The closest thing to home the Winchester boys have had, besides the Impala, is their bedroom at Bobby's. Over the years – of visiting and of being dumped there – the single beds with their worn but clean linens, the kitchen-slash-workroom, and the living room-slash-library, set in the middle of heaps of rusty cars and a working man's garage and warded against everything Bobby knew how to ward against, became the one stationary place the boys could be themselves.
Dean starts to feel a little better there, more like himself. Part of his relief is that Dean slept in his own bed last night. His small body barely made an indent in the pillow, but it was his bed, and that made a world of difference. Bobby and Sam didn't bring the cage with them, and that makes them all feel better, even if Dean has had to put up with some teasing. Sammy will pay for calling him "catnip" when Dean gets his size back. And fortunately Rumsfeld the Rottweiler keeps stray cats at bay.
Dean and Sam have come up with a mode of transportation where Sam lets his big brother perch on his shoulder. Sam's too long hair gives Dean handles, and sitting by his ear means Dean doesn't have to yell to be heard. Dean doesn't feel trapped this way like he does when someone holds him in fist. The shoulder is like riding a really tall horse. Forget about Bobby's Jiminy Cricket and little angel/devil remarks. It's working for them.
Bobby even let Dean perch on his shoulder for the ride to the garage. Dean thinks his beard is pretty wiry though, harder on the hands than Sam's mane. Without a cage and with his brother there, Dean doesn't feel as desperate. Bobby relaxes his vigilance a little. The three guys fall into an old pattern the first full day. Sam helps in the house's library researching hunts and answering the phones, Bobby works on cars and takes towing jobs. Dean helps Bobby with cars, just electrical systems right now – finding his small size beneficial for tracing wiring and finding where they're worn.
They don't talk about John until dinner. "So, gonna call your dad tonight." Bobby spills the idea out over a meal of hotdogs and mac and cheese which Sam cuts some into small pieces and moves them to the edge of the plate where Dean is sitting cross-legged. Sam has been ribbing him about eating with his hands, so Dean has been even sloppier than usual. The friendly banter between the brothers as they share a plate stops.
Dean looks at Sam, reading his expression, before turning toward Bobby. "Are you, umm, calling him to come get us? Or to check in? Cause, Bobby, Dad doesn't do just checking in real well."
"Understatement." Sam mutters, and Dean shoots him a quelling look. But it doesn't work. Sam's not actually feeling intimidated by Dean right now, and he long ago decided Dean was never going to stand up for himself against the great John Winchester. "Dad doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do, and right now me and Dean aren't assets. He said to call when Dean's restored, or if it doesn't happen in a week."
"Just thought I'd tell him where we are. Tomorrow will be a week. If you ain't proper-sized by the end of it, I figured we'd head back over that way and find the damned witch ourselves. Thought maybe your dad'd want to meet us there if we go." Bobby keeps eating, trying to keep things nonchalant.
"Bet he doesn't," Sam mutters at the same time Dean says "Good plan." Dean glares at Sam, who shrugs.
As much as Dean doesn't want to let on how upset he really is, now that Bobby has brought up Dad, Dean stands up and wanders away from the plate. He wipes at his messy face with his sleeve, but Sam dunks part of a paper napkin into his water glass and reaches over to wash his brother's face.
"Hey!" Dean sputters. "Damnit, Sam, that's cold!"
"Huh, imagine that," Sam smirks at his older brother. "Bet I said that a million times when you did it to me."
"That's different!" Dean yells. "You were little. I was taking care of you."
The words spill out like lead pellets as Dean realizes what he just said and how it applies differently now. Bobby holds his breath, waiting to see what Dean will do as emotions roll across the toy-sized older brother's face. But Sam, he doesn't see because he's already laughing. "Yeah, well, looks like I'm the one stuck taking care of a little brother right now!"
Dean's quick. And he scampers out the open window next to the table onto the porch before Bobby can catch him, and before Sam realizes he's the only one laughing. "Damn idgit." Bobby growls.
"What? What did I do?" Sam's young, but he's smart. He jumps up from the table when he realizes how his macho big brother took what he said. "I'll go find him, Bobby. You're right, I'm an idiot some times." And the younger boy is out the door to begin searching for his brother.
Sam's been taught tracking so he goes to check under the window first. Scuff marks show where Dean used a telephone line to climb down from the window sill. Sam looks around the porch where things including an old sink are stacked haphazardly. There's a hundred places Dean could be hiding, and as many things that could hurt him when he's tiny.
"What, Dean, too soon? Can't take a joke?" Sam is on all fours looking to see if he can find tracks. He's pretty sure if he can piss his brother off, Dean will move and give away his position. "Your little feelings get hurt? Cause usually my big brother doesn't run away. Oww!"
Something stings Sam's butt and he whirls around to find a rubber band on the ground. He rubs at the sting and glares toward where he thinks his brother must be and brings himself to a crouch. Sam stalks closer to where he thinks his brother is hiding and lifts an old suitcase. But Dean's not there. Sam bends down to look between two boxes when he gets hit with two more rubber bands in quick succession.
"Damnit, Dean!" Sam yells, but then he can't hear anything except Bobby guffawing so loudly from where he's been watching out the window. "Truce, okay? I'm sorry, you jerk. What do you want me to say?"
Dean swaggers out from behind an old typewriter sitting on a dusty desk on the front porch. He looks camouflaged with the amount of dirt and dust he has managed to climb through. He still has two rubber bands slung around his chest like bandoliers. "Oh, don't be a whiny bitch, Sammy. I'm right here."
Bobby ducks away from the window to let the boys make up without him, but he's still chuckling. It's simple times like these that he loves spending with them, but that just reminds him he needs to call their dad, who seems to be gone more often than not any more. Of course, Bobby gets John's voicemail when he calls. The exasperated older man leaves a terse message. Bobby straightens up the kitchen from dinner and makes a bowl of popcorn.
When he finishes, Bobby wanders into the living room where Sam is sprawled on the couch watching a reality cop show on television. Dean is perched on the back of the couch with his arms crossed.
"What are we watching?" Bobby's surprise comes through in the question.
"Cops." The smirk is evident in Sam's voice.
"Ain't your usual thing and I thought your brother hated cop shows."
"Really?" Sam feigns innocence while Dean huffs. "Maybe Catnip should change the channel." Dean rolls his eyes; it's pretty apparent to all of them that Sam's just being a brat, but since Dean actually likes this reality show he's just letting Sam think he won.
"You know who loves catnip, right, little brother? Not exactly insulting." Dean turns toward Bobby. "What did dad say?" Dean ventures.
"Left a message." Bobby says tersely. Neither brother says anything, knowing it'll just lead to another argument. Bobby settles at the other end of the couch and waits for the half-hour show to end.
"For the record, you boys are welcome here any time and in any condition. But Dean, I think we need to get you back to size for your own good – and for Sam's sake. So let's go ahead and make a plan for confronting the witch."
Bobby's library has a ton of information about witches, but Bobby warns them most of what's been written is complete nonsense. "It's a term people use – no, mostly men use - for a woman who practices magic." Bobby explains. "So if you get right to it, when we do counter spells or make magical instruments, we're every bit as likely to be classified as witches too."
Dean snorts. "C'mon Bobby. There's a difference. We don't go messing with magic to get power. We don't cast spells on innocent people."
"And most witches don't either, Boy. You gotta learn that not everything different is a monster. You can't just run around killing everything supernatural. Yeah, there's witches who kill and do evil black magic rites, but there's plenty who heal and cast spells to bring balance back when something else throws things out of kilter." Bobby is lecturing, and Sam is listening carefully. He knows he believes what the other hunter is saying. A couple of years ago he helped a Kitsune who saved his life escape from his father and brother. But one look at his brother's scowl shows him that Dean doesn't agree.
Bobby is gathering ingredients for scrying to find the witch's whereabouts: a polished silver bowl, herbs, spring water, and a tiny drop of Dean's blood to trace the spell. "This, what we're doing right here, would have gotten us killed in earlier times. They'd have called us witches." Bobby finishes with the ingredients and chants before blowing softly across the water. The three gather around the bowl waiting for the ripples to still.
The water turns black, then reflective like a mirror, before clearing, and it's almost like a television. Bobby and the boys watch as the witch moves around a kitchen before turning toward the stove with a puzzled look on her face. She gazes into a pot of water, her eyes meeting Bobby's. "Bobby Singer! You could have used the phone if you wanted to talk to me." The witch's voice is still accented, but the warmth of her greeting is unmistakable. She looks at the boys. "Did my doll and his little brother come to you for help? Where is the father?"
Dean and Sam turn puzzled looks toward their mentor. Bobby clears his throat. "Roxanne." It's a greeting as well as the beginnings of an explanation to the boys. He looks at them, face ruddy, "She taught me a lot about spell craft when I first started hunting."
The witch's face lights with amusement. "Bobby? Who are these boys to you? Why do they look so at home there?" She asks. "But it is good to see my little doll is well, and to see that the marks their father's hand left on the younger one's face have faded." Dean's eyes fly up to Sam's face, but there are no traces he can find. Dean's mouth sets and there's a tick along his jawline. Sam shrugs.
The older hunter sighs. When and where to look for help is one of the areas that he and John Winchester differ, like they do about what makes something a monster, but not as much as they have about how John treats the boys. "Well, Roxie, these two, Sam and your little doll, Dean, are still being taught by their father, but they're almost like my own. They're young. I'll get the rough spots knocked off'em yet because – yeah – they're like family to me."
"Hey!" Dean objects. "Enough with the little doll thing." But Bobby holds his hand up for quiet.
Roxanne looks sad. "Bobby – these boys – your boys - they have a destiny. Dark things are ahead. Things I cannot change or I would. Even when I cast my spell on the older one, Dean, I tried to help. He will carry a heavy burden and must learn to accept assistance. He cannot do it alone."
"About that…" Bobby starts. Roxanne cuts him off. "It was temporary to begin with Bobby. Let him sleep one more time needing to be safeguarded, and when he wakes he will be as he was, but I hope wiser." She teases. "And maybe a little better at controlling his tongue."
Bobby snorts at the witch. "You doing miracles now?"
The witch gives a soft sigh as her finger reaches to stir the water and break the connection. "Perhaps one day you will bring them to me in person, and we will talk again. But Bobby, you know how to reach me if you need my help. Goodbye for now. Take care of each other."
"Frikkin witches," mutters Dean, and he kicks the side of the bowl. "Give me the creeps." Sam has found the conversation fascinating, and Bobby sees the curiosity in the teen's eyes. His brother sees it too. "Don't be getting ideas, Sammy. We hunt things – just like Dad taught us. But, yeah, even Dad uses psychics sometimes. So I guess it's like sometimes you need to find one who can help – but don't be getting ideas."
Bobby smiles. Despite himself, it seems like Dean has learned something from this past week. "Well, Roxanne seems to think you'll be back to usual in the morning. That's something." Bobby stands up and starts putting away his spell ingredients.
Sam gets a sly look on his face. "Hey, Bobby. I got this bowl. It looks like we could do double duty with it."
It's Bobby's turn to look puzzled, but Dean gets a panicked look on his face as his brother scoops him up and lets him fall into the bowl. "Dean got pretty dirty today." Sam grins as his brother stands back up. Sopping wet and sputtering.
"You wait, Bitch. Pay back will be sweet." His shivering older brother chatters. And Bobby fishes him out of the water and tosses him a dish towel to dry off. "You two idgits will be the death of me."
The idea of sleeping that night is as difficult for all three as it is for children the night before a Disneyland adventure. But eventually, several whiskeys assisting, Bobby wanders upstairs to his room, and Sam lets Dean ride on his shoulder for what should be the last time. As Sam strips down for bed, he notices his brother dressing, boots, jeans, guns and knives. "Dean? What are you doing?" The teen asks puzzled.
"Gotta get my stuff all back to size, too, Sam." Dean grunts before stretching out on the pillow. As Dean lies on the pillow, he thinks back over the week, filing away some things as lessons learned. Maybe sometimes it's okay to ask Bobby for help, and he's pretty sure he has made a real friend of Ellen, even if her daughters crush makes it a little bit awkward. And, maybe, just maybe, he should do a little more research – ask questions first – before assuming that everything he meets with supernatural power should be shot.
In the meantime, as Dean waits for the spell to reverse, he has things to plan. Where he and his brother should go so they don't wear out their welcome at Bobby's after a few days is one. Plus, he needs payback against Sam – not just for laughing at him, dunking him, and calling him catnip, but for hiding what must have gone on between his younger brother and his dad. Maybe some bleach in his shampoo?
Nothing too bad though. Dean will just be glad to be able to do the one thing he knows he does right. Take care of his little brother.
