to his partner. "Cas, how long is it gonna take you to read that damn thing?"
Cas raises his head to frown at him. "We are talking about introducing your blood into our child's–"
"Not a child," Sam interjects and is ignored.
"–system by way of a protection sigil, Dean, so excuse me if I am being thorough in reading about it."
"Alright, Papa bear. No need to lose your shit."
"Dean," Cas scolds, eyes flickering towards Sam.
"Right. Sorry. No 'shitting' in front of the kid."
Sam snickers.
Cas glowers.
Dean smirks and wiggles his eyebrows at his partner. Cas breaks, a small smile lighting his features as he shakes his head. Dean nudges Sam in the side. "Go get my wallet."
"I'm not a puppy to play fetch with," Sam huffs.
"No? You sure? Cause them eyes say differently," Dean pokes the kid in the ribs teasingly.
Sammy giggles and squirms, pushing at Dean's hands. "Stop it. I'll get your stupid wallet."
"Awesome."
Sam rolls his eyes but does as asked, returning a moment later to Dean's lap, wallet in hand. Dean takes it with a nod of thanks. Sam yawns, picking up his cuppy and putting the soft spout in his mouth while leaning back against Dean, as Dean opens his wallet and withdraws some bills.
He holds them out to Sam.
Sam doesn't take them. Just looks confused down at the ten dollar bills and one dollar bills that make up his forty dollar allowance. He removes his cuppy. "That's meant to be going towards the broken 'mometers."
"Nope. I'm not gonna take your money, Sammy. Not when I knew the thermometers were gonna crap out before I even tested 'em."
Seeing the stubborn set to his brother's jaw, Sam sighs. People who think Sam is the stubborn one clearly haven't met his immovable brother when Dean brings out the stubborn. "Fine then," Sam takes the money and starts counting out the bills into two separate piles on the table.
Three ten dollar bills and five one dollar in one pile. The remaining five one dollar bills in the other. Sam then plants a hand over the thirty-five dollars and slides it across the table towards Cas.
It takes a moment for Cas to understand Sam's intention, but then it hits and he sits up straighter. "Oh, no, little one. I cannot take that."
Sam pushes the money further across the table towards the former-angel. "It's my allowance. I get to decide what I want to do with it. And I want you to have it."
"Sam …"
"Look, Cas, the only reason I even accepted an allowance is 'cause Dean wouldn't shut up about it," he shoots his brother an apologetic look over his shoulder. Dean shrugs, he can't be mad over something he already knew. "It's not like I need it anyway, cause Dean always pays for everything. Even when I try to."
"I'd've let you pay for crap if you'd taken more than a forty buck a week allowance, Sam."
Sam snorts. "No, you wouldn't. You'd have still told me I didn't get enough a week to be paying for anything." The expression on Dean's face clearly says Sam's speaking the truth of it.
A truth Sam is more than aware of. Because after Stanford, when they were back on the road together, Sam knows his level of independence had been a shock to Dean's big brother mentality. No matter how good Dean was at hiding it, once Sam had mostly climbed out of his grief, it had been easy to recognise.
And while neither of them seemed to be able to go back to the closeness they had shared before Sam went off to college, they had always been tactile with each other. Sitting on Dean's lap and the hugs and comfort they shared, which was so easy and commonplace before (when no one else was around, save maybe Uncle Bobby), became the brushing of shoulders, or knees touching when they sat on a couch or bench or whatever, just a way of silently saying 'I'm right here'.
The one thing Sam had, however, quickly learnt to just allow, was Dean paying for things. Dean earned the money (albeit by hustling or credit card scams back then) and there was this devastation in his big brother's eyes whenever Sam would pay for their food, or gas, or a room. As if Dean thought it somehow lessened his position in Sam's life.
Sam had undoubtedly made that thinking worse. Because Sam had rarely let Dean do anything else big brotherly (unless it involved saving his butt and patching up his booboos). Going as far as to contradict Dean when he would remind Sam he was the big brother and he was in charge; Sam unable to let it go because he was Mr Independent and they were equals.
It was ludicrous just how contented Dean had been when Sam had turned around one day at a diner with his hand open. Dean had taken one look at the couple dollars (not enough to pay their check) that Sam had purposely only pulled out of his pocket, a further thirty remaining within, and had waved Sam off with an "I got this, Sammy".
It had escalated from there with Dean paying for everything, just as he had when they were younger. And though Sam had felt as though he hadn't been pulling his weight, and as embarrassing as it was to ask his big brother for cash or a credit card when Sam had a rare date, it made Sam absurdly happy to know Dean was happy doing that one small big brotherly duty.
Sam knows that is not normal behaviour for brothers. Kids, along with big and little brothers, grow into adults and pay their own way in the world. But he and Dean… they're not normal brothers. At least not in the way they were raised. Because Sam's big brother had basically raised himself, while also having to be a parent to Sam. Small shoulders taking up a heavy mantle that adults often collapse under the weight of.
And Cas having a share in the money is a minuscule concern in the grand scheme. But Sam knows Dean has been worrying about how to split the weekly budget of the allowance account for a while now. The least Sam can do is take the weight of that from Dean's shoulders for the time being.
Sam pushes the money further across the table. "Take the money, Cas. Please."
Cas looks to Dean, who silently nods his accord with Sam, and Cas reaches out, finally retrieving the money from the table. "Thank you, Sam."
Sam nods, scrubbing at an eye as he rests back against Dean. "'Sides, we're gonna rework the books to get you an allowance that's all your own, Cas. Then we won't have to worry you don't have any money."
Dean sighs softly. Any cash flow issues they have are not Sammy's concern or responsibility. And he wants to tell his kid that, but he knows that would be a waste of breath. Sam will worry anyway. Handing over the majority of his allowance is proof enough of that. As is the look in Sam's eyes right now, telling Dean to remove him completely from the equation for allowance. Dean shakes his head minutely. He still can't do that. Just as he couldn't when he figured out the weekly rates. When the kid told him, he didn't want anything if Dean wasn't receiving more on a weekly basis.
And it might only be a couple bucks Sam gets in the reworking because he's right, Dean does pay for everything when they are outside the bunker. An ingrained habit leftover from years of being in charge of scrimping and saving what little money they had just to pay for food or accommodations when John wasn't around. And besides, Sammy's just a baby, no different to he was back then, and babies don't pay for crap.
He sighs again and rises with Sam still in his arms, deciding to deal with that once they get back to the bunker. He sits the kid down on his vacated chair. "Stay here, Sammy. Cas and I just need to go outside for a minute." Dean picks up the kid's sippy cup. "Finish your milk." Sam's forehead is creased into a frown but he takes his cup. "Cas." Dean holds the guest suite's door open for his confused partner to pass by before stepping out into the hallway himself, pulling the door closed behind them.
"Dean, what's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," Dean responds quietly as not to be overheard by his brother behind the closed door. "We just got some business to take care of. I need to know if you wanna be elsewhere for it."
His partner stares at him, brow furrowed in concentration but clear understanding in his eyes as to what Dean's referring to. His gaze is focused over Dean's shoulder, lips parting several times, but no words come forth. Then Cas' blue eyes meet his. "He disobeyed me, too, yes?"
"Absolutely."
"Then …" Cas takes a breath, "… however much I wish not to see Sam hurting, physically or emotionally, he needs to know I stand firm with you on his course of punishment."
"Honestly, Cas," Dean rests his ass against a hall table behind him, "you should be dishing out a spanking, too. But… I just can't go there yet." Hell, Dean's not sure he will ever be ready to give Cas permission to physically discipline Sam. It is one thing for Dean to do it, but another entirely to allow someone else to. Even his partner. "You understand that, right?"
"Dean, at this early juncture of our relationship, for all of us, I would not expect to be granted such a position in Sam's life by you. It is one thing for me to be present, for Sam to see that I stand with you on his punishment, another entirely for me to step over that line. However…" Cas continues hesitantly, "… I have previously told Sam I would spank him if it called for it and you were not there. I stand by that also, and will face your displeasure."
Dean's eyes narrow in dissatisfaction at hearing that. "I can't deny that I'd be pissed, man." In fact, Dean's pretty sure he'll be furious if Cas spanks his kid without him having granted permission first, partner or not. "What'd Sam have to say about it?"
"Outwardly, nothing at all. I am sure, however, that he believes you will never give permission."
"Well, yeah," Dean replies, slipping his arms around Cas' waist when the other man moves closer to him, "'cause I've never given it."
Cas tilts his head back slightly to better look him in the eyes, "Not even to Bobby?"
Dean shakes his head. "Bobby was different. He was an uncle to us, he knew if he needed to swat Sam's butt, he just did, but nothing more than a couple smacks. Never a full spanking." It was not something he and Bobby ever had need to discuss either, just a silent understanding on both their parts. And Bobby had known that as much as he was their uncle and father-figure, Dean was always in charge of Sam.
"You won't be too hard on him, will you?" Cas questions quietly.
Dean smiles lightly at the concern shining from the blue eyes before him. It lightens his heart to know Cas does care so much for Sam, might even love the kid like his own. Cas sure seems to see Sam as their child lately, so maybe they're not so far off from that permission being given as Dean thinks.
"Only as hard as I need to be," he replies just as quietly. "This wasn't just a minor infraction, Cas. Sam disobeyed us in regards to his safety. He disobeyed me. He knows the consequences of that. And I get you don't wanna see him hurting, I never do either, but being a part of this family also means making sure Sammy knows his boundaries and disciplining him when he crosses or blatantly steps over those boundaries." Dean sighs, resting his forehead against Cas'. Of all his numerous responsibilities, punishing Sam is the hardest thing he ever has to do. And it will soon become Cas' as well once that permission has been laid down.
"He's a good boy, Dean."
Cas doesn't need to remind Dean of that. He has never stopped knowing that. Even in the worst times, when Sam got lost along the way, the kid never stopped being fundamentally good. He never stops being good when he's being naughty. Dean blinks, closing his eyes and pressing into the soft lips trying to reassure him. He hears a door open, Sam undoubtedly having grown impatient, seen as they have taken longer than Dean intended.
"Ahh! My eyes!" the kid squeals, slamming the door closed again.
Dean grins, slowly pulling back away from Cas. "We should …" he tips his head towards the room, half-smile on his lips. "Before our little brat tries to gouge his eyes out." Cas snorts. Dean presses one last kiss to his lips before pulling back.
The two of them re-enter the guest suite to see Sam sprawled over the sofa bed, cast resting heavily over his eyes. He immediately holds up his good arm upon their entrance, his toy dinosaur held within his hand.
"You blinded Littlefoot!" the kid accuses. "How can you be so cruel?"
Dean pounces on the kid, mindful of the broken arm, fingers finding ticklish spots, Sammy immediately squirming and giggling. Cas chuckles, content just to watch them as the tickling turns to wrestling. It ends quickly with Dean lying on his back and Sam lying on top of him, pinning him down and holding Littlefoot in front of Dean's now cross-eyed eyes.
"You still blinded him. Whatcha gonna do 'bout that, De?"
Dean leans up and places two kisses to the little toy's eyes. Or the approximation of the toy's eyes. The thing's head is about the size of Dean's thumbnail. "All better?" He smiles lightly as Sammy surveys his toy seriously.
The kid shakes his head and holds the toy up to Cas, demanding, "Kiss."
Cas kneels down on the sofa bed, dropping two quick kisses upon the toy as well. "Is he feeling better now?"
Sam grins and nods, snuggling the toy against him before resting his head down on Dean's chest, thumb finding his mouth. Cas stands, retrieving the boy's pacifier from the table and swaps it out with the thumb.
"You going to sleep, bud?" Dean questions, rubbing a hand over the kid's back.
Sam raises his head off his chest to shake it vigorously. "No s'eep," he lisps around his pacifier, pushing himself up to sitting.
"If you're not gonna sleep, then I'm gonna get our laundry," Dean says, pushing himself back up to standing. "When I get back we're gonna talk, Sammy."
Sam's gut twists. He has a feeling they have reached the moment that is going to be unpleasant for his bottom. He drops himself back down onto the sofa bed and buries his head against a pillow. "Comfy. I s'eep now."
Dean snorts and pats the upturned rump. "Nice try, buddy. But we are gonna talk. You two play nice."
"We are not enemies, Dean."
"Yeah, whatever," Dean comments on the way out the door.
Cas shakes his head at his incorrigible partner, before his eyes land on Sam. "Little one, will you be okay here if I take a shower?"
Sam sighs, turning over onto his back and pulling his dam-ding out of his mouth. "Yeah, Cas, I can look after myself for ten damn minutes."
"There is no need for that tone, Samuel Dean. I am merely asking you a question." Sam ducks his chin to his chest, knowing he was in the wrong by snapping and quietly apologises. "Thank you. The door will be unlocked if you need me or need the potty."
Sam flushes slightly at that word coming from the former-angel's mouth, no matter the number of times recently Cas has said it. "I know we have a rule about keeping doors unlocked, Cas, but if it makes you uncomfortable …"
"It does not make me uncomfortable, Sam. I believe in your brother's rule. And besides," Cas brushes some hair behind Sam's ear, "you are our little one. We are a family, and I believe it is a natural part of being family."
"Even if you and Dean are in the shower together being yucky?"
Cas smiles. "What exactly would this 'yucky' entail, young man?"
Sam feels his face rapidly heat, not expecting Cas to turn it around on him, but just get the notion of what he was talking about. And it's not fair that he's getting embarrassed about sex. He has spent a good few years now enjoying it, admittedly not to the extent of his brother, but experiencing it nonetheless. He shouldn't be blushing like some innocent virg … Sam's thoughts abruptly slam to a halt with the memory of what Dean divulged to him recently.
"Hey, Cas?" The former-angel, who is collecting his toiletries and clothing together for his shower glances at Sam, who has yet to get up from the sofa bed. "Can an angel reverse a person's virginity? Like, completely erase the fact their body ever had, err, sex?"
Cas' hands still as he frowns in thought. "It is not something I am familiar with."
"But didn't you do something like that when you saved Dean from Hell? Healed him up so shiny and new that he was, err …" Sam chuckles with embarrassment, hand rubbing the back of his neck, "… re-hymenated, as he liked to put it."
"I do not think anybody could reverse the status of your brother's virginity, Sam," Cas scoffs. "Probably not even my father." Cas' head tilts to the side, a clear sign of his confusion. "I was unaware of the existence of a hymen in the male anatomy."
"There isn't one. So, Dean didn't become a virgin again?"
"Not that I am aware of. At least not to the true scale you have. And you think it was Gadreel?"
Sam feels the flush on his skin deepen even more. He had known Cas was aware Sam is a virgin again because Dean had told him so. The same time Dean revealed the knowledge that when he was a demon, Dean could smell Sam's reinstated virginity. Even likened it to the sweet scent of a freaking candy store.
And, oh crap. If a demon Dean could smell that, can every last fucking demon out there as well? Or is that something only Knights of Hell can do? Sam mentally adds it to their growing list of research.
"Sam?"
"Huh? Oh. Yeah. Gadreel. Err, I dunno. It made sense to me because he was possessing me at the time I made that born-again virgin pledge to Vespa. But …" Sam shrugs.
"I suppose it is plausible Gadreel's grace took your pledge as one to God and made it so."
"But you don't know for sure?"
Cas shakes his head. "I am aware a person's status of virginity lies within their blood. That scent Dean explained to you." Sam nods his understanding. "It dissipates upon a body's first experience of sexual intercourse." The flush in Sam's cheeks deepens. "I doubt, aside from perhaps my father reappearing, that you will ever truly know, Sam. It should not be something you allow yourself undue concern about."
"Why?"
Cas' raises an eyebrow. "Do I need to tell you what your brother will do if someone touches you sexually?" Or what I will do, he silently adds, thinking of what he did to Richard White mere hours earlier. And that piece of filth had not even laid a hand on his child.
Sam sighs, rubbing at an eye, remembering Dean's reaction to Sam just accidentally landing on a porn channel. "Dean's never cared before, Cas. Hell, he's the one that has pushed me to hook up on occasion. Whatever this sudden aversion is, whether it's because I'm a virgin again or because of the spell or him thinking I'm too young of all things, he needs to get over it."
"That is highly unlikely to happen anytime soon, little one."
Sam opens his mouth, not even sure what he's meant to say in response to that, so it is just as well that Cas has already turned back to the bed to pick up his belongings. He can barely believe they have reached the point that Dean might blow a gasket if Sam were to go out and hook up. Dean Winchester. A man who is all for getting laid. Sam shakes his head and raises an eyebrow when Cas holds up the money Sam gave him.
"Are you sure about this, little one?"
Sam frowns. He thought he had plainly made his case, even Dean had backed him up, but Cas is still clearly uncertain. "Yeah, Cas, I'm more than sure. Believe me, if I wasn't, you wouldn't be holding that money. I don't need much."
Cas's blue eyes narrow slightly as he surveys Sam. He nods sharply a moment later, finding some understanding from Sam's eyes. "Your brother and I will do our best to ensure you do get what you need, little one. And I'm sure you can always ask for something you want."
"I know. It's just difficult going from having barely anything, to knowing if I asked for something I wanted, I might actually get it. Does that make sense?"
"You're worried about taking advantage of the monetary situation you and your brother have gained through the Men of Letters. For things, you believe to be frivolous because they are what you want, but not necessarily need, knowing Dean has budgeted the accounts."
"Yeah, I guess," Sam admits, embarrassed that he seems to have become such an open book.
"You should talk to your brother about this, Sam," Cas advises, slipping the gifted notes beneath his phone on the nightstand. "You may be able to put each other's minds at ease."
Sam nods, but Cas is already headed down the bathroom hallway. Releasing a sigh, he rises and crosses to the window, pulling the blind open so he can look out into the darkened woods beyond. He can see very little; more of his reflection because of the lighting in the suite than he can of the woods. But he doesn't mind. It is one thing he misses when they are in the bunker. The ability to look out of a window and see what the world is like at any given moment; just knowing what the weather is like without having to step outside or use an app.
Blowing out another sigh, he drops down onto the window seat, slipping his dam-ding passed his lips to suckle on as he leans back against the wall, thoughts swirling around his mind.