Chapter 15: Don't Go Crying Little Boy

AN1: Yay! Here it is! So, much earlier than last time but not as early as I was hoping. I. Just. Couldn't. Write. It. It took me forever to get this out. It's hard now that we're getting close to the end because I don't really want it to end, ya know? Anyways, I'm pretty sure you guys will like this one. So ENJOY and don't forget to R&R!

-GNS-

Here's what I know.

In the couple of days that Sam hasn't been—that Sam's been gone, I've tried my best to piece together exactly what it was that was happening here. Of course, when caring for a small child you could expect there was quite a few setbacks. So, though my understanding of the situation is greatly limited, I think I have a pretty good grasp on it all.

First, from what I've observed and what little Sam has told me about what he remembers, Sam has not, in fact, been changed into a ten year old. No, I'm pretty sure Sam is stuck somewhere in the thick of 1993.

Second, the chances of it being an angle who pulled this stunt are pretty slim. Considering we've both been trying our bests to keep from ruffling any feathers lately. That leaves a very small number of things left that could have done this, my best bet would be a god of some sort.

Third, whatever it was that did this, didn't do it just for kicks. Unless it was Gabriel that did this, but he's dead… right? They had a reason for it, and I'm starting to think that reason has something to do with how me and Sam have been treating each other lately.

Glancing down at the sparsely filled page of notes in front of me, I scowled. For hours I had dug around in old lore books and on the web looking for something to help me figure out how to fix it all. Nothing, nada, zilch, zero. Suddenly the thought occurred to me that maybe I should look in Dad's journal to see if he had actually written anything about the event. I brought the palm of my hand against my forehead with a soft smack. Of course. I had only just begun to consider it because of the fact that I had read the journal over a thousand times. But maybe there was something, some detail that I had missed before.

"Sammy!" I called, turning over my shoulder to see the boy criss-cross on his bed where he had been eating his pizza, eyes transfixed on some television show, dinner lying abandoned on the sheets next to him. He snapped up to look at me suddenly.

"Yeah?" He asked, wide, owlish gaze blinking up at me.

"What was the exact date that you, ya know?" I said, spinning back around in my seat and flipping open Dad's journal.

"May 26th…" He said, confused tone sneaking into his voice, "why?"

"Give me a second…" I sighed, turning pages quickly.

There. I planted my finger firmly onto the page. I recognized it as one I usually skimmed over because it didn't really have any useful information in it. Until now.

S. Wesson showed up today. It read. He doesn't want me to know who he is, but I'm not blind. He's been out for a few hours, I don't know if he's left or not. I'm hoping it's the second one.

Quickly I flip the page to the next day, a new entry. Skimming it I realize that I had mistook it to be a story about little Sam all along, reading it now I know it isn't.

Sam told Dean his secret today. I'm glad, it was eating the kid up inside wondering what was happening.

Then, at the bottom of the page are phrases scrawled in messy script. Hebe, forgiveness and lesson were among the few that stood out. I drug the laptop back in front of me, fingers clacking against the keys.

"Dean?" Sammy called from across the room, "did you find something?"

"Something?" I asked, loading a page of the goddess up on my screen, "Dude… I found everything!"

Hours ticked by and the clock changed from six to seven to eight at night. My eyes were red and dry from staring at the computer screen. Sam had remained a constant presence over my shoulder or on my side throughout the process. From what we figured the goddess sent Sam back to 1993 because he wanted forgiveness from something. The lesson that had been brought up, though, we had no clue.

"Hey," I sighed, nudging the small boy next to me gently with my elbow, "you gonna turn in for the night?"

"It's eight." Sam deadpanned, arms crossed and face set with a look of displeasure.

"Yeah and you're ten, go get some sleep kiddo." I replied, gently. Thinking the conversation was over I turned back to my work.

"Ten Dean, not five. I don't even have to be anywhere!" Sammy huffed, keeping his ground. "I can help!"

"Yeah, you're doing a real good job helping from where you're sitting looking over my shoulder." I joke, mouth twitching up into a smirk. From the glare I got I let my smile drop.

"That's because you didn't even move to let me! Just 'cause I'm not him doesn't mean I'm not useful, Dean!" My stomach falls a little bit as I watch Sam's eyes shift to avoid my own, "Just 'cause I'm a kid doesn't mean I'm that little of a kid." He whispers. His now soft voice a sharp contrast to only seconds before.

"It's not that you're not him Sam, it's 'cause you're just a kid. It has nothing to do with you not being him. I want you to be healthy and happy and all that jazz. You won't be any of that if you don't get your beauty sleep, princess." I explain, expression going soft.

"You do this to the other me, too, right?" Sam says instead.

The question startles me, "what do you mean?"

"I mean, you talk down to him, or expect less of him than he actually is, or even see him as a stupid kid."

"You're my little brother Sam, of course I'm always gonna see you as that little kid, but—" I start.

"But I'm not. One day you're going to have to realize that I'm gonna grow up, and I won't always be that perfect, angle faced little boy that you think I am. Or whatever it is that you think I am. People change, they grow, they mature, whatever. Ten isn't five and thirty isn't fifteen. It's just the facts, Dean." Sam is letting his arms rest at his side, and he reaches up to swipe the stray hairs out of his face.

"I know that, I do." I try to tell him.

"Really?" He says, voice low and eyes sad. He heads across the room a few paces before reaching underneath the corner of his mattress for something I can't see. Slowly, he pulls out a book. A journal. Sam's journal, but not this Sam, my Sam.

He sets it down on the table with a solid thud. For some reason it seems final.

"I found this. I read it. Tell me he doesn't seem to think it's the same way I'm saying it is." Then he stands there, silent, as I go to pick up the book with shaky hands.

"How much of this did you read?" I ask, before opening it. Knowing very well what secrets could be inside.

"Most, not all. I don't think I could ever read some of the things in there." Sam's eyes say everything I need to know. Hell.

I flip open the first page. It talks about Jess. The next few are hunts or visions that Sam had those first few years. Cold oak, the deal. I stop on the mystery spot. Pages and pages dedicated to it. It's a list, I realize quickly. It doesn't make that much sense but I decipher its meaning quickly.

Gunshot,choaking,electrocution,poison,bowandarrow,hitbycar,brokeneck,piano and on and on and on. I feel tears prick at the corner of my eyes as I read. This was how I died. Every time. This was how it happened.

I keep flipping. Pages on while I was in hell, pages on heaven, pages on how much he hates himself.

Pages on his own Hell. I don't read it. Like little Sammy said, some things you could never really read.

Pages on the devil.

Pages on me in purgatory.

Pages on that girl.

Pages on how he just doesn't understand what it is that I want from him anymore.

Pages on how he doesn't know if he can live a day without me, but how living with me is slowly killing him.

"I'm sorry," I sob, fighting back the tears in vain, "I'm sorry."

Sam stands there, silent, never saying a word. Slowly he brings his hand up to my shoulder, placing it there, letting it rest against my body shaking with the force of the sobbing.

"He doesn't hate you," he says, finally, voice soft. "He doesn't hate you like I don't hate you. We never could."

I grab him then, holding him close to my chest, my arms wrapped around his small frame in a way they haven't fit around him in the longest time.

"I know." I tell him, "I know."

-GNS-

AN2: I actually started off really reluctant to write this chapter, could you tell by the writing? I just felt that each chapter I write it gets us closer and closer to the end… THAT'S HARD FOR ME TO HANDLE. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it :) Also, once again I'd like to give a special thanks to all of you who are sticking with this story and who have commented on the last chapter :) Including: Nalana88, Sara.B, Eruthiawen Luin, sunshine102897, guest, and . Thanks so much guys! I really love hearing from you, it makes my day :)