Tension left Sam and Bree when Dean finally entered the reassuring darkness of the room. Although it might be Dean's room right now, they'd both lived in this motel for years on their own time, and coming in was a little bit like coming home for both of them. Even though these days Sam considered Dean and the Impala to be his home more than any place he'd lived, the impression remained. Helping this impression was the fact that Dean had requested ( it might be more accurate to say demanded ) the room where Krissy's family lived, with her and her younger brother Kael and their mother there at the moment, along with Walt, Sean, and all the others Dean had rescued with Sam.
Dean walked through the room and straight to the bathroom. He lowered his hand to the countertop next to the sink, letting Bree and Sam climb off on their own, as best Sam could with his legs still tangled in webbing. While Bree was supporting Sam and helping him get his bearings, Dean turned on the faucet, starting up a rushing cascade of water from the tap.
They got settled a few inches away from the edge of the sink, near a large razor Dean had left lying on the smooth countertop. Sam sat down with his legs pulled up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.
His eyes were glued to the powerful stream of water as Bree checked his head, tutting at the matted, sticky mess his hair had become. Her voice pulled him away from his trance. "You know, we might have to cut your hair to get this out."
Sam jerked away. "What?! No!" One of his hands went to his hair protectively as he scooted back on the counter for space.
Her mouth twitched, unable to hide her smile. "I'm kidding, Sam. It's not bad at all. We just need some warm water and it'll wash right out, same for your clothes." She moved closer to him again, giving him a wink reminiscent of Dean. "Your brother told me how protective you are of your hair."
Sam huffed in annoyance. It figured Dean would still find a way to tease him about his hair through Bree. "Yeah, well, he's just as protective over his. Always spiking it up like that when he doesn't think I'm watching, then pretending it's all natural."
Her smile covered her face at this. "I'm sure."
A shadow fell over the counter as Dean returned. Sam couldn't help flinching back, but didn't react otherwise. No freezing, no sudden panic attacks this time. With any luck, that was over now.
Please, let it be over. I don't want to be afraid of my own brother. He doesn't deserve that. Everything he's done, he's done for me - it would kill him to see me afraid.
Dean held a washcloth under the rushing water, letting it soak fully before placing it softly next to Sam and Bree. She grabbed a small edge of the immense cloth, stretching it out to Sam. "Here," she said quietly, slowly rubbing it through his hair. The sticky threads began to loosen, coming free in the warm liquid.
While Bree was at work cleaning Sam, Dean took the tiny jacket that had been dropped on his fingers and ran it under the water. He rubbed it clean with gentle care. Sam didn't have as many clothes as Dean did, and there weren't any stores that sold clothing for four inch tall people that weren't toy stores. After Sam's last experience with doll clothes, he never wanted to repeat the experience. They were scratchy, bulky, badly-sized attempts at mimicking what humans wore, using the same cloth as humans used. Now, cloth like that was fine for someone like Dean. His skin was thicker, and not as sensitive. But for someone Sam's size, that type of cloth was cumbersome, abrasive and damaging. The clothing he wore now had been fashioned by his mother before she was murdered, using threads she'd carefully broken down from frayed scraps of cloth and cotton from the beds in the motel to be soft and comfortable. She'd been a master at the job.
Once the jacket was clean, Dean placed it down on a second washcloth to dry, out of their way. Bree was talking quietly to Sam as she rubbed his hair clean, an unhappy, dejected look on his face while she worked. Dean knelt down once he was finished, trying not to loom over them.
"Hey," he said quietly when he saw Sam's eyes raise up to meet his own. "You okay?"
Sam couldn't hold Dean's gaze, his eyes darting away to look at anything else while Bree worked on his hair. The wall, the washcloth... any of it was better than trying to meet those huge, intense eyes above them reflecting nothing but concern and worry down at Sam. He could almost feel Dean's frown at his nervousness. "I... I'm fine. Now, at least." Sam shifted at a pull on his hair from Bree. She apologized as Sam went on. "You really know how to show up at the right time, don't you?"
"Yeah," Dean said softly. "Barely. You almost bought it back there, kid. If that spider got its fangs in you..."
Sam's shoulders slumped down. Stupid size, stupid spider, stupid problems... once again he got himself into a situation that wouldn't have been a problem if he was a human, as he was almost certain Dean was thinking. Sam liked being this size. He liked spending time with his family this size, no matter if it was Walt or Bree or Dean. It was the way he was, but how could he admit that to Dean, after everything he was doing to try and fix him?
Instead of saying any of this, Sam forced himself to meet those worried eyes above, large enough for him to see his own reflection staring back at him. "Thanks," he said quietly, meaning it. "Both of you." He switched his glance to Bree, "I really messed up this time, didn't I?"
Bree shook her head. "How were you supposed to know the spider was there? It wasn't there the other week when Dad ran through the kitchen to find what he could, so it must have just moved in and set up a nest there. An arachnid that size would usually get killed by the staff the moment they found it. Can't have guests thinking they're infested, after all." She stood, helping Sam stand up with her. "Aside from your pants, you're clean. No more sticky mess in your hair." She brushed her hands off, glancing up at Dean for a moment, instinctively making sure he wasn't going to grab either of them. She turned to Sam again. "I should head back, tell Dad you're alright. He'll be tearing up the walls looking for you as soon as he finds someone to watch the kids, after all."
"Okay," Sam said. He watched as Dean stood up, extending a hand for them. It remained steady as they both stepped on. "Did you want me to come back with you?" Sam asked curiously.
Sam couldn't miss the way the hand tensed under him, sending a slight jolt of fear up his spine again.Just Dean... he repeated in his mind, knowing he was safe. No matter how bad the panic was when it hit, he needed to hold on to that thought more than anything, like a life vest in the ocean. Dean's smallest twitch could set Sam off like this.
Bree paid Dean no mind as the hand started to move, taking them over to where the entrance to Krissy's was, next to the dresser. Sam had been shocked when the others living there had decided to let Dean know where they lived. Walt had said it was silly to pretend they didn't exist when Dean clearly already knew about them, not to mention the fact that they hadn't bothered even trying to hide when Sam, Bree and the others had been found.
"Obviously he heard us under there, Sam. You said for a human he's got uncanny hearing, so there's no point in us pretending we aren't here, and then there's the fact that you and I both know he could find the entrance on his own if he tried. Let's give him the respect he deserves for what he's done for us. I've never heard of another human doing more for us than your brother, and for that he deserves our thanks and respect and always will."
The memory of that moment, hearing the respect in Walt's voice, was one of the proudest Sam could remember. His brother, his human brother, had been accepted by his family, and that was one of the most important moments of his life.
Dean's hand hit the ground, jarring Sam from his thoughts. Bree climbed off, stopping Sam from going with her. "Don't worry, Sam. I'll let them know you're okay. I think Dean wanted to spend some time with you, especially after he almost shook the house when he knocked earlier during his search for you."
Sam's brow furrowed. "Knocking?" He twisted around to face Dean. "You knocked on their roof?! What were you thinking? Do you have any idea how nerve-wracking that would be?"
Dean's eyebrows almost lifted off his face. "Hey, I was being polite! It's not like there's any other way for me to get your attention. I can't exactly stroll up to the door like a normal person and say 'hi,' Sam!"
Sam stared down at the ground under his boots. No, not the ground. He was still standing on Dean's hand. Heat rose to his face, knowing every word Dean had said was true.
Bree cleared her throat behind him, drawing both brothers attention back to her. "It doesn't matter. They don't mind, and the kids were thrilled to have an excuse to visit with Dean. You both know Kara would be up here all the time if she could." She looked right at Sam. "I'll see you later, okay?"
With that, she left, slipping back into the hidden entrance in the wall. Dean paid it no mind as usual. He was careful not to stare after them now, once he'd realized how nervous he could make the little people with a simple glance. Sam was very proud of the way Dean had adapted to interacting with people so much smaller than himself.
Once Bree was gone, Sam turned back to Dean. "So, you were searching for me?" he asked. Aside from the fact it had been damn good timing on Dean's part to search for him today of all days, Sam was curious what had brought it on. During the last two months at the motel, Dean had let Sam come visiting on his own, not searching once for any of the tiny people that he knew were around. He did have to keep a sharp eye out at all times, with Kara trying to run off and visit whenever she could. She was so attached to Dean that Sam worried how she'd react when they left the motel, as they would have too eventually. Dean's credit card scams would only go so far before the motel owner got suspicious.
Dean lifted the hand from the floor, standing back up. Sam was forced to grab onto the thumb next to him to keep his balance, not expecting the sudden movement. "Of course I was! Can't have you spending today alone, after all." Before Sam could ask what he meant, Dean went on, lowering his hand to the table, "And what was that all about, anyway? Going to the kitchen alone with your arm still recovering? Sam, you of all people should know if you need anything, you don't need to put yourself at risk for it. I'm always here for you."
At this, Sam felt his shoulders slump down. The feeling of neediness and reliance came crashing back down on him, built up to an all new high after the last two months with his arm out of commission. The arm was only now strong enough to use on a day-to-day basis. "I just..." he stepped down onto the tabletop. "I wish I could do things for myself again. I keep feeling like everyone considers me dependent on you, and I wanted to prove I can do things for myself. Alone." He practically collapsed on one of the thick books Dean had lying scattered about from a bit of research he'd been doing earlier in the month. There had been a few days when he'd suspected a haunting in one of the local schools.
Dean grabbed his duffel from by the bed, dropping it next to his chair as he sat down. "Sam, is that really how you feel?" he asked softly, leaning down and resting his head on his crossed arms so he didn't overshadow his little brother.
Sam was glad for the consideration. He gave his arms a small shrug. "Not with Walt or Bree maybe, because they understand us a little better. But the others... sure. I catch them sending me looks all the time. Sam, the human freak. Can't even take care of himself." His eyes scrunched shut, upset by the thought.
A gentle weight smoothed down his arm. Sam peeked an eye open, realizing Dean was trying his best to offer support. "Sam, you know what they think of you doesn't matter, right? All that's important is how you feel," the finger moved, lightly tapping Sam on his chest, "in here. You've got people who care about you no matter what."
Sam let out a huff. "Maybe." It matters to me, anyway. He looked up, trying to focus on something for a distraction. "What brought on the search for me, anyway? Not that I don't appreciate your flawless timing."
"Don't you remember what day it is?" Dean asked, straightening in his seat. A grin covered his face.
Sam cast his mind back, trying to remember what day it was, or even what month. He almost never bothered keeping track of the months anymore, or the dates. Naming them was another human convention that was useless to people like Sam. They had no need to time their lives - no work week to live by, no day of 'rest,' no holidays... nothing. Just survival.
Dean's face fell at Sam's confusion. It was clear this wasn't how he'd expected any of this to go. "Sam," Dean said, leaning closer. His voice was softer than Sam had ever heard it. "It's May 2nd. Your birthday."
"Birthday..." Sam mumbled, almost to himself. He'd forgotten. "It's my birthday..." He looked up at Dean. "That means... I'm 24 now." His eyes fell to his hands, resting on his legs. So small compared to any of the items sitting around him... He clenched his hands into fists. "It's almost been 14 years I've been like this... most of it without you..."
Dean reached out a cautious hand to Sam, gently touching the tiny fists with a light finger. "But I'm here now, Sammy, and I'll always be here for you, no matter our size." After that, Dean sat up, clapping his hands together. "Now! I don't know about you, but today's a day for us to celebrate, and I know exactly how to start."
Aside from a small flinch of surprise at Dean's clap, Sam stayed still at the giant hunter's movement. After spending so much time among people his own size, being with Dean was almost overpowering. He'd get used to it again. He had to.
"What do you mean?" he asked curiously, focusing on that. He hadn't had a birthday since he turned ten, and Dean had been the only one that remembered that time. John had been too busy with a case to bother with his sons, only stopping in the motel for ammo and to eat. Sam's mouth twitched into a smile at the memory. Dean had always tried so hard to get Sam's mind off their dad being gone.
He wondered what Dean had come up with. The glint in his brother's eyes showed Sam how excited Dean was for this moment, now that they were past the initial terror of the day.
Dean leaned down, digging something out of his duffel bag. Sam was drawn to his feet as Dean placed a newspaper-wrapped box directly in front of him, his eyes as round and hopeful as they'd ever been when he looked up at Sam. Sam took a few steps forward as the hand lifted away, making room for him.
"Dean... you didn't have to do this..." Sam said, turning bright red as he realized if today was his birthday, he'd missed Dean's completely months ago. "I... I can't do anything like this for you..."
Dean's eyes softened. "Sam, you don't have to. You've done enough just by being here with me. You have..." his voice choked up on his words for a second. Dean cleared his throat loudly, blinking away shining eyes. "You have no idea how hard it was for me, thinking you were gone. Let me at least do this for you, please?"
The emotion in Dean's voice caught Sam off guard. He turned to his present, letting himself smile at last. The box was a bit bigger than his bed, and reached Sam's shoulders in height. "What the hell is it?"
He was nudged forward by a knuckle. "Open it and find out!" Dean's voice was eager.
Sam caught his balance, sending Dean a fake glare. But he grabbed his knife, sizing up the huge present. Strips of tape held the edges shut with the way the thick newspaper was clumsily folded around the box, keeping Dean's attempt at a wrap job together. Sam sent up Dean a confident grin before he tackled the paper, slicing through it with ease with his sharp blade.
Dean watched the tiny hunter take on the box, smiling all the while. He'd been planning this moment for over a month now, ever since he realized he knew exactly what Sam would want, and it was something Dean would have no problem obtaining for him.
He hadn't been kidding when he'd told Sam it meant more just having Sam around than any gift could ever do. Even the simple, everyday moments, like having Sam sit on his shoulder, leaning casually back against his neck, gave him a feeling of security and peace he hadn't had since childhood. The little hunter standing in front of Dean was more important than any other person in his life, and all he wanted was to see Sam happy and healthy.
It warmed his heart to see the arm was almost completely healed. Sam hadn't once flinched in pain since having the sling cut off by Bree, and he could probably take off the splint as well. Dean had hated seeing that injury on Sam, knowing how crippling it could be to lose the ability to climb while so small. Without Dean or his family, that kind of injury could have killed Sam simply because he wouldn't be able to go out and find food, or if he did, he would be far slower at escaping if he was seen. Sure, Sam could climb and get around with the broken arm, but even he admitted it was dangerous to try, and that had been while surrounded by friendly humans and helped by Walt.
Dean forced those thoughts away as Sam finally managed to peel the newspaper off, revealing the plain white box that contained his present within. A strip of tape held the top shut, and was summarily sliced open by Sam's small blade as well. With one last glance back at Dean, Sam tugged at the top, pulling it out with his limited body strength.
The moment the box was open, Sam hesitated. He stared into it, then glanced back at Dean in disbelief. "Is this... is this what I think it is?" Sam asked, his small voice trembling.
He backed away as Dean's hand reached over his head, gathering up the small present out of the box. "You bet it is," Dean said, grinning. He gently placed the desk next to Sam, followed by the matching chair he'd gotten to go with it. He was thrilled to see the size was perfect next to Sam, just the way he'd hoped.
Sam walked around it, brushing his hand over the edges. Intricate carvings lined the sides, almost fine enough to seem like they'd been made for him. He traced them with a curious finger before bending down and examining the drawers set into the wood.
Dean was equally fascinated, but by the sight of his brother's hands. They were so small. Although it was amazing for him to see them in action, he tried to never stare, knowing it made Sam self-conscious. With Sam so absorbed by his desk right now, Dean let himself indulge his curiosity.
Sam glanced up at him from his study of the craftsmanship. "Dean, this is..." he put both hands flat on the desk, "this is amazing!How... where did you get this from?"
"Well, since we were here for so long, I found a craftsman in town that specialized in dollhouse furniture. I talked to him one day when I was out and found he can make furniture that rivals what humans have." Reaching over, Dean stroked a finger down the side of the desk opposite of Sam. "After hearing what he had to offer, I couldn't pass it up, especially since I have quite a few birthdays to make up for over here. I mean, I missed thirteen birthdays. I can't let another one pass me by, not with you here with me now."
Dean pushed the little chair closer to the desk. "Well? You gonna try it out? I need to see if we got the size right for you, after all!"
The grin on Sam's face was a mile wide at this point. He grabbed the chair, pulling it up to the desk so he could sit down. Dean felt himself choking up at the sight of his brother looking normal sized next to something at last. Sam stretched his arms over the desk, seeing how it felt to use a desk made for him at last. All this time, he'd always used books to sit on, or his lap to write in his journal. He traced his hands over the armrests and the soft seat cushion. "It's... it's perfect, Dean." Blinking, he glanced up at his big brother. "I've never... it's been so long since I've been able to sit like this."
Dean's grin matched Sam's. "Check out the drawers," he prompted, motioning at the drawers lining the sides and the thin drawer across the top.
Sam did a double take, eyeing Dean up with a bit of suspicion. "Drawers?" he asked, turning to look at the desk again. His small hands pulled open the top drawer eagerly, pausing in surprise when he saw what was inside. "Whoa..." he said in amazement, reaching in. He pulled out a length of mechanical pencil lead, a little thicker and longer than a standard pencil would be to Dean in his hands.
Dean motioned at it. "I figured your piece of lead might be getting a little small at this point, so it couldn't hurt to stock you up with more. You can sharpen them with your knife, and there should be enough there to hold you over for a good long time. Plus, I cut up an eraser, figured a few bits like that couldn't hurt."
Sam stopped rubbing his hand up and down the smooth side. "Yeah, that'll definitely work." He carefully put the lead back in the drawer, running his fingers over the two dozen that filled the drawer, along with the six rubber bits. Pushing it in, he pulled open the next, staring down in surprise at the paper that filled it in a neat stack, cut into what would be perfect 8x11's at Sam's scale. The same was found in the next, and on the opposite side there was one empty drawer (for storage, according to Dean, since he assumed Sam would need somewhere to put the papers after he'd filled them), and in the last drawer...
Sam pulled out the small book, running his fingers over the straight, neat pages. "Is this what I think it is?" he asked quietly. It was smaller than his own journal, but clearly made along the same lines, full of blank, white pages with gold trim waiting to be filled. He flipped through the book, amazed by the sight. Even the cover was a soft, durable leather instead of the thicker, papery texture of his first journal. This one was made to last.
At this sight, Sam's eyes teared up as he held it to his chest. "This is... Dean, this is too much..."
After years of living like this, the only things he'd ever received had been necessities. Anything else, he was expected to go out and find on his own like everyone else. Even Mallory had made expeditions of her own, going to gather tattered scraps of cloth from empty rooms. At her petite three inches, it hadn't been safe for her to go out often, and Walt was very protective of his small wife. He'd been powerless in front of her every time, her soft voice overpowering every one of his objections.
Dean gave Sam a lopsided smirk, reaching forward to brush his finger against the binding. "Sam... I know how much your journal means to you, and how much it hurts to see it with the pages ripped inside. After everything you've been through, I wanted to help make it right again, even just a little."
Sam hugged the small book to his chest. "...Thanks," he managed softly, barely loud enough for Dean to hear.
Dean straightened in his seat. "So, how about some cake?" he asked gamely.
Sam blinked up at him, still glassy eyed. "Cake?" he asked in confusion.
Dean put his hands flat on the table, pushing the chair out. "Yep, cake. Or... you could say 'mini-cupcakes,' but at your size they'll be more like a nice big cake for your birthday." He went over to the mini fridge in the room, grabbing the container of cupcakes he'd bought.
Coming back over to Sam, he set down one of the cupcakes next to the small hunter and his desk. A candle went on top, and as Dean lit it with his silver lighter, Sam inched closer, staring wide-eyed at the dessert. The tiny cupcake was probably only two inches tall, with another inch on top of icing. Barely a bite for Dean, but considering Sam was only four inches tall, the little pastry could feed Sam's entire family with leftovers for the week.
As the flickering candlelight lit up Sam's face, Dean leaned in, gently touching his shoulder.
"Happy birthday, Sammy."
I hope everyone likes Sammy's present!
Next chapter arrives 8/28