Chapter 19: Part 2
Eyes misting from reading the same sentence for the eighth damn time, Dean just shoves the book away, his concentration gone. A busy thirty minutes has seen him shift between the research Sammy handed out, mapping further sightings of Rowena and polishing off the portrait of the witch to send out to the network. For as good as they are at their job, finding Rowena within Crowley's deadline will require the continued help of other hunters.
They cannot miss that deadline, not with Sam's life on the line. Dean would love to think Crowley isn't vicious enough to go for bones that would kill or paralyse Sam, but he's talking about the King of Hell. Crowley would tear out a spine if it gave him what he wanted.
"Find anything?" Cas asks quietly, closing his own book and setting it off to the side on a rapidly growing pile.
Dean slowly rotates his neck, stretching out the cramping muscles, a weary sigh escaping. "Nothing. You?"
"There is nothing regarding the vortex or Gabriel's message, only what we already knew on the Venator," Cas says, reaching up to massage his temples. "Why are we having such a hard time finding information? As if it's purposefully been removed from all sources to hide it from us."
"Or the only platform it exists is the original."
"I can understand that for the spell. But everything else?"
"The cryptic message Gabriel gave us could have a billion meanings, Cas. The vortex-thing must be ancient or new if there's no information about it. The burnout… we're piecing together fragments from different sources because this hasn't knowingly happened before. And Sam's night terrors—" Sam was right when he said Dean had read most, if not all, information on parasomnia, but Dean had wanted to look deeper into a cause for the accompanying nosebleeds.
All he could find was that the nosebleeds are a possible means of his baby brother's body relieving the stress of a night terror. Like the kid's migraines. But the spell is also a huge factor, considering the nosebleeds only presented after that damn thing was cast.
"—Need to stop," Cas finishes for him.
"Understatement." Dean sighs, following Cas' gaze down to Sammy sleeping soundly on the couch with no signs of any encroaching nightmares. The boy's head pillowed on Cas' balled-up jacket with Dean's serving as a blanket; Littlefoot now resting against Sam's right cheek.
"When do you want to wake him?" Cas questions, swiping fingers across his eyes.
"Not yet. He needs what he can get."
Cas lowers his hand to stare at him in surprise. "You retracted his bedtime?"
"Nope. But Sam was right. There's no way we'll be able to keep to it, so I've suspended it until this hunt for Rowena's done. Then we're back to normal. Whatever normal is."
"He'll take advantage."
"Yep," Dean readily agrees because what kid doesn't take advantage of an unrestricted bedtime? Especially his stubborn kid. "He'll go down for one or two naps during the day."
"And that will be easier?" Cas asks sceptically.
"Unlikely. But that's what's gonna happen," Dean says with finality, dropping his feet from the top of the couch backrest as the cabin's main entrance door swings open. He removes his hand from his gun in his back waistband a second later as the familiar figure steps over the threshold—noting Cas doing the same out of the corner of his eye. "Hey, Kara," he greets.
"Figured I'd bring you boys refreshments," Kara responds, cup carrier in hand.
"Oh god, yes."
Kara snorts at Dean's all-but drooling. She sets down two disposable coffee cups, complete with lids, onto the table and a sippy-cup that matches the style Sammy's been using. Only it's yellow. A different colour to the kid's current three.
"Tea for Castiel," she shifts the white cup towards Cas, who quickly thanks her with a grateful nod, hand fastening around the cup and placing it to his lips as if a dying man. Dean watches Cas' eyes close as he savours the taste. He shakes his head in disbelief, unaware watered-down gnat's piss tasted that great. "Don't knock it 'til you've tried it, Dean," Kara states, amused as she shifts the maroon-coloured cup towards him.
"Oh, I have. Never again," he retorts, pointing to the cup before him, adding, "That better be coffee."
"You think I'd try poisoning you?"
"Maybe. Depend on what it got ya."
She smirks, tapping the top of the sippy cup. "Hot cocoa for the baby… sorry, Sam." She shoots Dean a grin before skirting around him towards the couch where Sammy's sleeping.
"You wake him, Kara, you're getting him back to sleep."
"Oh hush, I won't wake him," she whispers, indignant. "I just didn't get a proper look under the porch lights or in the kitchen at just how much he's changed… my gosh. He may have grown a darn-sight since last I saw him, but he's still just so darn cute."
"There we go," Dean snorts amusedly. "I've often wondered if you had a feminine bone behind the badassery, Kara."
"You can it, Dean Winchester," she replies, shifting forwards enough to smack him upside the head.
"Hey!" He yelps, hand rising to rub out the sting. "What the heck was that for?"
"You know what that was for," Kara states moving back towards the table. "That child needs an appropriate-sized pacifier."
Dean sighs, glancing to the one currently half hanging out of Sammy's mouth, fully aware the kid needs one with a bigger nipple. But he hasn't exactly had the time to go pacifier hunting. Nor can he magic the ones Sammy already has to a bigger size or walk into a baby department to buy a larger size. Sammy already has the largest size the store offered.
Kara pats his shoulder before he can say anything in his own defence. "Come back to the house. I want to show you something."
Dean frowns, looking back over to his sleeping brother. He doesn't want to leave Sam. But he also can't sit here much longer just waiting on that incoming text proclaiming the ink ready. He can feel the anxiety rising beneath his skin—the need to get moving—and knows he will soon be twitching with unrest as much as Sammy fidgets. The kid will be okay for ten minutes, providing Cas remains with him.
"You'll be okay here?" Dean questions his former-angel.
Cas nods. "Go. I'll watch Sam."
"You sure?" Cas arc's an eyebrow, the hope for trust in his blue eyes not hidden well enough behind the man's frustration. "Okay, yeah, you're sure." Dean snags his coffee and gestures for Kara to lead the way. He raises an eyebrow when she doesn't budge.
"Boy, it ain't no summer day out there," she cocks her head towards Dean's jacket currently keeping Sammy's shoulders warm.
"I'll be fine," he replies with a shrug and gesture at his attire. He has had to settle for worse in colder weather. "Got two layers."
Kara levels him with a stern look as she walks around the couch and down the hallway separating the two rooms beneath the loft. Dean had wandered down there earlier in one of his restless moments, finding a small room that looked to be a kid's playroom with toys stored in boxes or sitting on shelves. A mesh door had allowed him to peer into the room effortlessly— like the mesh of a fabric bed rail—designed to keep kid's in without shutting them away; a room-sized playpen. He had sprouted a white lie to Sammy about it being a closet on his return to the main room, lest his kid wander down there looking for more books.
Course, that was before he had told Sammy about the age-play in Yrautcnas.
Dean shares a look with Cas, who can only shrug, their gazes returning to the hall Kara had disappeared down. She returns quickly, carrying a green and blue blanket she holds out to Dean. He takes it, feeling the velvety smooth softness of the fabric against his hunter-roughened hands. If he had known this was also in the room, he would have grabbed it earlier.
"We always keep a couple in storage back there for the kids when their folks are working in here," she explains as Dean carefully takes his jacket from Sammy—thankful the kid hadn't wound his fingers around the fabric this once—and replaces it with the blanket.
Dean, Cas and Kara hold their breath while Sammy shifts. Thankfully, he doesn't wake, just snuggles deeper beneath the blanket, sucking on the pacifier Kara finds so offensive.
"Okay," Dean whispers once he's satisfied Sammy will remain asleep, looking at Cas as he rounds the couch and snags his coffee cup off the table. "I'll try to be back before he wakes." Cas nods and with one more glance Sam's way, Dean follows Kara out of the cabin.
##
Passing the land boundary of the Jeffries' house, Dean follows Kara as she bypasses the main house on towards the single two-storey garage. It stands to the right of the double garage housing Tom's workshop on the first floor and home tattoo parlour in the loft above.
An attached exterior staircase on the far side of the single garage has a sign with BUBBA BALUZA sprawled across it in vibrant colours accompanied by an arrow pointing upwards.
Dean frowns as they ascend the stairs. He really cannot deal with a bunch of noisy adult kids right now, so he is fervently hoping Kara is not bringing him to her daycare. A hope fulfilled as he enters through the door leading into the second floor, coming to an abrupt stop in the doorway as his eyes widen at the layout before him.
A counter resembling a reception desk with a cash register stands on his left, his gaze flowing smoothly along the counter's curve into shelves protruding outwards into the store proper. Rows of shelves filled with diapers, baby bottles, pacifiers, clothing, boxed furniture, toys…
"This is an AP store," he voices with surprised realisation, following Kara down one of the slim aisles, looking over items too large to cater to normal-sized babies and children.
He picks up one of two diapers displayed together on a shelf, the one in his hands dotted with teddy bears, colourful in its babyishness, while the other is a plain white. He is surprised to see that while folded the diaper is not all that much bigger than the largest size catering to actual children. Nor do they have that massive bulk he always expected to accompany an adult-sized diaper.
"I'd need three of these things to protect Sammy's butt the amount he pees," Dean notes.
"Those actually pack in a pretty big punch in absorbency for their size," Kara informs him as she looks through a drawer in a cabinet that is top half shelving and bottom half drawers. "He'd only need the one at a time."
"No stuffers?" Dean says—because yes, he's looked into this shit, however briefly—once again surprised as Kara shakes her head. He would never have expected that from the lightweight diaper in his hand. "What about at night?"
"Just the one then, too," she assures. "There's five channels of absorption inside; they do their job beautifully while also preventing that urine-stained sagging that tells anyone looking at it everything. Plus, odour control and hypoallergenic. They're our best seller, and not just in the adult baby and little scene." Kara closes the drawer she's searching and walks towards him. "Adults with incontinence issues wish for both discretion and protection, and we're able to offer that. Here."
Dean places the display diaper back on the shelf as he looks down at the sealed pacifier Kara is presenting him with. "Well, now you're just playing dirty," he says, unable to keep his smile at bay at the sight of the shaggy-haired pup staring up at him with wide hazel-coloured eyes.
Kara smiles. "Only when I need to."
Dean chuckles and turns the pacifier over in its sealed packaging, once again surprised by its design as much as he had with the diaper. He had been expecting to find a brown sunken bulb he knows Sammy would absolutely detest—the reason many online had been unappealing for purchase. But instead, he finds a clear nipple that looks the same as Sammy currently has. It is just as fully shaped—though larger and thicker for more durability. But the whole thing just looks like a baby's pacifier on a slightly larger scale.
In other words, perfect for Sammy.
He raises his eyes back to Kara who's smiling softly at him. "How much are these?"
Kara waves him off. "Didn't bring you out here for the pacifier in return for payment, Dean. You boys have always been family to us."
Dean nods, appreciating the sentiment before he allows his lips to curve up into a smirk. "That mean future items come free too?"
"No," Kara chuckles. "But it definitely gets you a discount."
Dean smiles. He'd happily pay full whack for anything he might need in the future for Sammy, just so he can buy it from people he trusts and can rely on not to screw him over. "Don't suppose you've got a toddler harness for a Sasquatch by chance?"
The sudden blaring of a ringing phone pulls Kara's attention. "More than likely," she tells him as she crosses to the back and behind the counter to take the call. "Take a look around."
Figuring it won't do any harm to look, Dean grabs a mesh basket—just in case—from beside the entrance door and wanders the shelves, finding the adult-sized toddler harnesses easily enough.
There are two different styles: the first with straps attached to a breastplate, different cartoon animals decorating each one; while the second style has two wide plain black straps that sit horizontally across the chest. Dean flicks through the packets, finding one in the first style in Sammy's size.
Moving to drop it in the basket he stares down at the picture on the front, at the cartoon tiger breastplate resting against a clearly male chest and wonders why the fuck he's even contemplating buying a harness for his kid to begin with.
Because Sam has had it drilled into his head since day one that he stays close. If a stern look or word alone from Dean doesn't get the kid to toe the line by now, Dean has done a piss-poor job of instilling that particular and small obedience in his kid. Forcing Sammy into a harness would have the kid seeing it as a punishment, not a means to ensuring his safety.
Which is why Dean's arm moves in the opposite direction, depositing the harness back on the shelf instead of in the basket. Because he knows that as much as a walking-harness might help in keeping hold of Sam—keep him safe and close—he also knows just as well that Sam would be mortified if he had to walk around with it strapped on him in public.
Then again—Dean pauses from taking in the bibs now in front of him—the accompanying clips with the harness designed to attach to a chair to fashion into a makeshift highchair might come in handy down the line. He bites at his bottom lip in a moment's contemplation before spinning around.
"Fuck it," he murmurs as he grabs up the packet once again and drops it unceremoniously into the basket as he digs out his ringing phone from his jeans pocket. "If it's never used, then it's never used," he says under his breath as he sticks his cell phone to his ear. "Cas, what's up?" he questions, though he immediately knows what's wrong. His heart clenching painfully with each of Sammy's cries reverberating through the phone, the kid calling out for Dean amidst his sobs.
"I have a very upset baby boy who wants to talk to you," Cas tells him unnecessarily, sounding more than a little stressed as he tries to soothe Sam.
Unfortunately, Dean's emphatic kid is undoubtedly feeling Cas' stress, along with his own, and reacting to it.
"He have a nightmare?" Dean questions. If Sammy had, Dean will head back now, knowing nothing but his physical presence will calm his brother. Thankfully Cas answers in the negative—for both Sam's sake and this little shopping excursion. Dean doubts he'll get back here if he left now.
"I have been trying to calm—"
"Yeah. That ain't happening 'til you relax, Cas," Dean's voice comes out sharper than he intended. But the quicker he can calm Cas down, the quicker he can calm his baby boy. "Take a couple deep breaths while I talk to the baby." He hears Cas start to do as instructed. "You on speaker?"
"Yes."
"Sammy?" Dean's tone drops to the soothing one he knows works on his boy, a low tone Sammy must quieten down to be able to listen to. "Hey, buddy, I'm still here. I'm just back at the house with Kara. Okay? I'll be back as soon as I can, bud." Sammy is still crying and sniffling on the other end but otherwise quiet, save for the stuttered repeat of Dean's name. "Listen to my voice, buddy. I'm right here."
"N-no not!" Sammy sniffles, making the scolding tone a little hard to take seriously. "You keep le-leavin' when I's sleepin' an' not-not bein' here when I wakes up. Stop leavin' when I's sleepin', 'kay, De? I don't likes it. Don't know wheres you are. If you's safe. No gots your Sammy watchin' your back—"
Well, damn.
Dean swears he has dust in his eyes. Swears on it. That is the only reason for his current blurry vision, that or a head injury he knows nothing about. It has nothing to do with his little boy bringing out all these long-buried paternal emotions. Nothing at all.
"Tell me the time, Sammy," Dean instructs after clearing his throat, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.
"Wha'?"
"C'mon. Tell me the time."
Sam sniffles and Dean is aware the kid just swiped the back of his hand under his snot-filled nose from Cas' small, disapproving huff in the background. "Um… it's… time is…" the kid hiccups, then sniffles and continues, "… t-ten-dirty-seven a.m."
"Good boy. How many minutes 'til we hit eleven-fifteen?" That should give Dean enough time while not being too long a wait for Sammy.
"Deeeee," the kid whines, clearly feeling as if Dean is insulting his intelligence by asking him such simple math, but the tears are dwindling so Dean is okay with that.
"C'mon, Sammy. You know you wanna tell me," Dean needles.
"Dirty-eight." Dean smiles at the cuteness that comes with Sammy being unable to pronounce his 'th'. Though the fact he seems to be lacking the ability to do so since his earlier scare in the bathroom is also a worrying sign of his furthering regression. "Dirty-seven now."
"Good, Sammy. That's good. Now, can you do me a favour?"
"Uh-huh."
"Can you keep Cas company and make sure he's on the right track with his research?" He ignores Cas' audible tut. He will explain later about the subtle art of engaging upset children. "'Cause he's still so new to it, isn't he?"
"Yeah," Sammy responds quietly, sniffling only a little now.
"An' while you're taking care of that task, I'll do my best to be back in thirty-seven minutes. Can you do that for me, bud?"
Sammy sighs, knows the kid just nodded from Cas' quiet, "Dean needs to hear your words, little one."
"Oh, yeah. De-De's in de phone." Dean smiles lightly. "Okay, De-De, I'll help Cassie. An' see you in dirty-six minutes. I's settin' de timer."
"Alright, Monkey." The call abruptly cuts off with the sound of Sammy's finger thudding against the phone screen and Dean hopes he can make it back in time.
Glancing in Kara's direction back at the counter, he meets her amused eyes as she continues her own call, having clearly had one ear on Dean's.
"Err… Sammy was, he, err … oh, shut it," he grouses more to himself for his stuttered explanation than Kara, feeling his cheeks heat fractionally as his gaze drops down to the basket in his hold, hearing the titter of laughter behind him as he spins around.
He smirks—hearing her apologising to whom he assumes is a client on the other end of her call (serves her right for eavesdropping)—while he shifts the several packs of bibs and burp cloths that joined the harness in the basket while he spoke to Sammy into a neater pile. A pile growing bigger by the second as Dean moves further in and around the store.
Turning a corner, he comes to the 'model' display section. Only a few smaller items set up because there is little room in the store's slim aisles to house an adult crib. But the items present are enough to gain his interest, especially the second in line.
It looks like a baby stroller, or more to the point, an adult disability stroller; not huge and bulky like one would expect, but lightweight and to Dean's mind, potentially not strong enough to hold a full-grown adult's weight. But Kara wouldn't sell something that wasn't suitable for her customers' needs, so there must be something to it.
Grabbing up the laminated page from the stroller's seat, Dean leans back on his heels to ensure Kara is still at the front desk. Seeing that she is, Dean turns around and cautiously lowers himself into the stroller.
With his weight fully seated, his feet resting on the footrest, he realises the frame is sturdier than it looks when it doesn't buckle beneath him. Nor does it make any grinding noises to indicate that it may collapse any second. He bounces a little, pleased to feel cushioning on the chassis, ensuring both stability and comfortability for the one riding in it. It would hold Sammy's lesser weight for sure, even if—when—the kid gets back up to a healthier weight for his size.
Rising, he reads over the specs while grasping hold of the frame with the other. He picks it up, unsurprised by how lightweight it is, for his demon strength allows him the ability to lift greater weights. The specs, however, indicate the stroller is naturally lightweight, made from high-strength aluminium for efficient movability and able to carry in excess of two hundred and sixty pounds.
Lowering it back to the ground, Dean can see the five-point harness in the model, but he takes note of the fact the straps can be adjusted to fit a longer or shorter torso. He folds down the canopy before pushing it back on itself, pleased to find it removable. Seat width and depth, along with the backrest, headrest and footrest are also all adjustable to the desired measurements, and while it apparently comes in five different bi-coloured upholstery, Dean would probably go for the azure-blue and black of the model.
Good, washable colours and Sammy would prefer the blue over the stated forest-green, watermelon-red, bumblebee-yellow or bubble-gum-pink.
Dean, however, has no intention of buying a stroller today. Nor a highchair, the first of the 'model' items. A little way in the future if they cannot rectify the spell before a full regression takes place in Sam, then Dean acknowledges both items would be needed. perhaps alongside the third 'model'; a wide-seat glider chair that would be perfect for nursing the baby.
The last remaining items are all car-seats. Something Dean does need to purchase because Cas might have Dean's balls if no seatbelt is attained for Sammy sometime soon. Finding one suitable for Sam that will also fit comfortably within the confines of the Impala's backseat is the tricky part.
The reason Dean bypasses the first three on display. They are way too bulky for their purpose—proper baby or toddler car-seats in adult version—and while Dean would prefer the safety those options offer, they are just not suitable for his car.
The fourth option is closer to his needs but not close enough, leading to the fifth and final option on display. Padded and slim-lined but still a car-seat offering needed safety with the ability to affix to the backseat without his already having seatbelts, he finds this one would be the perfect fit.
Unfortunately, he doesn't see any on the shelf behind or around the one on display and makes a mental note to ask Kara to place an order for him when she gets done with her long-assed phone call.
A sigh unconsciously leaves him as his phone starts ringing in his pocket for the second time. "Sammy?" he says as he sticks the phone between his ear and shoulder and holds it in place with his chin, continuing to pull needed items from the shelves so he can be back at the library by the deadline he promised his brother. There is silence on the other end except for the familiar sound of his kid's breathing. Anyone else might think Sam accidentally butt-dialled him but Dean knows otherwise. "Everything okay, bud?"
"Potty," Sam finally speaks, his voice quiet, but much calmer than the previous call they shared.
Very informative, kiddo, Dean thinks when nothing more is forthcoming and questions, "You've been, or you need to go?"
"Need to go. But… I-I can't get my pants undone. Need you to do it, De, please."
"Sammy, I'm ten minutes out by foot. Can you hold it that long?"
"Umm… no. Don't dink so. Sorry."
Dean shakes his head at the apology. Kid's forever apologising and half, if not most of the time, he has nothing to apologise for. It's as if the word is just ingrained in the kid's psyche. "Hey, bud, don't worry. But you need to ask Cas for help."
"No!"
Dean frowns, hearing the reverberation of Sammy's voice bouncing off close walls. "Sammy, you hiding in the bathroom?"
"No," Sam replies indignantly, followed promptly by a quiet, "yes."
"Kiddo, I'm not gonna be back in time to help. Just ask Cas to undo your pants and see if you can take it from there." A sudden thought occurs as to why Sammy might be so uncomfortable with the idea of Cas helping. "Sammy, you gotta poop?"
"No. I dunno. Do I gotta poop, De?"
Dean closes his eyes. His kid not being able to identify if he needed a dump was not the response he was seeking. "Why don't you see if you need to go when you're on the potty? But you gotta let Cas help first."
"No."
"Alright." You leave me no choice, Sammy. "I'll swing by our room on my way to the library, get you some clean clothes. I'll change you when I'm back."
"What? I… I don't need no clean clothes, De. Not having an accident."
"Then what's it gonna be, Sammy? Wet pants or asking Cas for help."
Sam eventually sighs resignedly and calls out for Cas at no more than a whisper. Dean closes his eyes against the amusement that wants to bubble out. "He didn't hear me," Sam states only a second later. "De, he didn't hear me."
Dean is pretty sure the way Sammy's voice is now coming and going away from the phone the kid is doing the 'potty dance' every parent recognises, the situation reaching near critical. "That's 'cause you're being a mouse, Sammy. Try calling him a little louder, see if that helps." Sam thankfully does so, and they are both greeted with a near immediate response from Cas, the man knocking on the bathroom door and calling to Sam.
"Let him in, Sammy," Dean says, knowing the kid is hesitating against the action. "Let him help you, okay, and I'll be back soon."
"O-okay, De. Timers still running."
"I'll be back on time, little man, don't worry." Dean cuts off the call, knowing that if he stays on the phone Sam will continue to seek his help instead of Cas', and the kid needs the help of the one currently visibly present with him, not Dean, otherwise there will be an accident.
Realising he has found himself back in front of the diaper and pull-up section during the tail-end of his and Sammy's conversation, Dean debates with himself. He doesn't like to think Sammy will have need for either item, but he also needs to be realistic. More so in the face of that phone call. It is looking more likely they will have need for some of this stuff sooner rather than later with the way Sammy's regression has been developing, and Dean would prefer them to be already on hand. The reason why he snatches a pack of pull-ups in Sammy's size off the shelf and dumps them in the basket.
The same reason he has three pairs of elasticated waisted jeans draped over his arm two minutes later. Along with seven snap-crotch onesies in an assortment of pastel shades; three warm-weather footed pyjamas and a blanket-sleeper for the colder climates they end up in. All suitable Sammy sizes—even the jeans leg length—and Dean takes a moment to ponder if that was a Tom influence before shaking his head in incredulity.
He should really get the fuck out of here before he loses any more of his marbles. Because, seriously. He is buying up the store for his baby brother, who may have 'baby' in that title but is… is, well… well, Sammy is a freaking baby, they have established that. Dean can't be held at fault for thinking all this shit for his kid is so stinking cute.
God. He has never been happier Cas can't get inside his head right now. Because since when does Dean Winchester think shit for his brother is fucking cute of all things?
Yet…
None of it makes its way out of his arms—or the basket—and back onto the shelves where it all came from. He sighs, resigned to the fact he's not going to put any of it back while acknowledging he might be going a little overboard. They could find all the answers they need come tomorrow—which would be a miracle at the rate information has been flowing—but it could also take a month or six to find those answers. He cannot afford for all their bases not to be covered. Kara won't hold it against him if he returns any unused items once they fix the problems the spell has caused.
"Hey, Kara?" Dean calls, hearing her finally finish up her phone call. "Any chance you have those mesh safety bed rails? Can't see any."
"We've got some portable ones on hand," she responds, her voice drawing closer as she weaves her way through the shelves towards him in full sales mode. "The fixed ones I'd have to order."
"What's the difference?" Dean questions, making his own way towards her voice.
He meets her halfway down the next slim aisle, a package in her hands that in no way looks large enough to be any form of bed safety rail. He again raises a questioning eyebrow.
"Our portable ones fold up to a quarter their size for easier travel," she states with a smug grin.
"Now you're just showing off."
"See for yourself." Passing the package to Dean to read the print on the back, she takes some of the clothing into her own hands. "So, how many you want?" she queries after half a minute.
"Better go for three," Dean states, impressed that—despite currently being the size of Sammy's laptop—they pull out to the same full size as the fixed ones he had also seen online and discounted for lack of travel ability. The ones he had shown Sam back at the clinic ideal only for the kid's bed at home. "Trust me when I say Sammy still finds ways to fall from the foot of a bed."
"Oh, I don't doubt that," she responds on her way back to the front of the store. "I remember he used to do that unless he slept in your arms." Laying the clothing in her hold down onto the register counter, she turns back to him. "Pink, blue, green, yellow or white?"
"Considering the princess vetoed pink ones on threat of desecrating my car—" Kara raises an eyebrow at him, her lips twitching with poorly concealed amusement, earning her a glare from Dean before he continues, "—I better go with green."
Dean places the basket in his hand—and the three awaiting his return on the floor—along with the rest of the clothing onto the counter. Remembering his little mental note, he asks, "You got any of those cushion car seats?"
"Number five?" Dean nods and Kara's expression turns apologetic. "We have a delivery on the way, but none currently in store. D'you want me to do you an order? We can ship it to you as soon as they come in."
"Yeah, that'd be great."
Kara creates an account for him on her store website before passing the keyboard over to Dean to input his details. While he does, she goes behind a partition wall, her footsteps carrying downwards suggesting she has a storehouse in the garage level below. she returns within no time, scanning the three packs of requested bed rails through the register.
"There's an adult-sized pack 'n' play downstairs if that'd be easier," she suggests.
Dean snorts, knowing the stink Sam would kick up if he was put to bed in what is essentially a mesh-walled crib-slash-playpen. "Don't think that's for us right now. But thanks. I'll definitely keep it in mind."
She nods, pointing to the keyboard still in front of Dean. "All done?" He pushes the keyboard back to her, while she asks, "Just the one car seat?"
"Err, do two," Dean replies, his intention to purchase Cas a decent car at some point down the line.
"Alright, that's all set up for you. Now—" she returns to the bag with the bed rails and Dean raises an eyebrow as she throws in a pack of the diapers he had earlier looked at, without scanning them. "On the house. And you'll be needing a changing mat." A clear packet with a flat, folded up white rectangle inside joins the diapers and bed rails while Dean fervently protests, Kara just continuing as if Dean hadn't spoken. "Also hypoallergenic and easy to clean, and if the diapers are unsuitable you haven't lost anything," she adds, and Dean knows refusing the diapers and changing mat would be futile at this point.
Plus, he has a kid to get back to instead of standing here arguing, so he simply nods his head in thanks.
"Of course, if they are efficient you know where to get more," she shoots him a grin as she continues to ring up his purchases.
"You betcha ass I do," Dean responds, eyes flickering around him at the shelves and piles of boxed furniture once more. "Speaking of which, you got a card?"
"On the wall by the door." Dean turns to his left, spying a business card holder on the wall. Grabbing one, he returns to the counter, handing the card over to Kara when she holds a hand out for it. She scribbles something on the back side and hands it back. "Your username and password. I've given you full access to the whole online store, not just the limited version."
Dean slips the card into his wallet, stating, "So that'd be why I couldn't find your style pacifier for looking."
"Yep. Though change your password first chance you get."
"Will do. How'd all this spring up anyway? You didn't have a store last time I was here."
"It's Sawyer's fault."
"Right. Blame the kids."
"She's not here, why shouldn't I?" Kara smirks, before chuckling. "No, it was a joint effort," she shrugs. "With the influx of the AP community, Sawyer thought it an ideal business venture. Made easier with Tom designing and making most of the furniture. So far it seems to have paid off."
Dean quirks an eyebrow at the final total a few minutes later. A total just over five-hundred dollars when he was expecting it to be in the one-grand range. He levels his eyes on Kara. "What kinda discount you give that?"
"Only forty per cent," she responds.
Only? Damn woman says it like she had wanted to apply more, which knowing Kara she probably did. "Kara, c'mon now, you already gave me enough," he protests. "Are you sure—?" he stops at the down-right-scary glare he receives. "Right. What am I thinking?" He chuckles nervously. "Of course, you're sure." He slides his expense account card into the card reader and inputs his pin on prompting, missing the amused smirk that flitters across Kara's lips. "It's genuine," he assures while removing it from the reader because there is no way he would give Kara one of their scam cards.
He'll just have to make a few adjustments to their budget for the next couple of months.
"I trust ya, Dean." She hands over the receipt before Dean grabs up the ten bags from the counter.
"Shit, did I really just buy all this crap?"
"Sure did. Well, except for those three items," she says meaning the free pacifier, pack of diapers and changing mat as she pushes the main entrance door open for Dean. "And if any of the clothing doesn't fit Sam, we'll exchange or refund it. Just send it in, we'll get you sorted."
Dean nods and presses a kiss to her cheek. "Thanks for this, Kara."
"You're more than welcome, Dean." Dean jogs down the stairs, coming to a stop halfway down when Kara calls after him. He turns to look up at her still standing at the top of the stairs. "Sam can keep the sippy-cup I brought to the library earlier and the blanket the sweet baby was sleeping under. It was a new one, fresh out the pack."
"Kara," Dean growls.
"What was that?" She calls down to him. "What'd you say, Dean? These old ears don't hear belly-aching too good." The small grin curving her lips belies her words, however, and Dean sighs reminded why she and Bobby always got on so well.
He nods, promising to find a small way to pay her back. With a short wave of fingers laden with bags, he turns and heads back down the stairs.
"Oh, and Dean! Don't even think about leaving them both in the library," she sweetly calls, drawing him to a halt again and revealing that was the very thing he was thinking of doing. "I do have an axe I know how to use."
"Damn stubborn woman!" He calls up to her, stomping down the steps to the sound of her laughter ringing out across the yard.
He smiles despite himself.
##
Purchases stowed away safely in the Impala—right next to the two toys he still needs to find a way to give Sam—Dean returns to the hunter library two minutes shy of his eleven-fifteen deadline. He finds Sam seated at the work table, concentration focused on the laptop before him.
He shakes his head at the kid's seated position; legs drawn up on the chair, ankles crossed and knees resting against the chair's arms. A completely uncomfortable position—trust him, he's tried it—but Sammy makes it look easy and comfortable. A thumbnail nibbled on and the very lack of Cas' presence near their little boy is glaringly obvious.
"Sammy."
Sammy's head snaps up at the sound of his voice, a squeal of "De!" leaving his lips as he excitedly bounds up out of the chair. Dean has to drop the bag he is concealing behind his back so he can throw his arms out to catch the flying Sasquatch before the kid takes them both down to the cabin's wooden floor.
It's a close shave; Sammy's butt landing in the region of Dean's thighs. He hefts the baby up with an arm under his butt before Sammy can continue climbing him the rest of the way like a tree—again—and plant knees or feet in Dean's very well-liked places.
"Hey, buddy," he murmurs once he has the kid secure on his hip. "Where's Cas?"
"Poopin'," Sam responds frankly.
Dean snorts, eyes drifting to the closed bathroom door, relieved Cas hasn't gone far. "How's your tummy feel? Still nauseous?" His kid doesn't answer, too busy tapping his fingers over Dean's face and nose.
Dean knows exactly what he's doing even before Sammy starts counting. "One freckie, two freckie, dree freckie, four—"
"Sammy, baby, concentrate for me," Dean instructs, easing the fingers away from his face.
Sammy blinks at him, whining and wriggling against the hold on his hand, demanding, "freckies, De-De!"
"You can count my freckles in a minute, buddy, but answer De-De first."
Sam huffs a breath as if Dean is just too exasperating. Dean refrains from chuckling, pleased to see the full concentration in those kaleidoscope eyes land squarely on him and not his freckles. It allows Dean to repeat his question. This time rewarded with an answer as Sammy shakes his head, hair flying around him.
"It's 'kay now," Sam murmurs.
"That's good. But no more hiding it, Sammy, you hear me? I can't help you if I don't have all the details." Sam gives a light shrug, fingers now fidgeting with the button on Dean's shirt collar, freckle counting forgotten. "Sam."
"Don't want you havin' someding else to worry 'bout," Sam whispers.
"Hey, look at me." Once the kid's eyes are back on him, Dean continues. "It's not up to you as to what I worry about, is it?" Sammy bites at his lower lip before shaking his head in the negative. "No. And I get it, baby, okay. You're trying to help. But if you truly wanna help, then don't keep things like this from me. I shouldn't have had to remind you, again, so soon after your spanking how much I don't like lying or secrets."
"I know," Sam agrees quietly. "I'll tell you from here on out."
"You better. Or you know what kinda conversation we'll be having."
Sam swallows, nods, hand unconsciously rubbing at the area of his bottom resting above Dean's arm. It is thankfully no longer as sore as it was, and he would rather not tempt Dean into warming it up again anytime soon. "Where'd you go anyway? You weren't late. So, yay for De-De!"
Dean smiles lightly at the cuteness of his kid raising his arms in celebration. Christ, there he goes with the 'cute' thing again. "Kara just wanted to show me something back at the house," he supplies, making no mention of having told Sammy that earlier as the kid probably hadn't processed his words fully through his tears. "She brought you some hot cocoa, you drink it?"
Sam's cheeks turn pink with an embarrassed flush, his fingers now tapping lightly against Dean's forehead as if it is an available drum kit. Eyes flickering over to the yellow sippy-cup sitting on the table, empty save for a small amount left at the bottom.
"Attaboy," Dean praises, setting his kid back in the chair he'd jumped out of to greet Dean and gently grasps his brother's chin. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about, Sammy," he reassures. "It's just a cup."
"You drink out of it den," Sam grumbles.
Dean shrugs, hitting Sam's phone to shut off the alarm for his return, while at the same time picking up the sippy-cup with a flourish. He places the soft spout between his lips as he tips it up. "Om, nom, nom," he exaggerates, while refraining from cringing as several drops of now cold cocoa escape onto his tongue when he accidentally squeezed the soft spout between his lips.
It's worth it though as he side-eyes Sammy, seeing the kid smothering a giggle behind his hand, looking all of two again. Dean holds back a grin, taking the spout away and swiftly goes in for the kill, finger's easily finding Sam's stomach.
"Nooo," Sammy giggles, pushing at Dean's arm as he squirms. "No, De-De, no tickles," he admonishes, trying for stern but the giggles aren't helping on that score.
"No? None?" Dean makes his eyes go wide as he lets out a theatrical gasp. "Like ever?"
"No, silly, not like ever. Just not now. Work, De-De."
"Alright, alright," Dean holds up his hands in surrender. "But if I've gotta work like a good boy, do I get an extra cookie?"
Sam giggles again before successfully managing to school his expression. "No."
"Hey, now!"
Sam shrugs, eyes returning to his laptop, a small pleased smile on his lips.
Dean's eyes catch Cas' beyond Sam, the other man had been leaning against the bathroom doorjamb just watching them playing with a soft smile. He seems relaxed—as much as an impending deadline allows—and Dean is thankful his earlier idea of focusing on the research seems to have paid off in calming both Sammy and Cas alike.
"Sammy let you help him with his pants?" He questions Cas, ignoring the flush that seeps into Sammy's cheeks.
"He did," Cas responds, a small pleased smile gracing his lips. "Did you see what you needed to?"
Dean nods. He watches Cas' eyes roam over the pockets on Dean's clothing, seeking out the lump indicating the new pacifier Kara gifted Sam, the other man frowning at Dean when he finds none. Dean shakes his head, it will take more than a quick switcheroo to get Sam to take the new pacifier.
"Later," he mouths, pulling a pacifier clip from his inner jacket pocket.
Cas nods, frowning at the new item as he retakes his seat at the table.
Dean had paid little attention to which of the clips he had grabbed from the pack of three he purchased. Turns out this one is very blue; its strap a deep royal blue with light blue owls seated on small brown branches dotted along it, with the clip and string at the opposite end—that Dean is currently threading through the D ring of Sammy's old pacifier—the same blue hue.
"Wassat?" Sam questions, curiosity having roused him back up from his laptop.
"Clip to stop you losing your dam-ding," Dean replies, clipping it onto the collar of Sam's shirt, the kid's eyes immediately going cross-eyed as he stares down at it. Dean slips the nipple of the pacifier passed Sammy's lips, the clip staying securely in place. "See."
"Hmph," Sam grumbles, fingers grasping hold of the strap and giving it a tug. The clip snaps free from his shirt collar and Sam smirks as he holds it up to Dean, having let his dam-ding slip free of his mouth also.
"Well, you're not meant to yank it off, Sammy," Dean rebukes mildly, his mind already working out how he can safely jerry-rig a new, securer clip as he takes the thing back and re-clips it to Sam's shirt. "Leave it alone, little boy."
Sam pouts. But nods. Resigned to having the clip stuck to his clothing like a baby. Though it will make it easier to get at his dam-ding, so he gives it a point in the pro column for that.
Happy the kid is leaving the clip alone, Dean stands his ass up from resting against the table and looks around, wondering what the hell he did with the other item he brought with him. Seeing the bag lying sprawled on the floor where he earlier dropped it to catch Sammy, Dean jogs the short distance to snatch it up. Retrieving the item from within, he tosses the bag away before he turns back around.
Sammy's eyes immediately go wide with unconcealed delight just as Dean was hoping. The kid practically holds his breath as he stares at the soft toy puppy now lying along Dean's right forearm, its head resting in the palm of Dean's hand. The toy posed on its belly, limbs sprawled outwards; ochre fur with black paws, snout and stubby tail, with a black patch over the left of the large deep brown eyes. Not too much of a likeness that it could bring back memories of the one Sammy had years ago and lost somewhere along the way.
"Found this little guy while I was out, Monkey," Dean explains, wanting the kid to accept a new toy without fuss. Or eye-rolling. Or looking at Dean like he is a complete idiot—which could still happen anyway. "Looked like he could do with a friend 'cause all the other dog's with him were being mean."
Sammy tilts his head, brow creased as he bites at his bottom lip. Dean squats down in front of his kid, transferring the toy pup onto the table.
"Why were dey being mean?" Sammy questions quietly, intrigued.
"They were thinking they could be bullies just 'cause this little guy is a little different." Sammy's head tilts a fraction further to the side in silent question as he frowns down at the pup. Dean wiggles his finger for his kid to come closer. When Sammy leans down, Dean whispers into his ear, "His left back leg is shorter than his right, which means he wobbles when he walks."
Sammy gasps, thankfully too into the story to notice his reaction is more in-line with the child he is than the adult he thinks he is. "Cassie," Sam turns indignantly to Cas to share his outrage. "You hear what dose naughty doggies were doin'?!"
"I did, little one," Cas acknowledges, his concentration focused fully on Sam, and Dean's interaction with him, silently taking notes in his head. He would prefer not to be in the situation of having an upset, crying child he cannot calm down without making a phone call to his partner again. "It was very cruel of them, and a good job your brother brought the puppy to us."
Sammy snaps his gaze back to Dean and the pup, questioning, "Where's he gonna go? Were dey his family?"
"No. No, they weren't his family, Sammy," Dean assures. "I asked him if he wanted to come home with me, 'cause I got a little boy who'll shower him with a ton of affection, and of course he said yes." Dean shuffles the pup further across the table until the toy's snout brushes against Sammy's hand.
"Dat tickles," the kid giggles, but he tentatively strokes his fingers along the toy pup's back. "He's soft, De."
"He is," Dean agrees. "So, what you think, Sammy? Think you can be his friend? And he yours?"
Sammy smiles shyly as he moves to reach out to hold the pup. He stops himself, however, to stare down at the pacifier-clip attached to his shirt before looking to Dean with those wide eyes, now filled with sadness.
"Both essential, Sammy," Dean assures quietly, understanding the kid's hesitance and wishing he didn't. "One to keep your dam-ding safe," he points to the clip, "and the other—" he points to the stuffed toy "—to watch over you while you're sleeping. Because he assured me he is an awesome watch-pup who will grow into an even better watchdog."
Sammy's forehead creased into a frown and Dean knows he hasn't quite convinced him yet. "Are you sure?" The kid asks. "He's not a treat you're trying to sneak past me?"
"Would I do something like that, Sammy?"
"Yes."
Dean chuckles. Because, yeah. That's exactly what he is currently doing, spent the past hour doing in fact. Sammy, however, doesn't need to know that. "He's not a treat, kiddo. You do need a snuggle-buddy you can take wherever you're sleeping instead of using pillows or jackets. And this little guy is dually-trained as both a snuggle-buddy and a watch-pup. So, essential."
"Oh. Okay. Good. Cause I already got my Littlefoot for no reason," Sam throws a look at Cas. Because although he is happy to have his little dinosaur, he didn't do anything worthwhile to be gifted it.
"Littlefoot was given to you for being such a brave boy back at the clinic, Sam. It was not without reason," Cas states matter-of-factly, leaving no room for argument.
Sam flushes lightly and shrugs, not sure that was enough of a reason to require a treat. But he objects no more. He instead leans down to rest his chin on the edge of the table to be eye-to-eye with his new puppy.
Dean watches with rapture as Sammy introduces himself to the pup, his fingers discreetly shifting the toy slightly to bop its nose against Sam's to show the pup's agreement of offered friendship. It has been so long since he has seen Sammy so uninhibited in his actions around a toy. Years, in fact. They have had many a case where they have had to interact with a child or children through play to encourage answers to flow and Sam has always been unsure of himself, the reason Dean is often pushed in to play with the kids instead of Sam.
But now Sammy is playing with his toy pup like any other child, introducing his little dinosaur and interacting as if the three are enjoying a conversation. It amuses Dean as much as it lightens his heart. Especially as Dean makes the pup's front right paw curl around Littlefoot to draw the dinosaur into an imitation of a hug, and a contented sigh releases from Sammy at the sight.
"Look, De," his kid whispers, leaning towards Dean to be heard clearly, though it isn't necessary as Dean can hear him just fine. "I dink dey gonna be friends."
"I think they are, too, bud," Dean whispers back, carefully easing his hold away from the pup to rise and place a kiss on Sam's head while shaking out his braced knee, twinges of pain shooting through it. "But I think the little guy needs a name, Sammy," Dean says to distract his kid from staring at Dean's face, down to his bad knee and back. "Poor guy doesn't already have one."
"Oh! You're right, he should," Sammy nods, head cocking sideways slightly as he stares intently at the pup instead of scrutinising Dean. "He-he says he wants a strong name. De, Cassie, you help me, please?"
"Course, Sammy." Dean leans his ass against the table as Cas rises to join them, squatting down the opposite side of Sam. "Zeppelin," Dean immediately suggests, laughing at the scowl he receives. "That's an awesome name for a pup, Sammy."
"Not dis one. Maybe when we get our bigger puppy you can call it Zeppelin," Sammy gives him a sly, dimpled grin and Dean can't help but snort.
"Keep on wishing, Sammy."
Sam frowns unhappily until Cas' suggestion of 'Herbert' sees both he and Dean giggling and snickering respectively, much to Cas' consternation.
"Then perhaps Arthur?" Cas suggests again, receiving a brisk shake of the head from Sam.
"Nah-uh, Cassie. Arddur's a Weasley. Not a puppy."
"Ah, but Arthur could be both if he was an Animagus," Cas points out with a gentle poke at Sam's belly, the boy squirming away with a giggle, and Dean realises he needn't feel guilty for not having much enjoyment in Harry Potter because Cas will fill that hole for Sammy when Charlie's not around.
"Dat is true," Sam contemplates once he has schooled his giggling. "But no. It doesn't suit him."
Cas smiles lightly, gaze flickering to Dean as if judging whether Dean is happy with Cas' attempt at engagement with their child. Dean meets his eyes briefly, gives a minute nod and Cas' smile widens. A frown creases Dean's forehead the moment Cas turns back to Sam. He really needs to sit down with Cas and explain that it's okay to feel insecure in his interactions with Sammy.
This isn't a normal situation and Dean understands it might be a little daunting for Cas to be thrown in at the deep end while viewing Dean reacting at any given moment with Sam out of pure instinct. It is not done with ease, as Cas' undoubtedly sees it, just thirty-two years of practice. Cas has been their friend for many years, but he needs to understand this new relationship is not going to happen overnight. Maybe not even organically. But the guy is good with Sammy. He did great calming Sam the other morning when the kid was crying, he shouldn't believe so little of himself.
A nudge to his leg draws Dean's attention back to the moment at hand, meeting worried hazel eyes. He sends a quick reassuring smile to his brother before announcing, "Metallica."
"Deeee," Sammy whines, bumping his shoulder against Dean's thigh. "No music likeness."
"Fair enough," Dean says, raising his hands. "How about… Dog?" he shoots the kid a half-grin. Sam snickers while Cas rolls his eyes.
Numerous name suggestions follow, each one vetoed by Sam, and just when Dean thinks they'll have to come back to it later, Cas makes a suggestion that piques Sammy's interest.
"How about… Rocket?"
"There's a song with that in it," Dean points out, watching Cas trace a finger over the patch above the toy's left eye.
"Shush," Sammy pokes him in the hip with his elbow, a tiny amused grin on his lips as he keeps his attention on Cas, who is shooting Dean a small glare.
"May I continue helping our child?"
"Oh, please, do," Dean waves his hand theatrically towards Sam and the pup, igniting Sammy's tiny grin into a smile.
Cas shakes his head. "His patch here looks a little like a rocket," he announces, continuing to glide his finger over the patch.
If you squint sideways, Dean thinks, giving a nod to Sammy when the kid looks for his input. "It's a good, strong name for the pup, kiddo."
"Let me see," Sammy says, leaning back down to his pup, while Dean surreptitiously gets his fingers on the toy again. "You like Rocket, puppy?" The new toy pup's head bobs up and down excitedly, a small yip escaping which earns Dean a quick side-eye from Sammy before the kid grins. "He likes it." Sammy sits up and smacks his hands together (well, hand and cast). "Introductions! Rocket, dis is my De-De and my Cassie. Cassie and De-De, dis is Rocket Dean Winchester."
Dean smiles, feeling a little honoured by the name. "Welcome to the family, Rocket," he says, shaking the front left paw while ruffling his kid's hair, chuckling when Sammy bats his hand away and Cas dives in to ruffle the kid's hair instead.
"Ack! Protection! Protection!" Sammy squeals, placing the pup on his head to commence its watch-pup duty.
Cas and Dean laugh, Cas returning to his seat. Dean shifts to move to his own so they can all knuckle down to the research once more when the writing on the page Sammy has up on his laptop jumps out at him. "Power channelling?"
"Oh, dat's—"
Dean smacks Sam's hand away from the mouse before his kid can close the window, leaning over Sam's shoulder to survey the kid's research. He frowns at the information he's seeing on the screen. "Why are you looking into power channelling, Sam?"
"Err, well," Sammy tucks his new pup into the crook of his arm, holding Rocket securely against his chest as he shifts in his seat. "I dought, you know, maybe it might help."
"We have no current need to be looking into power channelling, little one," Cas pipes up, brow creased in confusion. "Unless… unless you know something your brother and I don't."
"Sam?" Dean questions, seeing the sheepish expression on his kid's face even in side profile.
"Okay, don't get mad—"
"Oh, boy," Dean sighs, shifting around to rest against the table the left of Sam's laptop once more, while pinching the bridge of his nose. "Thought you'd've learnt by now that's never a good start to explaining something, Sammy."
Sam frowns. Because yeah. He knows that conversations started with 'don't get mad' usually results in his brother doing precisely that. Yet half the time Sam still says it like an ingrained habit.
Dean waves his hand at him. "Alright, let's hear it. Why are you looking at power channelling?"
"Um, well, it's, see, I-I'm not even sure what's happening. It's just I-I kinda sensed a strong demon coming my way when I was in de library back in Redfern Grove dat turned out to be Crowley. Only like a second or two before Crowley turned up—" he rushes to clarify before the obvious question can be thrown at him, "—so I didn't have any time to get away. But den it happened again in de building you found me—"
"Crowley's demons? Or that vortex-thing?"
"Former, I'd imagine. And dere's… dere's, err, dere's someding here—" Sam gestures widely, "—in Yrautcnas dat I can't directly pinpoint."
"The same sensation as sensing Crowley and his demons?" Cas questions.
Sam shakes his head. "No. It's different. Sensing demons is like—" he pauses to find the right words to explain, a shiver of remembrance passing through him; the ice-cold sensation that had run down his spine. "Like de coldest snowstorm in winter. Unwelcoming. Like a neon steer-clear warning. Dis here… it's… it's more like approaching spring, to go widd de seasonal analogy. Kinda warm and inviting. I-I don't feel dreatened by it. Just dat someding's different here."
"Could be the wards," Dean points out.
"Dat's what I was dinking," Sam nods. "Dey're made for protection. Dreatening only to supernatural wanting to get in."
"Which begs the question as to how Cas and I got in with demonic and angelic powers inside of us," Dean comments, forehead creased into a contemplative frown.
"Or an angel for that matter," Cas adds. "The Jeffries' are not aware I am human now."
"Err, yeah." The look Sam levels at Cas is rueful. "I doubt dey believe you're still an angel, Cas. I mean, for one, an angel doesn't need an anti-possession tattoo."
"Nor do such markings hold on an angel unless already present prior to vessel occupation," Cas looks as if he wants to smack himself in the forehead but refrains. "We thought it would be more prudent to conceal my human status—"
"I get dat. Except Crowley knows and he's not one for staying quiet."
"Alright, shoving that aside," Dean interjects. "The wards here obviously don't block out everything."
"They do not block out human."
"Which is why I've been wondering if your powers still hold de connotation of demonic and angelic," Sam inputs. "What-what if dey're now just powers? Powers of deir origin, which, technically is de same origin, but still just powers."
"That even possible?"
Sam can only shrug because he's guessing here at most. "You said Crowley knew someding was off widd de pair of you?" Dean and Cas nod. "Den maybe he'll have an idea—"
"We're not asking that bastard for anything, Sam," Dean growls. "Not when he wants to snap your damn bones into fu-udging pieces and kidnapped you only yesterday!"
"How did Crowley find you yesterday, little one?" Cas questions. "I was under the impression he couldn't find us from what he implied."
Sam frowns, confused. Dean helps him out, "Crowley said he couldn't find me and Cas through any channels, including our phones. Hell, he showed us the proof."
Sam frown deepens. "When? What proof?"
"Roundabout the same time he was telling us he knew Cas wasn't an angel anymore and I had Knight of Hell juice. He made a point of calling our phones. Neither call went through."
"Damn," Sam sighs, unconsciously squeezing Rocket closer to his chest. "I dought for sure it had to be de Men of Letters sigils working."
"We weren't in that five-mile radius, Sammy. At least Cas heading towards Vancouver wasn't. So, how'd Crowley find you?"
Sam shifts, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "Err, well, he might've, err, said someding vaguely along de lines of me being, err, 'ltpikeaistmasee'."
Dean blinks at the rushed mumble. And while he can usually fathom out 'Sammy-speak' easily enough—and Cas is getting a crash course right now in a minor amount of reduced articulation from Sammy (and which Dean is pretty sure the kid has yet to register)—this one lost him. He can see Cas is just as confused.
"You wanna run that by us again?"
"Not really."
"Well tough."
"Why even ask if I wanna repeat it?" Sam grumbles and Dean levels him with a glare.
"Spit it out. Slowly, this time."
"Fine," Sam huffs. "He said I'm 'lit up like a Christmas tree'," and to be obnoxious of course the kid said that like a slowed down recording.
"Real cute, Sammy."
"Did he care to elaborate?" Cas quickly questions, bringing a halt to the response Sam wanted to give.
"It was Crowley, Cas. He was too busy breaking my arm."
Dean sits forward in his chair, gaze centred heavily on Sam. "I wanna get this straight in my head, Sammy. Because if I'm hearing correctly, Cas and I have apparently dropped off the freaking map and you're lit up like a damn Christmas tree. That about right, Sam?" His kid nods slowly. "Well, that's just friggin' perfect!" Dean jumps from his chair, frustration moving him back and forth across the floor space in front of the table until he stops, hands coming to rest heavily on the table as he leans down to face Sam. "And more than likely one more thing we can add to the list of consequences from that damn spell!"
"Dere was no way I could've known what de spell was gonna do, Dean! Hell, I only believed it would work 'cause it was de only belief I had left! And it did. It saved you, Dean. And the way I see it, Crowley not being able to sense or contact you two is a damn bonus!"
"Except for the fact it's left you wide open and vulnerable, Sam! Forgive me if I'm having a little trouble finding the plus side in all this right now!"
"I'm no more vulnerable now dan I always have been, Dean!"
"Wrong! You're more vulnerable now than you ever have been! And not from some monster or demon. From me!" Dean smacks himself hard in the chest with the flat of his hand, as if punishing himself for that detail. "From Cas. Every second of the damn day you're vulnerable to the powers living inside me an' Cas. You're vulnerable just sitting there without the anti-possession tattoo preventing a demon shoving itself down your goddamn throat again!"
"As if we're not here to get dat fixed, Dean!"
"You—!"
"Alright. Alright. Enough," Cas says, stepping in-between the two once again, pushing them away from each other. "Both of you will sit down and calm down. Now."
Sam drops back down into the chair he hadn't realised he vacated; sticking his thumb in his mouth and pointedly glaring at his brother, who grudgingly does as Cas asked.
"Thumb out, Sam," Dean instructs but Sam just continues eyeballing him.
Cas tugs the digit from the boy's mouth, replacing it with the pacifier. A move that sees Sam's glare transferred to Cas instead. "Your brother has asked you to refrain from sucking your thumb in case it is making you sick, Samuel. I do not think that is an unreasonable request, do you?"
Sam huffs. But shakes his head. Pulling forcefully on his dam-ding to calm himself down.
"Now—" Cas retakes his seat at the table. "I know I do not have the power to sense demons because I see their true faces. A Knight of Hell, however, does have that power along with seeing true faces. Whether or not Dean still has that power hasn't been tried and tested since the spell." Cas looks to his partner for clarification. Dean nods once. Cas raises a hand as Sam leans forward. "And nor will it be." Sam slumps back in his chair.
"You know we're not gonna risk you like that, Sam, so quit trying to get us to use these damn powers."
Sam grasps hold of the end of the strap attached to his dam-ding and pulls it free from his mouth, letting it hang back down against his chest. "I know dat, okay. What I was trying to get at, is dat we're all now connected in some way. De spell connected us," Sam twirls his hand in a circle between them. "It's why I'm so affected by your power usage, right? So, what if, somehow, I'm unconsciously channelling your powers?"
"Why though?"
"I dunno." Sam shrugs. "Maybe 'cause you guys can't use dem yourselves? Or dey need an outlet? A small release in power in allowing me to sense demons' and oder shiii—" Sam swiftly shifts from finishing the curse word to a more acceptable form in the face of the two disapproving men of his present company because he would prefer not to spend the next five minutes in time out, "—err, stuff, etcetera."
"It is plausible," Cas says slowly. "But if it is the case and you are channelling, we cannot know how much more of a detrimental effect something like this is having on your body."
"So how the hell do we go about figuring that out? Without getting Sam to try channelling our freakin' powers?"
A tone chimes on Dean's phone, indicating an incoming message and Sam can't help thinking saved by the friggin' bell as he returns to the information pulled up on his laptop. They could go around in circles for hours, days even, with the issue of Dean and Cas' powers.
Dean refrains from visibly wincing as he reads the message. Knowing as soon as the next words leave his mouth what little is left of the morning will not be painless for any of them. He looks to Cas, nodding at the question in the blue eyes, before shifting his gaze to Sam's bowed head, bracing himself for whichever reactive response Sammy is going to take—fight or flight.
"The ink's ready, Sammy."