A/N: Hey guys, I just realised I never post this chapter here last year. Oops. Sorry, guys. I'll give you 2 chapters to make up for it :)
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Chapter 19: Part 1
Fidgeting with his scarf, Sam follows his brother across the threshold of the Jeffries' front door, Cas bringing up the rear.
His steps are light. Not just physically but metaphorically. Feeling lighter now that he no longer has a spanking hanging over his head. Now that he has been reminded that he can be a good boy. His bottom still aflame with remembrance. A constant reminder as denim rubs against areas of scorched skin unprotected by his briefs with every step he takes. And thankful these jeans are his softest pair.
Spying Kara Jeffries sitting in a black wicker armchair to their left and at the far end of the softly lit covered porch, his face immediately feels as though it has become a flaming torch. A shining beacon of betrayal he thinks is giving away the knowledge of his spanking. An embarrassment that is swiftly being tunnelled through by delight as he spots the ball of fluff in her arms.
"De, look," he gasps, the back of his hand tapping eagerly against his brother's arm to draw the man's attention to the animal, which to Sam's detriment seems to be a mistake.
"What the hell is that?" Dean demands, his right arm suddenly thrust across Sam's chest, preventing him from getting any closer to Kara rising from the armchair with the little critter in her arms.
"It's a fox kit," Sam supplies with the same eagerness he used to draw Dean's attention only a moment ago.
He swiftly steps around his brother's arm to get a closer look while ignoring the fist he can feel curling into the back of his jacket, ready to pull him back at any sign of danger from the wild animal. Stripping the glove off his right hand, he moves to stroke his fingers across the fur on the fox kit's back but that fist in his jacket swiftly yanks him out of reach.
"Hey! You don't just go touching wild animals, Sam!" Dean scolds.
Sam feels a pout settle into place as he looks at his brother beseechingly, saying "Kara is," as if that explanation will mollify his big brother. As it happens, no mollifying takes shape. Dean's expression remaining firmly fixed on 'not happening'. Because Sam knows that in his brother's mind what Kara does is her own business. And what Sam does is Dean's.
"Please, Dean? It's just a little baby."
"Yeah, and even babies can be dangerous," Dean snaps. Because when a kitten tries to claw the hell out of your four-year-old baby brother you tend to lose any fondness you may have had for tiny baby fur-balls and become wary instead.
And yes. He does recognise the irony of them going up against things with much sharper teeth and claws than a kitten or a damn fox kit since Sammy was four. But Dean doesn't give a shit about irony.
"Dean," Cas admonishes quietly, "I doubt Kara would allow Sam near if the animal was going to cause harm."
"Hell, no," Kara injects. She would not risk harm to a baby or child like that. Wild animals are still just that. Scared ones even more so.
And even though the fox kit is currently docile in her arms, he is still wild. And she is surprised Dean has allowed his baby brother in as close as he already has.
She can still remember Dean being a watchful, protective barrier between Sam and the wild animals roaming Yrautcnas and the surrounding woods. Hell, even with their dogs. 'Watch from afar' had always been the elder Winchester brother's motto where Sam was concerned. Though it never dampened Sam's enthusiasm. Which only spurred on Dean's protectiveness when Sam would push that boundary to the limit on more than one occasion.
Sam wants to admonish them all for treating him like a tiny little child who needs protection from the tiny little fox curled in Kara's arms. But he also really wants to stroke his fingers along the animal's back. See if the outer guard hair is soft or coarse.
However, without his brother's permission, he knows he has no chance. And even as he tries again to get it, he knows he will be pushing his luck. So, if it doesn't pan out, if Dean still says no, Sam knows when to cut his losses. He will push no further. He already has a sore enough bottom thank you very much.
Dean sighs in the face of the desire he sees in Sammy's eyes. The expectation in Cas'. Both making him feel like a dick of a big brother for not wanting his kid any closer to that animal, and he gives in against his better judgement. Not failing to notice the frown now marring Kara's forehead at his relenting. Nor Cas' delight. Sammy, however, continues to stare at him, silently recognising he is not pleased with the turn of events.
"I don't have to," the kid says quietly, poorly masking his disappointment.
"Go on," Dean says, nodding his consent to his little boy. Thinks maybe it was worth it for the soft dimpled smile he receives in response; his kid practically skipping back over to Kara and the damn animal in her arms.
"Thank you," Cas whispers near his ear, giving him a small pleased smile when Dean turns enough to look at him.
"Don't thank me," he responds just as quietly, pulling Cas to the other end of the porch from Sam and Kara. "I don't need your thanks, Cas. I need you to stand beside me with something like this."
Cas looks taken aback by the vehemence of Dean's tone. "I am, Dean. As long as I think you're being rational."
Dean arcs an eyebrow in disbelief. "You think I wasn't on this?"
"I think you see everything as a threat where Sam is concerned, Dean, even when it is not," Cas accuses. "It is just a small animal."
"And that small wild animal has claws and teeth," Dean snaps. "Don't think for one second that it wouldn't turn around and use 'em, Cas. And unless it's a fucking snake, Sammy is too trusting when it comes to animals. I need you to think of the danger before encouraging my child to get his own way."
"Our child," Cas corrects softly.
"Not when you're being an idiot."
Hurt flashes in Cas' eyes but Dean doesn't take back his words.
"I will do better," Cas says quietly. "But I would appreciate a little slack, Dean. You have thirty-two years of experience in raising Sam. I am new to having a child."
"I have given you slack, Cas. But I told you that if you screw up, I'm gonna pull you up on it. That includes where Sam's concerned." Dean pauses, hates that his partner now looks like a kicked puppy and he sighs, scraping a hand down his face before meeting Cas' eyes once again. "I know how hard it can be, okay. To not give in. And yeah. Maybe this was a small thing, but next time… next time it's something that looks so innocuous, might be something that will use its claws."
Cas swallows, Adam's apple bobbing, gaze shifting to Sam and the fox kit. He knows what is out there in the world; how many things can look safe and are in fact deadly. Animals that are people. People that are animals. And while he does not believe a friend of the Winchesters would endanger Sam in such a way, he first should have thought of Dean's reasoning behind originally not allowing Sam to get close rather than admonishing his partner. "You're right. I'm sorry."
Dean sighs in frustration. "I don't want you to be sorry, either, Cas. I want you to think. I want to trust that you'll keep him safe—"
Cas is left watching as his partner jogs over to Sam when the boy calls to him. The man still ready to intervene between child and animal if anything untoward were to happen.
And as much as Cas wishes to join them, he stays back for now. Once again unsure of his place as he hovers on the edge of the tight-knit Circle of Winchester, Dean's words playing on repeat through his mind.
#
Sam gives Kara a small shy smile as he runs his large fingers gently over the tiny animal's back. Finding the hair there to be smooth but a little rough; not soft like a house cat's but not wiry like a coarse-haired dog either. The little fox mewls, loudly and unexpectedly, surprising Sam enough to call out to his brother as he takes a step back, unsure.
"It's okay, Sam." Kara gives the baby a reassuring smile, watching as Dean immediately jogs over from his conversation with Castiel at his brother's cry. "He's just hungry."
"What's wrong?" Dean demands, moving in behind Sam, hard eyes narrowed at Kara even as he attends to Sam. "Sammy? That animal—"
"No. No, it's nothing," Sam responds, face flushed a dusky pink. "Just startled me is all."
"You sure?"
"Uh-huh. Yeah." Tentatively reaching out, Sam once again strokes his fingers over the fox's back, the fingers of his casted arm clutching Dean's closest hand. "Where's it's momma?" he quietly asks Kara.
"We don't know, honey. We found this little guy in a snare a few weeks back. But I'm sure she's out there looking for him." Kara's eyes meet Dean's as she explains and the look in her eyes tells him instantly that the fox kit's mother is dead.
He sighs. Great. He would have preferred Kara tell the kid outright the reality of the situation. And he gets it—god does he—the need to protect, to shelter and shield, but Sammy's brain works just fine, and he is far from stupid …
"A snare? Like poachers?" Sammy questions quietly, eyes wide as his fingers stutter in their next brush across the animal's back.
See. Not stupid. And with his hand resting comfortingly on Sam's back, Dean nods to Kara's seeking eyes, to her silent 'do I tell him?'.
"They were poacher's snare's, yes," Kara responds softly, compassionately and the subtle tenseness of back muscles against Dean's hand is enough to tell him Sammy figured it out.
"I'm so sorry, little guy," Sammy whispers empathetically, eyes trained on the newly motherless baby animal.
"You want to hold him, Sam?"
Sam's eyes widen further at Kara's offer and he shakes his head vigorously, shifting back until he is wedged against his brother behind him, feeling a comforting and reassuring arm curl around his waist.
"Think we've had enough excitement for one morning," Dean says, arm squeezing fractionally around Sam's waist as Sam nods emphatically, fingers moving to find his mouth only to have them pulled away by his brother. "Don't do that, Sammy. They're dirty. You've just been touching that animal."
Sam frowns, not seeing the issue and grumbles as Dean accepts a pack of antibacterial wet wipes Kara offers, pulling one out and swiping it over Sam's hand and fingers. He watches over his brother's shoulder as Kara settles the fox kit inside a metal cage, blankets layering the bottom, the little animal curling more into itself when she releases him.
Rising, she takes the pack of wet wipes back from Dean and swipes a couple across her own hands, depositing the pack on the small table between the two armchairs. Sam's fingers finally find his mouth as Kara picks up a brown paper bag from the matching two-seater couch, swiftly removing them again as the chemical taste of the wipes hits his taste buds.
"Yucky," he swipes his tongue against his sleeve, trying to clean off the taste, shooting half-hearted glares at his brother and Kara as they laugh.
"You want your dam-ding, kiddo?"
"Nuh-uh," Sam declines instantly, embarrassed at the offer presented in front of Kara, who for some reason is giving him a nostalgic smile instead of frowning with disbelief.
Though maybe she doesn't know what a dam-ding is. He can hope, right?
"Haven't heard that name for a pacifier in a long time," Kara says, dwindling Sam's hope down into mush and the heat in his cheeks deepens. "And we don't stand on ceremony around here, sweetheart. If you want a paci, go for it," she tells Sam while presenting the paper bag to Dean. "Eagerly awaited breakfast," she says while Sam is left too speechless to come up with a good response to the knowledge she knows about his dam-ding and isn't looking at him like he is a complete and utter freak.
"Awesome," Dean shoots her a grin, one hand gently closing Sam's gaping mouth while using the other to look inside at the delicious smelling and promised foil-wrapped breakfast burritos.
He folds the top over twice and passes it off to Cas who has finally and fully re-joined them, the dark-haired man inching closer for the past few minutes.
"Thanks, Kara."
"It was no trouble, Dean. Now," Kara says, turning back to Sam and holds out her arms. "Over a decade and I don't get a hug?"
Sam ducks his head shyly, but moves forward, mumbling, "I don't have a dam-ding," as he goes, Kara's soft indulgent smile indicating she doesn't believe him.
He sighs, knows when to pick his battles and wraps his own arms around Kara as her slim but strong arms wrap around him. It is strange, but not uncomfortable; the last time they had done this he had been the shorter one, much shorter if he remembers rightly.
He draws back with a quiet and a little redundant, "Hey, Kara," as he looks down at her.
She just smiles and cups his cheek. "You got big."
He laughs softly, ducking his head again with another shy smile. He unconsciously reaches out to grip the hem of his brother's jacket as he steps back to stand between the two men.
Kara pulls something out of her coat pocket and holds it out to Dean. Sam recognises it to be a keycard. "You boys' remember the way from here to the cabin you used to stay at with Bobby?"
Sam frowns, shakes his head, while Dean nods as he tucks the card into the back pocket of his jeans and says, "Vaguely."
"Remember where the path starts from here?" Dean nods again. "Follow it until you come to a fork, then take the path to the right. That'll lead you straight to the cabin, which is now the hunter library. We converted it a couple years back."
"Wait… if that cabin's now a library, what cabin have you and Tom been wanting to give us?"
"A bigger one," Kara shrugs. "What?" she questions when Dean just stares at her, then turns around and walks away with a shake of his head, grumbling under his breath. "Something I said?" She looks from Sam to Cas with a far from innocent glint in her eyes, clearly revealing she knows exactly what she said.
"I will go—" Cas nods his head towards Dean then looks to Sam. "Be quick to follow, please, little one." He waits for Sam's nod before starting after Dean.
"You offered us a cabin?" Sam asks Kara, frowning at his brother and Cas, though he is not surprised by what he is hearing.
The Jeffries' are munificent people and the offer would not have come with any stipulations of payment. Which is why Dean will never have any intention of taking Kara and Tom up on such a generous offer—unless out of dire necessity. And for that reason, his brother would not have felt the need to bring it up to Sam either.
Kara gives another light shrug. "Just a small gesture." Sam very much doubts the cabin on offer is small enough to be considered anywhere near a 'small gesture'. "One your pig-headed brother generally refuses to even acknowledge I might add. You want to say yes for him, Sam?"
Sam stares into the warm brown eyes before him, knows Kara is only half-joking, and he wishes he could say yes to the part that isn't. Give Dean a real home. One with windows and probably a small plot of land around it. But he knows he is not the one in their family who makes those types of decisions.
And while Sam may not be able to work out the books the way Dean so easily does, he is far from stupid when it comes to the accounts either. He knows how much money they now have access to.
And it is no small amount.
If Dean so wished for them to have a house as a home instead of the bunker, he can easily tap into the lone Men of Letters account they currently do not use and buy them at least a two or three-bedroom property outright. While still leaving them enough to live on for a good few years to come.
That money is why they now have smarter fed suits and coats. Why their everyday clothing is no longer bought from thrift stores. Though some still are; their job, after all, comes with the threat of torn clothing and they are not wasteful if they can help it.
Plus, it's habit.
Sam opens his mouth to give his refusal but jumps instead at the bellow of his brother's voice telling him to get his butt into gear; a good job all in the house have already awoken for the day.
Dean has stopped at the edge of the house leading around to the back, impatience exuding from his posture. While Cas has made it halfway between him and Sam.
"Of course, if a person wanted to check out the property on offer," Kara says casually, as if she is just speaking to Sam, except her voice has risen several decibels so both Cas and Dean can hear her. "Just mosey on down the path 'til you get to Cabin 72, hide-a-key is—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know where you hide the damn keys, Kara! Answer's still no!" Dean yells back, and Sam can see his brother's eyes rolling even with the gap between them. His brother's lips move with further grumbling before he meets Sam's eyes and snaps, "Now, Samuel," and Sam knows to move his butt before Dean takes it upon himself to come get him.
And he doesn't need Cas' quickly gestured 'come on' hand signal beyond Dean's eye-line to tell him that.
He turns his gaze back down to Kara, whose slim hand lands on his right arm and gives a gentle squeeze. "You better go catch up to them, sweetie. Your brother doesn't look to be in too good a mood with me right now."
Wonder why? Sam thinks only a little sarcastically. Okay, maybe a lot. While out loud he offers a small, half-grin as he says, "Nah, he just hasn't had his third obligatory cup of coffee yet this morning."
Kara snorts, patting his arm before letting go. He heads off, easily catching up with Cas, who places a hand on his elbow with a slight incline of his head towards Kara and leads Sam towards Dean. He doesn't mention how he can easily make it to his brother on his own steam because he knows it wouldn't make a difference.
Dean's hand comes out when they reach him. An expectant move Sam hasn't witnessed since he was a child not yet old enough to cross the street without supervision.
"Sammy. C'mon. I'd like to get to the library sometime today," Dean says, patience waning further, a wiggle of his fingers expressing that even more so. And Sam instantly knows they are not moving from this spot until Sam has his hand held like he is once again three years old.
Hiding a sigh, he slips his gloved hand into his brother's. Dean's strong fingers enclose it with a small and brief squeeze of thanks as he moves them off towards the back of the house.
#
The old cabin they used to stay in with Uncle Bobby is a ten-minute walk north-west of the Jeffries'. It takes them along wooden man-made paths through the woods; sets of three or four steps dotted along the route to accommodate the changing elevations of the forest floor. And although the sky is starting to lighten from the pending sunrise, little to no light breaches the faux tunnel created by the overhanging trees.
Inside, it could easily be confused with the dead of night.
Not something that is doing Sam any favours.
He has been in many woods and forests. During the day and at night. He has been attacked, injured and lost in them. Yet, it is the dark that gets to him. The hovering darkness that prevents him from barely seeing where he is going.
Though the strong beams of the three flashlights cutting through the darkness—and his brother's strong fingers still curled around his hand—are helping to alleviate Sam's fear, preventing his imagination from overpowering him. And having a vivid imagination existing in the mind of someone with so much stored away on the supernatural side of things, it really doesn't take much for it to run rampant.
Case in point, the flash of fur he keeps thinking he's seeing out of the corner of his eyes. Which doesn't really mean anything when there are several different species of animal that live and wander the woods around Yrautcnas. But Sam's imagination says it is a werewolf. A grotesquely huge one—with wolverine length claws and sabre-tooth-sized fangs for tearing and ripping at its prey—that is going to attack and eat them any second. He has to protect Dean and Cas …
"You're okay, little one," Cas whispers against his left ear. As if the hush of the forest around them calls for such solemnity. His hand clutches Sam's casted wrist that has reached for the gun sitting in the back waistband of his jeans.
Sam swallows and relaxes. The contact allowing a clearer head to prevail over panic. Reminding him that there is no werewolf. Because, one, the lunar cycle is off and, two, the Jeffries' would have taken care of it long before now. He stops reaching for his gun and Cas' hold slackens but doesn't fully release.
"C'mon, kiddo, jump on," Dean says, once again offering a piggyback just as he had done before they stepped onto the path.
Because though Sammy is hiding it well, the taught shoulders, pinched eyes and continuous movement to go for his gun, tells Dean all he needs to know. His kid's fear of the dark is getting the better of him. Tiredness making it harder to push that fear down as the kid stumbles along with every other step.
"I-I'm okay," Sam whispers in return. The several degrees cooler air under the canopy of branches overhead having seen him shivering barely a minute into their journey.
He wants to agree to the piggyback. He can feel his legs growing wearier with every step he takes due to his physical exhaustion. But he still wants to prove himself capable of traversing a dark pathway on his own steam and two feet.
Because how can he, in good faith, be of any use to his brother and Cas during the coming hunt for Rowena if he cannot even master his returned fear of the dark. Just one little thing amidst erratic behaviour to show his capability.
"Little one, you are dragging your feet. Just let your brother carry you."
"No," Sam snaps, scrubbing the heel of his palm against an eye.
"Sammy. C'mon. Stop being stubborn. 'Cause at this rate you're gonna be too tired by the time we reach the library."
Sam sighs. It's not fair when logic like that is used. Because he really needs to be awake at the library. And he promised himself that Dean would not be putting him down for a nap today.
The only good thing, he supposes, is that he is not being accused of being a wimpy baby incapable of handling a little darkness. Just, apparently, incapable of walking by himself.
He sighs. Knows Dean will just sling Sam onto his back if he stumbles one more time. So he might as well get it over with on his terms.
He gives a nod of consent and Dean leans down slightly. With one small jump, Sam is resting on Dean's back, his long limbs wrapping fully around his brother's body as Dean straightens upright.
Sam can feel the weight of darkness slowly lifting away, replaced by the security he always feels with such close proximity to his brother and breathes a sigh of relief. "'M I too heavy?" he murmurs as he rests his cheek against Dean's shoulder and slips his thumb into his mouth, unwilling to allow his brother to hurt himself.
Dean and Cas chuckle lightly at his concern. He frowns, feeling slightly affronted.
"Sammy, I can barely feel your weight back there," Dean explains.
Oh. Right. Of course.
He can be forgiven for forgetting sometimes that his brother's human physiology has been infused with demon strength. Considering he has spent thirty-two years knowing otherwise. And while Dean has always been physically strong—stronger even than Sam despite Sam's height advantage—that does not hold a candle to the strength Dean now possesses.
But how?
Sam is more than aware the spell he cast is the root cause.
But how did the spell even do everything it has done when it was designed to remove a demonic hold at the basic level.
Dean, he gets, sort of.
It turned Dean back into a human because of the demonic blackness of his soul. The spell tearing away the demon from said soul but leaving behind the powers of a Knight of Hell. Powers that now reside within a human vessel.
But it turned Cas human, too, when there was no demonic or evil taint there. So, what did the spell latch hold of to turn Cas human? It clearly couldn't touch Cas' grace. The reason he must still hold those powers despite being human.
So, are they all now just simply… powers? Holding no connotation to demon, angel or otherwise.
Sam sighs.
That is just one of what feels like a hundred different questions they need to research and solve. And now with this message from Gabriel… he has no idea how they are meant to get anywhere in the way of progress in the span of a few hours.
Feeling a tap to his leg, Sam raises his cheek from Dean's shoulder. He realises the sky has lightened above them and a lone cabin stands central in the clearing they have entered—Dean having carried him to their destination while Sam was lost in thought.
And he doesn't recognise the place, despite Kara telling them it was the cabin they used to stay at with Uncle Bobby. Because it actually looks like it could have been built only a few years ago. The Jeffries' obviously having renovated the exterior also when they decided to use the place as a library.
It is nowhere near the square footage of the Jeffries' house, but is designed in a similar style of wood and stone. Standing at different levels, the highest elevation at least three storeys high, with tall windows and doors.
Presumably so Tom Jeffries' doesn't have to hunch over to fit through doors or smack his head on something too low.
Something Sam can definitely relate to.
Uncurling himself from around his brother, Sam sets his feet back on the ground, unable to stop himself from gripping the fingers of his casted arm around the hem of Dean's jacket once more. And refrains from glaring at the man when Dean tugs his thumb away from his mouth; turns his face away when his dam-ding is offered.
He scrubs at an eye with his good hand, a yawn slipping out as they head for the front entrance.
"We can go back, kiddo," Dean comments after spying the yawn, pulling out from his back pocket the keycard Kara had given them.
"Dean, we just got here," and yes, he refuses to believe that slipped out as a whine.
"The library is not going anywhere, little one."
"But we are, Cas," Sam states, impatiently gesturing for his brother to swipe the keycard through the card reader on the wall at the entrance. "Besides, I'm fine," he adds, looking from one doubtful expression to the other. If they don't want to believe him that's their prerogative. But Sam has things to do. "Are we going in or what?"
Dean swipes the keycard through the acceptor, the red light switching to green with a beep. Pushing the thick and heavy entrance door open, they enter, all coming to a swift halt in the doorway.
"Whoa," Sam breathes, eyes wide.
There are hundreds—if not thousands—of books sitting on numerous shelves. The high-ceilinged room split by a mezzanine floor, a fixed ladder leading upwards into the tall and spacious loft.
Two doorways go off into rooms beneath the mezzanine. Separated by a hallway between them and both filled with more books from what he can see, while a third door stands in the wall to their right.
Two joined oak desks create a workspace in the centre of the room, large enough for eight chairs to comfortably fit around. Currently, only five matching wooden chairs surround the table—one much larger than the others to again accommodate Tom Jeffries' size—while on the free side stands a three-seater leather couch, a stone fireplace standing opposite.
It's spacious, while still being cosy.
Dean snorts amusedly at the look of awe in his brother's mesmerised gaze. "Yeah, you're not getting lost in here for the next month, Sammy."
"As if I'd do something like that, Dean," Sam scoffs in denial as he breathes in the musty, yet sweet tang permeating the air. Feeling right at home amidst the many tomes, before he adds, "I'd need a couple years, at least."
Dean snorts again, sharing an amused look with Cas. He knows his kid is itching to look at everything. Sammy is almost vibrating with excitement.
Dean waves the kid forward. "Go." Sam beams, practically sprinting his way across the floor to the ladder leading to the loft. "Whoa, Sammy," Dean says, managing to catch him on the third rung after figuring out the kid's intention. "You're not climbing no damn ladder with a broken arm."
Sam rolls his eyes so dramatically Dean's surprised they don't just twist themselves right out of their sockets. "It has a cast on it, Dean. Besides, you weren't too concerned the last time I had a broken arm. You know, when I was climbing into sewers and other such crap."
"That was different."
"How?"
"Because I say it was different."
"Wow. Great argument, Dean."
"Fine. Climb the damn thing. But you better be careful."
"I know how to climb a ladder, Dean!" Sam rolls his eyes again, continuing to ascend, only for his boot to slip off the next rung.
He slides down the ladder several rungs before feeling the strong hands at his back, stopping his descent. He braces himself against the ladder with his good arm before lifting his head to look over his shoulder, meeting his brother and Cas' unamused expressions.
Sam's shoulders reach his ears as he gives a look that simply conveys, oops.
"Uh-huh. You okay?" Dean inquires, concern with an edge of sternness coating his tone, his eyes rapidly running over Sam to survey for any damage.
"Of course, I am," Sam responds with a slight roll of his eyes. "It's not my fault these rungs are too small for my big feet. They're more suited to Cas' dinky feet."
"I beg your pardon?"
Sam snickers. His brother giving him a look of agreement before swiftly shifting it to 'I have no idea where he gets it from' when Cas glowers at Dean.
Using the distraction before either man can grab him off the ladder, Sam quickly finishes ascending, reaching the top easily and without further incident.
"You know what you're looking for?"
"Nope."
"Yeah. Good. That helps."
"There should be a computer down there somewhere." Sam pulls open a couple of small filing cabinets sitting on top of low shelves. Finding only files, but no index cards like he was hoping. "See if there's a catalogue index like any sensible library should have."
"Found it," Cas calls from inside the room on the left beneath the mezzanine, seeing the flat-screen monitor set up on a medium-sized desk against the far wall.
"Nice." Dean crosses the room, parking his ass in the computer chair. He nudges the mouse, happy to see the screen flare to life as he calls out, "Sammy, what am I looking for?"
"Try the spell," Sam responds. "Emundabo et Eliminare. Try the English form, too. Cleanse and Eliminate. Heck, try it in Enochian. Err, Cas can translate." Sam leans on the guardrail to look down at Cas now back in the central room.
"Of course," Cas responds. "If you stop leaning on that rail. We have no idea how flimsy it may be."
Sam throws his arms into the air in exasperation. "Why you two gotta be such overprotective idiots?" he grumbles, stepping away from the guardrail.
"Heard that."
"Good," Sam shoots back, eyes continuing to quickly peruse the book spines.
#SPN#
Lying on the floor between fireplace and couch—tablet sitting in landscape position before him while several books lay scattered and open—Sam is half listening to Cas talking through every step of the spell for the umpteenth time on Dean's insistence. Making a note every now and then when he hears something from Cas' point of view that piques his interest.
Dean had found no mention of the spell within the library's catalogue index. Nor a copy of the book Sam had found it in at the bunker. Though that is not unusual. Many of the tomes in the bunker are rare. Or hold the status as the only copy in existence. Many of Uncle Bobby's had been the same. But the old hunter had had the forethought to copy them. The reason they still have most of that knowledge at their fingertips.
Amidst the books littering the table, lie the scattered remains of their breakfast. Sam had only managed one of the two breakfast burritos allotted to him before passing the remainder off to his brother, who had not been impressed by Sam's meagre 'mouthful' as the man had considered it. Dean questioning if Sam was feeling sick. He had shaken his head, informing Dean he just wasn't hungry.
But now as he lifts a little to rub at his gurgling tummy, he wonders if he should have gone with the former. Even though it wasn't true. He didn't feel sick. Then, at least.
"Sammy, you want your dam-ding?"
"No."
"Then take your thumb out."
"No." Because as of right now it's helping to keep the nausea at bay, he wants to add. But then he would have to tell his brother and Cas about all the times recently that he has upchucked several meals approximately fifteen to twenty minutes after eating. And for no good reason that he can think of.
Except for the spell.
Which means Sam has withheld information regarding something that is undoubtedly a direct result of the spell. Something he was specifically warned from doing before they even left the bunker a week ago. And is why he is currently praying the breakfast burrito will not be added to the tally. He already has a sore enough bottom without adding this infraction.
Of course, the moment his brother squats down beside him with Sam's dam-ding in hand is the moment his body revolts against him, his tummy churning violently. He yanks his thumb out to smack his hand over his mouth. While trying to push himself up with only his casted arm so he can hightail it to the bathroom, when he is yanked upwards, a trashcan appearing before him.
Hand moved away, he is left little choice in the matter when he throws up his hardly digested breakfast into the can.
#
Dean sighs when Sam refuses to remove his thumb. He needs to try and get the kid out of that habit. Which, yeah, he realises it may be a little too late now. But Sammy has accepted his pacifier. He should be asking for that instead of using a thumb carrying potential germs into his body.
Cas frowns at him as he stands. Dean waves him back to the research as he moves to his kid, his intention to swap out Sammy's thumb with the pacifier. But as he squats down beside his baby brother, he doesn't miss the tell-tale sign of imminent puking on his kid's rapidly paling face.
Reacting immediately, Dean hauls Sam up into a sitting position at the same time as he snatches up a trashcan from the side of the couch, shoving it in front of Sam and pulling the kid's hand away from his mouth with only a second to spare.
He gestures for Cas to hold Sam's hair out of the kid's face while Dean simultaneously holds the trashcan and rubs Sam's back. Murmuring for Sammy to just let his body do what it needs to and not fight it. Even as he winces in sympathy at the force with which Sammy expels his barely digested breakfast.
"What brought this on?" Cas questions quietly.
Dean shrugs, a frown creasing his forehead as he continues to tend to his little boy. He wants to blame it on a delayed reaction to the anaesthesia. Which is entirely plausible where Sammy is concerned. Yet very unlikely as Sam's reactions to anaesthesia tend to err on the side of immediate, not delayed.
He guesses it could also be related to the sickness from Rowena's spell. But Sammy had been okay the latter half of Sunday, so he doesn't think it's connected.
But there is also something there in the back of his mind he knows he should be grasping. Especially hearing how Sammy threw up yesterday after having a double chocolate cookie and a coffee.
The heaving, thankfully, slows and finally comes to a halt.
Dean shifts, moving onto his knees behind Sammy, ignoring the twinge from his braced knee. He knows Sammy is going to slump backwards any second now and when that happens only ten seconds later Dean is there to catch him.
"De?" Sammy mumbles, fingers gripping hold of Dean's arm.
"I gotcha. Think you're done, bud?"
Sam nods, moving to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, but Dean stops him as Cas appears with a bottle of water.
"Here, little one. Rinse your mouth." Cas holds the water bottle to Sam's lips, tipping a small amount inside for Sam to swish around before spitting into the trashcan.
Cas nods his head towards the trashcan when the rinse and spit process has been repeated several more times. Dean nods his own head in understanding, taking over water bottle duty so his partner can go empty and rinse the can.
"Take a sip for me, kiddo. Slowly. See if you can keep it down." He tips the water bottle up and Sammy swallows it tentatively, leaning further back into Dean with a soft sigh as it remains down. "No more thumb, okay," Dean directs, using his sleeve to swipe at the tears rolling down his kid's cheeks and over his mouth.
"Wha…? That's got nothing to do with this, Dean," Sam responds scratchily, now gripping hold of his brother's shirt.
Dean's eyes narrow. "It got something to do with something else I should know about?"
Sam bites his bottom lip. He wants to lie. To tell Dean it's just a delayed reaction to the anaesthesia. To keep his brother from worrying about him further. But Sam can't do that. Not now. It is unfair to Dean and the man doesn't deserve to be treated that way. "If I said maybe—"
"How long? And I want the truth, Samuel Dean, or so help me I'll turn you back over my knee."
Sam swallows, wincing at the scratchiness of his throat. "Since the spell," he admits quietly.
"Dammit, Sam," Dean snaps. Pissed that Sam has kept information as important as this a secret all this time. Especially after Sam was warned not to withhold information that could be a consequence of the damn spell. He pushes himself up from the floor, carefully bringing Sam with him no matter how pissed he might be. "Did it occur to you, even once, that it might be a damn good idea to tell me?"
"Of course, it did, Dean. But it's only been six or seven times, I thought—"
"Oh, only," Dean interrupts sarcastically with a shake of his head. "What am I gonna have to do to get through to you that you tell me the damn truth, Sam, huh? Spank you every damn day!"
"Don't be mad," Sam can feel the tears building again and swipes at them angrily. He wants to be mad that Dean is mad at him. But he knows he was in the wrong here so he has no real right to be mad.
"You know what… I am mad, Sam. I'm angry. I'm upset. I told you repeatedly to tell me if anything was off with you, didn't I?"
Sam nods, feeling the tears of remorse slip down his cheek, beyond his control against Dean's disappointment. "I'm sorry," he whispers.
"Not gonna cut it. Your butt is grounded indefinitely as soon as we get back to the bunker. And don't think I'm gonna forget about it either—"
"What is going on here?" Cas interrupts, clean trashcan in hand as he looks from Sam to Dean and back.
"What's going on here?" Dean snorts angrily. "Only Sam thinking it's a good idea to keep the fact he's thrown up, what was it, Sam? Six, seven times since the spell was cast. Yeah, he thought it was a good idea to keep it a damn secret from us!"
"Like you haven't kept secrets about the crap going on with us lately!" Sam accuses, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. Because yeah, now he's mad.
"What're you talking about? What secrets have we kept from you?"
"Don't play dumb, Dean." Sam pulls his gun from his back waistband and holds it up. "Or you gonna tell me that if I went and field stripped and cleaned this right now, you wouldn't have a problem with it? That you don't have a problem with me just holding it right now!"
Dean's fingers curl up into his palms to prevent himself from snatching the damn gun right out of his kid's hand; jaw clenched to stop himself snapping at Sam that he's not to go anywhere near the guns in the future. "I'd be fine with it."
"You wanna say that again without gritting your teeth, Dean? Cause, wow," Sam waves a hand in front of his nose, "I'm smelling the distinct odour of bullshit in the air right now."
"You really are looking for a smack right now, ain't ya, Sam. 'Cause I promise you're gonna get one if you don't watch your mouth."
"Nope. Just putting my point across. You wanna smack me for swearing while doing that, you go right ahead, Dean."
"Enough!" Cas barks, shocking both brothers into silence. "Sam… yes, it is true that Dean and I have an issue with you handling weapons—"
"You too?" Sam interrupts, shaking his head. "And let me guess, it has everything to do with the kid thing, right?" His forehead creases into a frown. "I mean, that is the reason you snatched my gun outta my hand back at that farmhouse, right? Are… are you afraid I'm gonna hurt myself or something?"
"Acci—" Dean and Cas both start after an uncomfortable silence, look at each other and back to Sam.
Dean rubs the back of his neck, a little embarrassed by how stupid this must all sound to his baby brother, a kid who has handled weapons easily enough for a decade and a half. "Accidentally, yeah," he says for both himself and Cas.
"You know you're both nuts, right? I mean, I've been handling weapons since… well, since before I was fully out of diapers," Sam says, face heating. Because it is no secret to either he or Dean that Sam was still in diapers at night when he was ten years old. His bladder not quite having had the control it should have had at that age.
"Sam, if I'd had my way, you wouldn't've touched a weapon until you were twenty-one." Because their dad may have shoved a loaded forty-five into Sam's hands at nine years old, but Dean had swiftly removed it before the inexperienced little boy could blow his fucking head off. Then spent several months on closet patrol; showing Sammy there were no monsters in the closets of the rooms they stayed in.
And thank fuck there hadn't been any literal monsters in them. The kid never would've gone near a closet again.
It had been Dean who had taught Sam how to fire a gun. Only after walking him through every fucking safety measure. Only after the kid could take apart that now unloaded forty-five Dad had given him and put it back together again without missing a beat. Only after he knew guns were not toys, did Dean take Sammy into Bobby's yard to fire a gun for the first time.
Sammy was twelve.
"C'mon, Dean, that's ridiculous," Sam scoffs. "Dad never would've let you get away with that. You sure as hell never got a say in when he taught you. What were you? Six when he taught you to shoot?"
Five, Dean silently corrects, having not told his brother the embarrassing detail of how the kickback had knocked him at least a foot away onto his ass.
"Seven when he taught you how to use and throw knives and shoot a bow," Sam continues. "Nailed every target like you were already a pro according to Dad. Like you were made to do it. You still nail every freaking target. You can't tell me you suddenly have an aversion to weapons, Dean."
"I don't, Sammy. At least… not when they're in my hands. Or Cas'." Or anyone's else's, he adds silently.
"So, just mine then," Sam drops down into the closest chair, barely wincing as his still tender bottom hits wood, setting his gun on the table beside him. "I… I dunno what I'm supposed to do with this."
"Don't think any of us do, kiddo," Dean responds with a half shrug, while Cas says, "We, of course, know what being a hunter entails—"
"Exactly. I am a hunter. And I know how to handle weapons. I know they're not toys. Hell, you spanked me an hour ago for not having the demon knife on me, Dean."
"Yeah, well… I never said our aversion makes any sense, kiddo," Dean offers a small apologetic smile. "You handle weapons better than most soldiers out there, Sammy, but… I also know I don't want a weapon in my little boy's hands."
"You could stop thinking of me as a little boy then."
"Already told you I don't know how to do that."
"Do you, Cas?" Sam questions, turning his attention to the former-angel. "Do you know how to see me as anything other than a child now?"
A sigh releases from Cas' mouth as he leans his butt against the table behind him, leaning to the side so he can still see Sam. "I know you're strong, Sam. I know you're intelligent. I know you see the good in both humans and the supernatural. As to when they deserve mercy or a 'free pass' as your brother might put it. But… I also know you are still a child."
Sam blows out a breath, because, fuck… does everyone think of him as a child? See him as a child when they look at him despite his adult appearance.
How the hell is he supposed to fight against that?
It had been hard enough to prove himself as an adult to his brother as it is. And that had apparently all been for naught anyway. They are right back where they started.
Sam is back where he started.
Trying to prove he's a big boy when all they see is a child in need of their protection. As if for the past decade Sam hasn't been protecting himself. And helping to protect them too.
"Sammy?" Dean questions after a few minutes of silence between them all, his kid staring down at his hands in deep contemplation.
Sam finally raises his head, meeting Dean and Cas' gazes. "Alright."
"That's it?" Dean questions, a little stunned and a lot more confused. He had been bracing himself for the inevitable and epic explosion and all the kid comes out with is 'alright'?
"Yes. Alright. We have heaps to research. Not the least figuring out what the hell this spell has done to you two once and for all."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up. You think there's something going on with us?" Dean gestures between himself and Cas, confusion swiftly replaced by incredulity.
Sam snorts. "Of course, there is, Dean. This whole time I've just been reacting to you and your behaviour towards me. How can you not see that?"
Dean shoots him a look as if Sam is the one who has gone nuts. "How can you not see that it's been me reacting to you and your behaviour, Sam. Not the other way around."
"No way, Dean."
"Err, yes way, Sam."
Both brothers descend into silence, each trying to make the other understand that they are right. And while Cas knows the brothers can hold complete conversations with just looks alone, he feels it is imperative he adds his own opinion.
"Actually… you are both reacting off each other," he states, dissolving the standoff. "You have been all along. It surprisingly pays to be the observant one here."
"I'm observant!" Sam and Dean chorus, before shooting a look at each other.
"Clearly not enough."
"Don't get smug," Dean shoots at his partner.
"Yeah, Cas, it doesn't suit you."
Cas throws his hands up. "This is getting us nowhere."
"I think it got us pretty far," Sam shrugs. "I know you two are nuttier than you ever have been."
Dean shoots his kid a glare. "And we know you've been getting sick."
"Well, in that case, score one for nobody," Cas responds sharply. "For I do believe on the research side of things we are right back to where we started before Sam was sick."
Sam's shoulders drop as a pout settles over his features. "It's really annoying when he's right."
"Tell me about it." Dean sighs, looking at his phone screen when it signals an incoming message.
"Tom?" Cas queries.
Dean shakes his head, "Mason." He swipes his finger across the screen to read the full message.
"Mason?" Sam questions with a frown.
"Tom and Kara's son," Dean responds without looking away from his phone.
Sam rolls his eyes and snaps, "I know who Mason is, Dean."
"Well, gee, Sam, you didn't recognise Rae—"
"Have they found any sign of Rowena?" Cas loudly interrupts before the brothers can get into dispute once more.
"Another dead end."
"They're all dead ends," Sam murmurs, slumping back in the chair.
"Sammy, don't. We're gonna find her. We're gonna figure this out."
"I know. I know. I just—" Sam runs his hand through his hair in frustration. "Finding her on top of all this research right now… there's too much of it. At least as a whole."
"Then break it down into manageable pieces," Dean suggests. "You can do that. You've done it plenty of times before."
"Err… yeah, course, I, um—" Sam tumbles over his words, embarrassed that such a simple idea as splitting up the research had escaped him.
It is usually his first port of call. And he is sure that this time he would have reached that point eventually, too. But there's no need to mention that to his brother. Brain working a mile a minute to organise the mass of research they have, he comes to the best decision he can regarding who gets what.
"Alright. Err… Cas, you err, take over researching the vortex, the Venator and the message from Gabriel." Cas nods, moving through to the room housing the computer with the catalogue index. "Dean, you, err," Sam's eyes flick down to his screen and back to his brother, "you focus on the spell as well as demonic and angelic powers in humans."
"And the effects of night terrors."
Sam frowns. "Who's having night terrors?" He looks from his brother to Cas in the other room with concern.
"Err, you, Sammy."
"Am not," Sam denies. "They're just everyday nightmares."
"Uh-huh. Hey, Cas?" Dean calls while still keeping his gaze fixed on Sam. "Remind me they're just 'everyday nightmares' next time Sammy screams himself awake with blood gushing outta his nose would ya?"
"That would be irresponsible of me, Dean. And untrue."
"It was only a couple times."
"Try six times, Sammy."
"Well… whatever. You can't tell me you haven't already read a whole bunch on the subject, Dean."
"A refresher never hurts. And anyway. Don't argue about what I'm gonna add to my boatload of research, Sam."
"Okay, fine," Sam sighs, glancing down at the long list on his tablet. "I guess I'll take everything else."
#SPN#
Eyes focused on his brother rather than the book in front of him, Dean knows it won't be long before the nap Sammy is so insistent will not be happening today actually takes place. And due a half dose of pain meds, that nap will come sooner rather than later.
But first, he needs to get the kid to take the damn medicine.
Rising from his chair, he digs out the now half-full bottle of Children's Tylenol he earlier stashed in Sam's brown satchel bag and measures out the correct dosage into the medicine spoon.
Moving to round the couch he takes the sippy-cup from Cas when his former angel holds it up without looking away from the passage he is reading. Shaking his head in amusement, Dean walks around the couch and squats down beside his baby brother, the kid making no move to acknowledge his presence. Dean sets his hand on his engrossed kid's nearest shoulder and Sammy's head snaps up.
"Not sleepin'," the kid immediately denies, blinking owlishly up at Dean who has to hold back an amused snort.
"We'll see about that, kiddo," Dean responds. "It's time for your medicine," he adds, holding the spoon to Sam's mouth. The kid turns his head away in refusal.
"Don't need that. It makes me sleepy. I'm not sleepin'!" Sammy reiterates a touch louder.
"Inside voice, little man," Dean chides mildly. "And if you can tell me your ears aren't hurting, without hint of a lie," he adds as Sam's lips part, "then we'll forgo the medicine."
Of course, Dean knows the kid needs the medicine. He knows Sam's ears are hurting him as the kid has been rubbing and pulling at them for the past few minutes; soft whines unconsciously leaving him amidst poorly concealed yawns and eye rubbing. Hell, the kid is rubbing at his left ear right this fucking second.
"Can you tell me that, bud?"
Sammy bites his bottom lip and that small tell is all the answer Dean needs for him to hold the spoon to Sammy's lips again. His little boy sighs and parts his lips just enough for Dean to slip the spoon inside. He tips it up slightly to allow the medicine to run down the tube into Sammy's mouth, the kid swallowing the grape flavoured medicine without any more fuss.
When only spots of residue reside on the spoon and inside the tube—more residue than Dean would like and he contemplates getting a syringe instead—Dean swaps it out for the soft spout of Sammy's green sippy-cup. The kid eagerly accepting the water within as Dean holds the cup for him.
"Good boy," Dean praises, swiping the hem of his sleeve at the corners of his kid's mouth where he has dribbled. "That wasn't so bad was it."
Sammy's teeth clamp around the sippy's spout so he can say, "'s'icky," without it falling out and then immediately returns to sucking his water.
Dean smiles and ruffles the kid's hair. "It's still preferable to the cherry flavour though."
Sammy stares at him, swallowing another mouthful before releasing the spout. With faint pink painting his cheeks—that Dean hopes is just a touch of embarrassment rather than the beginnings of a fever—the kid nods his head and turns his concentration back onto his tablet once more.
Leaving him to it, for now, Dean rises and crosses to the lone door in the wall opposite the fireplace, stepping into what they earlier figured out was the bathroom to rinse out the spoon.
Returning, he sits his ass on the couch, reaching behind him to grab the laptop and book he was previously flicking through. Cas slides them across the table for him.
"Thanks, babe," Dean acknowledges, his forehead creasing fractionally at the soft yet surprised smile he receives from Cas.
And as he sets the laptop on the couch cushion beside him and the book on his lap, he is not going to think about the fact that was the first time he has called Cas anything other than, well, Cas, during their relationship. Not even during sex. Castiel generally only coming out these days if he is pissed off with the other man.
Letting out a sigh, Dean tacks that to his list of things to think deeper on later and sets about checking on the progress of the searches Sammy has running on the laptop. Only a few minutes pass before he has to lunge forward off the couch, just managing to get his hand against Sammy's forehead to protect the sleeping kid's head from smacking into the edge of the standing tablet.
It wakes him. Sammy's eyes snapping open. "Wha? Huh?" the kid mumbles confused, blinking slowly up at Dean, over to Cas at the table and back to Dean, before he pushes himself backwards, away from Dean, a glower decorating his face. "Nope. Not happening. My eyes are staying wide open, thank you."
"You mean like they were a second ago?" The kid's glare deepens. "I told you if you're falling asleep, then you're sleeping, Sammy," Dean continues. "That was the stipulation for coming out here without putting you down for a nap first."
"Don't need no stupid nap," Sam grumbles, rubbing his eyes as Dean's ass hits the couch cushion again, his braced knee protesting the squat he was in. "But while we're on the subject," Sam twists himself around to encompass both Dean and Cas. "I think with everything we'll have going on in the coming weeks, it definitely calls for a fixed suspension on my bedtime."
"Really? Huh? How's nine o'clock sound?"
"I said suspension, Dean, not reduction."
"Oh, I definitely heard reduction. Didn't you hear reduction, Cas?"
"Do not involve me."
"Why not?" Dean turns around on the couch to look at the former-angel. "This is our child's bedtime we're talking about here. Or is that something you don't wanna be involved in?"
"Are you going to allow me to be?" Cas shoots back at the same time as Sam again points out he is not a child.
And again, of course, he's ignored. This time because it seems like he's set Dean and Cas off into a heated discussion.
"Err, hello?" He waves at them. "No? Well, okay then. I'll just—" he tilts his head to the side, a mischievous grin curving his lips as he spies one of Dean's boot laces is undone and with Dean facing away from Sam… hehe… Slowly crawling forward, he reaches out for the first lace …
"Don't even think about it."
"Seriously?!" Sam flops back onto the floor with a pout. "Do the extra eyes revolve around your head?"
"Absolutely. Haven't you seen them yet?"
"I wish you'd stop teasing him about that, Dean," Cas lightly scolds. "You'll give him a complex."
Dean chuckles while reaching down to re-tie his boot lace. "Where'd you hear that?"
"I read it in a magazine back at the clinic," Cas mumbles, only causing his partner to laugh harder.
Huh, Sam thinks as he shifts back to where his tablet, notepad and books are on the floor, at least they're not arguing anymore. He doesn't like them arguing. It makes his chest and tummy feel all funny. So, huh, score one for Sammy.
"Sammy."
Sam snaps his head up to Dean now squatting beside him again. Didn't he just settle back down? He glances at his watch. He must have dozed off again part way through reading the most boring piece of crap he's ever read because at least ten minutes have gone by. Dammit. "Huh?"
"Do you need to go potty?" Dean questions. Sam shakes his head. "You sure?"
Sam rolls his eyes. "Yes, Dean. I think I'd know if I needed the… the err—" he slowly trails off as a sudden, urgent pressure from his bladder makes itself known. "Um—" he raises his eyes back up to his brother, trying to still himself from wriggling his lower-half like he has ants in his pants.
"Need to go potty now?" Dean responds, having known the kid needed to pee the moment Sammy's lower-half started wriggling around in his sleep. Something he does when his bladder is becoming overly full. Or he needs to fart. Either way, Dean shrugs inwardly.
Sam pouts. "S'only 'cause you mentioned it."
Dean chuckles in amusement as he stands. "C'mon," he reaches down and hooks his hands beneath Sam's armpits, lifting him up.
"Can walk," Sam reminds his brother as he is situated on the man's hip as easily as a toddler, slightly irritated as he spots a small smile on Cas' lips.
"Mmm?" Dean responds, slightly distracted—by what Sam doesn't know—as he walks towards the door to the restroom. "Oh, yeah, I know, kiddo," he says, catching up with Sam's statement.
"And yet, I'm still on your hip."
Dean shrugs the opposite shoulder to which Sam is situated. "It's not a problem, Sammy."
Sam opens his mouth to tell his brother it should be a problem. Considering he is carrying his six-foot-four adult brother like he's a toddler, again. But Dean is pushing open the door to the bathroom and Sam is set on his feet. He wobbles slightly. His long legs feeling coltish. But Dean is right there, steadying him.
"You dizzy?"
Sam shakes his head, looking away from his brother in favour of searching out the potty he needs. It isn't exactly difficult to find, sitting practically at Sam's feet and against the wall of the one potty restroom.
He snaps his gaze back to his brother when he feels fingers swiftly unbuttoning his jeans and pulling the fly down. Wondering how he didn't notice Dean had unbuckled the belt already. His jeans and briefs are both tugged down to his knees and he makes no mention of it as he's turned to the side, Dean pulling his tee and shirt up a little to check his bottom.
Sam knows Dean wouldn't have left bruises on him. But he also knows it is a worry his brother has. So it is no hardship on Sam's part to just let his brother check for himself. A soft tap of fingers against his hip a moment later indicates Dean's done and satisfied with his inspection.
Sam spins around and situates himself on the potty, absently wondering when his mind stopped telling him he should be standing up to go pee.
Because he's a big boy.
And big boy's stand when they go pee.
Just like Dean and Cas do.
Right?
But then, Dean and Cas use the urinals at rest stops and those are yucky and for big boys…
"Sammy?" Dean's voice invades his confusing thoughts and Sam arcs his eyebrows in question at his brother. "Whatcha doing, bud?"
It is only then that Sam realises he is now half-standing, half-sitting up from the potty. As if his body was trying to fathom Sam's dilemma for him. Thankfully, he has already finished peeing. "I, err—" Sam stands to his full height and rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. "I should be standing to pee. Right?"
"Should you?"
"You're not meant to answer a question with a question, Dean," Sam huffs in frustration, standing there while Dean fixes his clothing back into place. "You're meant to tell me a straightforward yes or no."
"I can't tell you a straightforward yes or no, Sammy, because I can't answer that for you." Dean shepherds him over to the sink, helping him wash his good hand and the fingers of his casted hand like he is freshly new to learning the proper way to wash his hands.
And as he has his hands dried, Sam would bet Dean doesn't even realise he is doing half the stuff he does like this for Sam lately. Which begs the question being repeated for what seems like the millionth time—what the fuck did that spell do?
Better question, of course, is why Sam isn't taking over and doing it himself. "Men stand to pee, Dean."
"You're right," Dean dumps the paper towels in the available trashcan before turning to face Sam again. "Men do," Dean states calmly, with surety, as if Sam no longer has a place in that classification. "Teenage boys do. Prepubescent boys do. Toddler and baby boys… not so much, Sammy."
And there it is; a genius not needed to recognise that the latter classification is where Dean has firmly situated Sam. He can see it in the seriousness of his brother's features—the belief lying within the green eyes.
Sam is not just a little kid to Dean.
He's a toddler.
And—with the memory of being fed milk and burped like a baby only a few hours ago—a toddler barely out of babyhood at that.
"Man—" Sam scrubs his freshly washed hand down his face, "—this is crazy. Do you… do you think someone tampered with the spell? Rowena maybe? Or hell, Crowley." He can hope, right? Because then there might be more of a chance to correct whatever they might have done.
But Dean frowns. "How, though? I'm guessing you weren't stupid enough to take the ingredients for the spell outta the bunker or store them together until they were needed." Sam shakes his head in the negative. "Then how would either Rowena or Crowley have messed with the spell, Sammy? They can't get past the bunker's wards without 'em being dropped first."
Sam sighs. "I guess you're right." He frowns a second later, scrutinising Dean. "Maybe you did."
Dean raises an eyebrow at the accusation. "Excuse me?"
"Err, I don't mean you, you. I mean demon you. Mark of Cain you. What do you remember?"
Dean shrugs lightly. "I don't recall messing with the spell that's for sure. And as tied down tight as I was in the dungeon, there woulda been no way anyway. There was no human blood invading my system to weaken the effect of the sigils, nor the devils' traps. And no… I didn't sabotage it in some way before becoming a demon again."
Sam sighs. Not that he would have wanted it to have been Dean, but they are really running out of options here. "Worth asking. You weren't exactly gung-ho about the spell in the first place."
"Wonder why that mighta been."
Sam concedes that point. And now they are facing those consequences Dean was so worried about. "So, in your eyes, and maybe Cas', I'm a toddler again?" Sam wishes to clarify and only a second later deflates like a popped balloon, letting his eyes fall closed.
The flash of surprised confusion he had witnessed in his brother's green eyes before the man turned away to stare at a spot on the wall to Sam's right, is enough to tell Sam far more than he wanted to know.
Because he had been wrong.
Dean doesn't see him sitting in the 'toddler' part of Dean's toddler and baby 'classification'.
Dean sees him as the latter.
A baby.
Shit.
He hears Dean sigh, the sound loudly slicing through the heavy silence hanging between them.
"I'm not a baby, Dean," Sam states, refusing to open his eyes to see the disagreement in his brother's. Cursing inwardly that his denial did not come out anywhere near the strong conviction he was aiming for.
"I know that, Sam."
"Clearly you don't."
Dean shakes his head, more out of frustration with himself than Sammy. "Look, kiddo… I know this isn't what you wanna hear again. But, Sammy, you've always been a kid to me. No matter how big or grown up you got. I just got good at hiding it. Lately, though… lately, I can't shut it off."
Hearing the insecurity in his big brother's voice, Sam finally opens his eyes to regard Dean now leaning against the back of the closed bathroom door, own eyes closed and arms self-consciously crossed over his chest.
"Does everyone think that of me?" Sam questions quietly. "That I'm a baby."
Dean cracks one eye open to regard him, the other soon following. "Everyone? No, Sammy. At least, not that I'm aware of."
"Then what was that with Kara earlier?" Sammy frowns. "She knew about my dam-ding. How does she know about that? Did you tell her?"
"I didn't have to tell her anything, kiddo. She unintentionally saw it when we arrived and I carried you into the house." Dean sighs. "But it's not just that either. Sammy… you, err, ever heard of age-play?"
"Age-play?" Sam's brow furrows before he shakes his head in the negative. "What's that?"
Dean digs out his phone from his pocket, pulling up a website that explains what safe and sane non-sexual age-play is. He hands the phone over to his kid, silence filling the bathroom as Sammy reads. He finds Dean's eyes when he finishes a minute later, the kid's gaze contemplative rather than disgusted or confused.
"That's—" Sammy starts then stops to clear his throat before starting again, "—that's not me, Dean."
"No," Dean agrees. "A spell has brought out this regression in you." The kid's lips purse together. Sammy clearly still believing there is nothing going on with him aside from when he is reacting to Dean's supposed changed behaviour. "Kara, Tom and Sawyer, however, run Yrautcnas as both a hunter haven and an age-play sanctuary." Dean proceeds to give Sam a brief explanation as to how it all came about years ago.
"Okay," Sammy says when Dean finishes several minutes later. "I can see why a sanctuary from the general public might be needed," he adds. "And how other people spend their time is none of my business," Sam continues non-plussed. "But that's not me, Dean. I'm not a—" his eyes flick down to Dean's phone screen briefly, his thumb having been tapping it each time it wants to lock itself, "—not an Adult-Baby or Little. Did I say that right?"
Dean nods in the affirmative.
"Though—" Sam frowns, "—is that what you see? What Cas sees? Does he know about this?" Sam shakes the phone a little, continuing his questioning without allowing Dean to answer. "Are you both getting confused because you know about this age-play thing?"
"Cas knows. He stumbled over it on the internet and brought it up to me. But no, we're not confused because of that knowledge."
"So, what? You just know it? Like… in your hearts or something?"
"Heart? Soul? I dunno, kiddo. There's a spell at play and we need to focus on that being the cause. And hopefully, everything else will fall into place with some answers to what exactly happened when you cast it."
Sam nods slowly. "Yeah, I guess." He sighs, scrubbing knuckles against an eye. "H-how much impact is this gonna play on hunts?"
"Hell, if I know, kiddo," Dean offers a slight shrug. "You're a damn good hunter, Sammy—" his brother repeats for what feels like the tenth time in the space of a few hours. As if the man needs to reaffirm it in his own mind to allow Sam to continue handling the weapons.
And he knows the minute that belief falters for his brother, Sam's butt will undoubtedly be grounded from hunting indefinitely. And for someone who so fought against the life, fought for a slither of normalcy, he's not sure how he feels about that concept. Hunting is all he has known for a long time now. And even the times when he has stepped away, it was never far from his mind, life was never the normal he sought.
"—now when I see you with a gun or a knife I wanna snatch it straight outta your hands and give you a fucking toy to play with." Dean continues, chuckling humourlessly as he paces the limited space of the restroom.
Because honestly, there's nothing funny about their current situation.
"It fucking scares the crap outta me, Sammy, how-how much is still out there that can hurt you," he shakily admits. "And I… I wanna take you away from everything and anything that could. But I also know that's not realistic in our lives—" Dean stops, staring at his baby brother and looking just as lost as Sam feels. "But I really fucking wish it was."
Sam knows the feeling. He's terrified every day of losing Dean and Cas. "What do we do?" he quietly asks, fingers picking invisible lint from his jeans.
Dean draws in a large breath. "We go on as we have been," he offers a half shrug this time, winging it as much as anything. "Cas and I will protect you, take care of you… and do our best not to freak out when you have to handle weapons. I am gonna give you your bedtime though."
Sam's eyebrows rise in surprise.
"Or lack of it. It's not gonna be a fixed suspension like you want." Dean holds up a hand when Sam opens his mouth to protest. "You don't get outta still having a bedtime in the long run, Sammy. But… we will suspend it during the hunt for Rowena. Cause there's gonna be no way in hell we can maintain it. We're gonna have to push through everything just to get this done before Crowley's deadline as is." Dean runs a hand over his hair. "But you will be having one or two naps during the day. Just like you're gonna have right now."
"Dean—"
"Nope. You're having a nap, Sam. End of discussion. So, let's get going before Cas thinks the potty monster came roaring up to get at ya."
Huh?
Dean blinks, surprised, as Sammy abruptly clamps himself against his right side, trying to climb his way up Dean like he's a tree, fingers gripping hold of his shirt and hissing, "Shh, De! You'll wakes it up," with his gaze fixed firmly on the toilet.
Oh crap.
Right.
If Dean had a hand free he would smack himself in the forehead for being such an idiot.
Because you do NOT mention the potty monster in the presence of a kid who thinks there is a monster sleeping down there. Just waiting for a call of its name so it can awaken, swim through the pipes up into toilet bowls and gobble little kiddos.
Dean lifts his kid back onto his hip fully without any objection from the baby, Sam's fingers shifting to grip hold of Dean's collar, eyes still focused on the toilet. "Shh, you're okay," Dean soothes.
Sammy blinks at him, before shakily pointing towards the toilet, whispering. "Mo-monsta?"
"No. No monster, baby, I promise." Great, real dick move, Dean. "And even if there was, whatcha think would happen if it dared show up anywhere near you?"
Sam swallows, fingers tightening on Dean's collar. "You-you-you blows it up widda grenade launch, so it never come back. 'Kay?"
Dean blinks, refraining from chuckling. "That might be a little bit over-kill, Sammy," he states, considering Sam's been the one who has vetoed every opportunity Dean's had for using the damn thing. "But it'd gank it real good, huh?"
Sammy nods enthusiastically. "Splatt'in' into millions of micro pieces is gankin' it 'eal good, De-De."
"That mean ol' monster even thinks about making an appearance, we blow it up good." Dean holds his hand out to Sam. "Agreed?"
Sam stares down at the hand, before slipping his inside and pumping once. "Ag'eed."
Dean nods, making no mention of the slip in his brother's articulation the past few minutes as he carries the kid out of the restroom and into the main room.
Cas raises himself up from the arm he is leaning on and the book he is reading. A frown creases his forehead as he looks between them, eyes silently asking if everything is okay, considering how long they took in the bathroom.
Dean nods, setting Sam down on his feet when they reach the table. "Alright, little man, go grab Littlefoot, then I want you on the couch."
Sammy opens his mouth, undoubtedly to refute his need to take a nap once again. But Dean turns him around and lands a gentler swat to his behind than he would have done if the kid had not already received a spanking today.
"When I say 'no discussion', Sammy, that's exactly what I mean. Now, go."
Sam does go, rubbing his bottom as he crosses the few feet separating him from his bag. He wants to be embarrassed that he got so scared about the potty monster again, but… it's the potty monster. He can't help that it's such a scary thing. And if it knows what's good for it, it will steer clear of coming anywhere near him because Dean is going to kill it good and dead if it shows its ugly face. He just needs to make sure his brother doesn't slip up again and mention its name anywhere near the potty. Everyone knows not to do that.
Dean is such a grown up.
Speaking of which… as his fingers close around Littlefoot and he withdraws his dinosaur from its little nest in his bag, Sam can hear Dean quietly informing Cas of what not to do in a bathroom with Sam present.
He feels his face heat fractionally.
Especially at the stray thought that Dean thinks Cas will be accompanying Sam into a bathroom at some point, because, err, no.
But as he moves to the couch where Dean is now sitting, he gives Cas a sharp nod of accord upon feeling the former-angel's eyes on him.
"Can you give me a description of this monster, little one? To make it a little easier for me to help Dean kill it if the time comes."
"Of course, Cassie. Big, scaree an'-an' slimy," Sam shivers as he plops himself down on Dean's lap, allowing his brother to pull him in close. "Plus, it'll be de ding comin' up outta de stinky potty, so dere's dat." Dean snorts and Sam smacks him in the chest with the back of his hand.
Cas smiles, "Very true, little one. We will speak more when you wake."
"Dunno whys you dinks I's gonna sleep 'cause I's not," Sam looks stubbornly back and forth between the two. "I's a big boy who no needs na-aps … Oohh—"
Dean hides his smile at the small squeal as he holds the pacifier to the kid's lips, Sammy eagerly accepting it. The kid wriggles, trying to rest his head and face against Dean's neck. However, he is sitting too far upright for it to be comfortable, so Dean opens his legs to allow Sammy's butt to sink down into the free space between them. He gets a poke in the chest for his efforts.
"De-De," Sammy starts, grumpiness permeating his tone, "why aren'ts you bigga dan me?"
Dean smirks softly, wanting to make a joke. But he can tell it will just go over Sammy's head right now—can see the kid is serious with his question—so instead he says, "That's a good question, Monkey."
Sam huffs. "You's my De-De, should be bigga," he grumbles his truth as he snuggles against his brother more, forehead coming to rest against Dean's jawline while the man's large hand rubs circles into his back as they gently start to rock back and forth.
He feels his eyes droop from the motion, and snaps them back open, quietly asking himself if he can live with his life being controlled as if he's nothing more than a child—a baby—again. At least until they can bring the effects of the spell under better control.
Especially if they cannot counter the spell's effects without eradicating everything good the spell has done. Removing the Mark of Cain. Dean being human again. Cas being human and happy about it. Those things, all of them are more than fine with remaining as is.
But the rest… Dean's shifting attitude towards Sam, that Sam has been unable to stop himself from reacting to. Dean drawing out that little boy inside of Sam that worships the ground Dean walks on.
And, yes, okay, the same can be said for Sam.
He loves his big brother. The man a hero to him.
But does Dean seriously not recognise this shift inside himself? Is it just Sam that can see what's truly going on? Dean believing he's the one reacting to Sam's behaviour when it is mostly the other way around.
No… Cas said we're both reacting to each other. And Dean had said 'Well, you're not wrong,' in the car when Sam brought up the issue on the drive to Yrautcnas. And with what just happened in the restroom, what Dean admitted, Dean clearly does recognise that some parts of his behaviour have changed; that he's been more open, affectionate and tactile since the spell was cast.
And while Sam may not like being treated so much like a child again, he cannot deny that it has brought them all closer together. He cannot help being relieved Dean is once again stepping fully into the shoes of big brother and patriarch of their small family. Even if Sam is pissed at the rules and regulations brought down upon him.
Yet, hadn't he, before he ran off to the library yesterday, recognised within himself that he wanted and needed to be taken care of in the very way Dean and Cas are now doing?
Geez, Sam, make up your damn mind. You're a complete walking contradiction of yourself. You either want to be treated like a child and be a child, or you don't. Which is it?
Why does it have to be an either/or situation? Can I not want and need both? Sam silently questions in turn, hearing the murmur of voices above and around him, his brother and Cas talking quietly, but he cannot make out the words amidst the rapidly growing fog clouding his overtired mind.
He yawns, smacking fingers against his dam-ding, a whine unconsciously leaving him as he tries to snuggle himself even closer to his brother; his body melting like a slab of butter in a heated fry-pan as Dean shifts him just right, a satisfied sigh escaping as his eyes flutter closed once more.
Dean presses a kiss to the top of his kid's head. Silently asking himself how in the hell he is supposed to send his baby boy—who is so clearly afraid of an imaginary potty monster—back out on hunts with real scary fucking monsters, demons and other bastards.
He knows Sam's capabilities.
As a hunter.
As a person.
The kid overthrew the damn devil to take back control of his own body for fuck's sake.
He knows Sam's strong.
But Dean can't help wondering if his quiet fears of late—that Sammy may no longer be able to cope on a daily basis with the constant stresses and real-life nightmares out there—are substantiated …
"We will protect him, Dean," Cas says quietly as if reading Dean's mind. Which he cannot do without his powers.
The former-angel lifts Sammy's legs to slip beneath them as he joins Sam and Dean on the couch, Sam's legs now lying over his lap. Dean rests his chin atop Sammy's head as he tightens his arms around his sleeping baby brother just a fraction more.
"From all we can," Cas adds. "Even if that includes baby animals."
Dean levels a look at his partner, the other man staring right back at him. "Damn straight."