Something was wrong. Sam could tell. He had gotten used to being the first one up, to shoving the small body to one side to get out of bed, to disentangling the skinny arms from his own lanky frame.
This morning was different. The motel bed was more crowded than usual. The arms that had wrapped themselves around Sam in the middle of the night weren't tiny. They were think, muscular. Not the arms of a child.
Dreading what he would see, Sam opened his eyes and looked at the body in the bed next to him. Short, dark hair topped the head of what had been a freckle-faced blond the night before. A well-built, six-foot-one frame took up half the bed. The adult that had been a child the night before, that would probably never get to find out whether or not Harry triumphed over Voldemort, rolled over, dumping a ragged teddy bear onto the floor.
It wasn't the first time since being cursed that Dean had caused his brother's heart to ache, but this time it was different. It wasn't aching for what could now be that had never been before. It was aching for what could have been but would now never be. Dean's second chance had left the building, and Sam had a pretty good idea who had taken it.
He laid back down, unwilling to disturb his brother.
o0o0o0o0o0o0o
"I want a birthday party."
The request was small and soft, but Sam heard it, nonetheless, and it filled him with more happiness than he ever would have thought possible. Since he'd agreed to stay with his brother, the boy had opened up, had started asking for things, had started trusting him.
"A birthday party?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow and turning from the open road to stare at Dean.
"Yeah," Dean said, "the last time I had one was when I turned four."
The older hunter swallowed hard. Four? It seem unfair somehow, especially since Dean had made sure that Sam had a party every year. "What do you want?"
"I told you. A party. A celebration of the fact that I exist."
"No. I mean, what do you want for your birthday?"
Dean shrugged. "I dunno yet. It's still, like, seven months off, right? I'll come up with something. Just wanted to give you time to prepare." He smiled and settled back into his seat.
o0o0o0o0o0o
His feet touched the floor. His feet touched the floor, and he was scared and sad and angry all at the same time. Because his feet touched the floor.
Dean glanced back into the bed, a sorrowful stare intended only for his brother. He knew that that gaze had lost its power during the night, knew that Sammy would be immune to it because only cute little kids can pull off the cute-little-kid stare. His days of getting what the wanted were over.
Not that he'd had many days like that, mind you.
Running a hand through his recently shortened hair, Dean got to his feet, hating the fact that he didn't have to jump to get out of the bed. He trudged into the bathroom and flipped on the light. He could reach the switch without effort, and he hated that, too.
The mirror mocked him. The face staring back sneered, deepening the lines around his mouth, his eyes. He was older. Older and wiser and perfectly capable of taking care of himself.
It was the eyes that mocked him the most, though. The eyes still held that little-kid quality, had for years. Somewhere, deep inside, something in him cried out, something small and weak and defenseless. It was something he'd buried years before, something that he'd stupidly let see the light of day, and now it wanted to play, wanted to cuddle, wanted its daddy. It didn't want its real daddy, though. It wanted the nice daddy, the one that gave it what it wanted and didn't hate it.
It was such a small thing that he pushed it out of the way, scared it off like he had so many years before. This time he used force, used the power of his fist through the mirror. There was no need to tell it tales of fires and monsters and demons that hid in the darkness. It had become accustomed to those things. The only things it responded to anymore were disappointment and force, fear and rejection.
The broken pieces of mirror clattered to the floor and Dean knew what he had to do. He had to beg for another chance. He just hoped he wasn't too late.
o0o0o0o0o0o
He wrapped small arms around his brother, laid his head on Sammy's chest, close enough to hear his heart beating, to know that it would never stop, not as long as Dean needed him.
It was everything he'd ever wanted. Love and proximity and kindness and the weightlessness that came with the lifting of everything from his small shoulders.
And they were so small now.
He curled closer to his brother, to the imposing giant of a man that would keep him safe from all harm, and closed his eyes. He was safe. He was happy. He was loved. And he finally had a father.
o0o0o0o0o0o0o
The motel room door opened and Dean straightened, crossing his thick arms over his firm chest and hating himself for it, for the way it felt. He was supposed to be tiny, puny.
Bobby was halfway across the parking lot before he noticed Dean standing there, wearing Sam's too-big clothes because they'd gotten rid of everything that had once fit him, staring blankly.
"Dean," he managed, dropping his bags to the pavement and offering a slight, confused smile, "what are you doing here?"
Dean blinked, stepping onto the pavement from the weedy grass, wincing as sharp rocks dug into his bare feet. "You have to undo it."
"Undo what?"
"He's gonna leave now," Dean blurted, unable to stop himself, He was desperate, was running out of time, needed to get his point across, to keep his brother. His father. Whatever Sam was to him.
"Who's gonna leave?"
"Da- Sammy. Sam's gonna leave because I don't need him anymore."
Bobby shook his head. "After effects."
"I'm not cursed," Dean yelled, his eyes narrowing, "and it's all your fault. If you hadn't done this to me everything would be fine."
"I helped you."
"You took everything."
"Your brother's not gonna leave you. If he was gonna leave-"
"He felt bad for me. He said he would stay to take care of me. But he doesn't have to anymore and it's all because of you."
"Dean, go home."
"I don't have a home," he shouted, rushing forward and pinning the older man to a near-by car, "you chased us out of it."
"You were living-"
"For once on my life!" Dean finished. "I didn't have to worry about being the responsible one and I got to live. And now it's over."
"What do you want me to do about it?"
"Change me back," he whispered, trying that little-kid stare, the wide-eyed gaze that had gotten him so much, taken him so far, "please. I don't wanna live like this."
"Like what?" Bobby asked, "an adult?"
"Like I'm broken and no one wants to fix me because I should be able to do it myself."
"You're not-"
"But dad tried and he might've been able to do it if I'd just had a little longer. Maybe he could have fixed me."
"Your daddy's been dead two years now."
Dean shook his head. "Stop trying to change the subject."
"You're the one who brought him up."
"I didn't!"
"You said-"
"I said Sam," Dean muttered, "Sam tried. He just needs a little more time. Please, Bobby. If you can undo it, then you can do it, too, right?"
The older man struggled from his grip. "After effects," he reiterated, picking up his bags and turning toward his truck. "You'll see more clearly tomorrow."
Dean knew that he wouldn't.
o0o0o0o0o0o0o
He liked being carried. He'd never known it before, had fought tooth-and-nail, but now he liked it.
Maybe it was the situation. Sam wasn't just awkwardly picking him up and slinging him over one shoulder for no reason. No, he was doing this to help, to provide comfort, to save what they'd found.
He stopped Bobby, stopped whatever ritual it was that could send Dean back to the land of the adult, all tall and muscular and miserable. He did it because he wanted to help. He did it because he wanted to keep the kid a kid.
And that was that.
Final chapter will go up in a couple of days, so keep your eyes open!