Fic: If I Have Freedom (13/15)
Chapter XII: Beauty Is Truth
Chapter XIII: Dreams of My Childhood
"There anything you want to do, Sammy?"
Sam looked up from his pancakes.
It had been a week since he'd been taken by Samuel, and he was feeling much better. The first couple of days had been the hardest: he'd been too weak to move, except when Hell had started in his head, too weak to do anything other than lie in bed or sit on Dean's knee and let his big brother take care of him.
They'd stayed at the motel for a few days to give Sam the chance to recover a little before making the drive to Bobby's. Sam had spent most of it dozing in the front seat - and it had felt good to be able to stretch his legs in the car, although he'd never admit that to Dean. At some point the memories had hit again and Dean had pulled over and hugged and rocked him through the tears. Sam had clutched at Dean desperately, burrowing into his arms, until it had ended and he'd fallen into an exhausted, mercifully dreamless sleep, waking up to find himself in his bed at Bobby's with Dean sitting on the covers next to him cleaning his guns.
As his body grew stronger the times when his memories overwhelmed him became more frequent, although they weren't as relentless as they had been in the beginning, but now Sam was managing to hold them off long enough to get to Dean. Dean was never very far: usually he was in the same room, and when he wasn't, he made sure Sam knew where he was.
Now Sam was demolishing a pile of pancakes while Dean watched with an amused smile. And, without warning, asked Sam that question.
"What're you talking about?"
"You know… anything you wanted to do when you were four that you didn't get to do? We can do it now."
Sam, touched more than he wanted to admit, concentrated on his pancakes for a couple of minutes while he thought about it.
"Can we go to the museum?" he asked at last, raising hopeful eyes to Dean's.
Dean laughed. "Should've known you'd want something like that, geek boy… Which one did you have in mind?"
Sam shrugged; it wasn't so much about the museum as it was about going there with his big brother. "There's one in Sioux Falls."
"Isn't he adorable?"
Dean heard the whisper behind him and grinned. He knew they had to be making a picture, walking through the gallery with Sam's small hand in his. Silly as it was, it actually felt good to do something this normal. All that would have been needed to make it Winchester-normal was for Sam to start lecturing him about what they were seeing - but Sam, aware that four-year-old children didn't usually know the origins of Native American wood carvings, was keeping his peace. Dean wasn't too upset about that: his brother's monologues were one thing he didn't really miss.
Well… Not much. Remembering that morning before breakfast, Sammy sobbing in his arms like his heart was breaking, Dean had to admit that there were worse things than Sam's lecturing.
He could tell it had been a bad one that morning. Sam had recovered quickly enough when it had been over, sliding off Dean's lap and shooting him an apologetic smile. But there had been something in his eyes, something that, even now, had not quite left them. Dean supposed that with over a hundred and eighty years' worth of torture to choose from, there would always be the possibility that Sam's mind would throw up some new memory more horrific than anything it had earlier, but…
But still. There had been that look in Sam's eyes, and Dean had been willing to do anything to get rid of it.
Which was why they were now at the museum.
It had been fun so far. There had been no flashbacks and Sam was obviously enjoying himself, which made Dean feel all kinds of awesome. Even though he wasn't holding forth the way he normally might have done, he hadn't been able to resist supplying Dean with the occasional odd bit of lore about something they saw - and Dean had to admit that some of it was interesting.
Just to make the day even more perfect, there were a couple of hot young schoolteachers right behind them with their class, and they'd spent most of the past hour commenting, in what they clearly thought were inaudible whispers, about the sight Sam and Dean made. Dean had a feeling he might just get that date.
They came to a rack of tiny wax and terracotta figures. The top shelf was well above Sam's head: Dean grabbed him under the arms and lifted him to look.
"Well?" Dean asked. "Anything exciting you, geek boy?"
Sam pointed at one of the figures.
"That's fake."
"Yeah?" They all looked the same to Dean. "How can you tell?"
"You see where it's got those little flattened bits on either side?"
"Probably got bumped around a bit."
"Would've chipped the front and back, too, then. That's from where someone's filed it down to hide the seam. Probably took the original and made a cast of it."
Dean grinned. "You want to be curator of a museum when you grow up, Sammy?"
"Shut up."
Dean laughed and lowered Sam to the ground.
"I'm just saying, little dude… You'd be awesome. You already have the geek thing down."
"Watch who you're calling little," Sam growled.
Dean knelt. And grinned at the fact that, even down on his knees, he had a good few inches on Sammy.
"I'm not the one who had to be lifted to see what was in the top rack."
"Just you wait. We both know that you're going back to being the shortest of the Winchester men as soon as this is over. How does that feel again, Dean?"
"Keep talking, Sam. I might just tell Gabriel to leave you like this."
"Even if you do, I'll still age normally. And I'll still be taller than you in the end."
"Take a while, though, squirt. You didn't hit your growth spurt till you were… what, fifteen? And even then it took a while to get from four foot nothing to Gigantor."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean…"
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw one of the teachers eyeing them as though wondering whether to approach. It wasn't that he particularly wanted to flirt with her, and he definitely couldn't go on dates while Sam was like this. But he had to take advantage of Sam's baby cuteness at least once. He wasn't letting this end without getting some blackmail material out of it, and he sure as hell couldn't give Sam grief over the times he'd cried himself out in Dean's arms, so that left…
Dean swept his arms around Sam and stood. Sam squirmed a little. "Dean?"
"Come on, kiddo. Let's go talk to the nice lady."
"Dean!"
"Just play along, Sammy. I've got this covered."
Of course he could let Sam walk, but Dean knew from years of experience with a very young Sam that if he held his brother and rubbed his head and back a little, he'd get drowsy, and nothing was more likely to get a girl talking than the sight of Sam blinking sleepily up at her from Dean's arms. More to the point, if Sam was sleepy, he was less likely to get bored and decide to amuse himself by saying something that would drop Dean right in it.
Dean turned his back to the school group, talking nonsense to Sam in low, soothing murmurs as he ran one hand lightly up and down his spine.
"Dean," Sam protested. "Not fair." But he already sounded more peaceful than he had all day. Dean rubbed his back a little more, until Sam gave in and dropped his head onto Dean's shoulder. The movement was accompanied by a tiny fist in Dean's ribs, and damn but Sammy still packed a punch.
"Nice," Dean gasped. "I should just drop you, bitch." The only answer he got was a tired chuckle. For a moment he stood there listening to his brother's breathing even out. Then, "Sammy?"
"Hmmm?"
"Don't fall asleep, OK? I need you a little bit awake for this."
"I hate you."
"I know. Come on, let's go talk to her."
Dean turned and found the woman still watching them. He gave her the most charming smile she could. She took that as an invitation to walk over to him.
"Hi!" she said brightly. "You - you have an adorable son."
"Yeah, he's cute, isn't he?" Dean said, praying that Sam wouldn't decide to interfere.
"What's his name?"
"Sam."
Dean frowned as soon as he'd said it. He'd been intending to say 'Sammy', just to bug his little brother, but 'Sam' had slipped out. On the whole he was glad: since the kid's broody adolescence, Dean and their father had been the only ones from whom he would tolerate 'Sammy', and Dean discovered that he kind of wanted to keep it that way.
"You seem to have a lot of kids of your own," he said lightly to cover his confusion, nodding at the children strung around the room in twos and threes looking at the exhibits.
She laughed. "I love my job. Most of the time. Are you from around here?"
"No, we're from out of state. Sam and I are here visiting my uncle."
"Oh! Are you going to be in town long?"
"Couple of weeks, I guess. Then we'll have to hit the road… I have a job to get back to. And Sammy needs to start kindergarten soon." Dean heard Sam choke at that and patted his head in unspoken contrition.
"Yes, of course." The woman smiled at Sam, genuine friendliness in her face, and Dean found himself watching her approvingly. It had been far too long since Sam had had anyone other than Dean and Bobby look like they cared about him as anything other than a hunter or a Vessel or the Boy King. "Are you looking forward to starting school, Sam?"
Sam nodded, saying nothing. Dean felt a stab of concern - had this been a mistake? Women nearly always got all maternal with Sam and he'd never had any trouble getting chatty.
"Hey, kiddo, you OK?" he asked.
"Maybe he's a little nervous about the idea of school?" the woman suggested. "Children often are."
"Maybe," Dean said, tightening his arms imperceptibly. He felt Sam relax a little. "Nothing to be afraid of, Sammy. Nothing's going to hurt you." His tone said what his words couldn't, and Sam relaxed some more. "That's my boy."
"It would help if you or his mother were to take him there a few times before he actually starts. It'll get him used to - I'm so sorry, did I say something wrong?"
Sam, with a strangled sound, had buried his head in Dean's shoulder and wrapped little arms around his neck.
Crap.
Bloody freaking HELL.
I should've known something like this would happen.
"No, he's just… it's just…" Dean forced himself to smile at the woman: she'd been trying to be helpful and it wasn't her fault. If anything, it was his. "Sammy's mother died a while ago."
"Oh!" She looked stricken. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize…"
"Don't worry about it," Dean assured her. "You couldn't have known. OK, kiddo, it's OK. I've got you." He turned, looking for an exit. There was a door to their left, a sign above it saying it led to the garden and museum restaurant. "Ummm… I think I'd better take him out and settle him down. It was great meeting you."
"Of course. I - I'm so sorry."
"Not your fault," Dean said, making for the door. "I really should get him outside, though. I'll see you around."
He knew he hadn't been particularly polite, but right then he could only focus on one thing, and that was Sammy.
"I'm so sorry, Sammy," he said softly as they got out into the fresh air. "I shouldn't have tried that stupid stunt." Sam said nothing. "Sammy? You think you can look at me?" Sam raised his head. He was dry-eyed, but he looked miserable. "What's wrong, Sam?"
"You want her back?"
Dean felt his heart thudding suddenly, impossibly loudly in his chest. He had a feeling that this was going to be one of the most important conversations he'd have with Sam ever.
He carried his little brother to a rustic bench set under a tree and sat down. Sam stayed in his lap, even when he loosened his arms.
"Can't do that, Sammy," Dean said gently. "Even if you do know how, we can't do it. She's at peace and we need to accept it and let her go. We need to stop disturbing the natural order, remember?"
"Well, but it won't be that - exactly - I mean - you can trade."
"Trade? What're you talking about?"
"You can trade the living person closest to you for somebody you… you want back. And I shouldn't really be here either. I should've died at Cold Oaks or stayed in the Cage. So the natural order's already disturbed. It might not make much difference if you disturb it with her instead of me."
"I can get Mom back if I trade in the living person closest to me to take her place?" Dean asked, wanting to make sure he'd understood right.
Sam nodded.
"And that would be you. So I can get Mom back by trading you for her, and you're saying it's OK because you being back is disrupting things anyway."
Sam nodded again.
"Are you some kind of idiot, Sam?" Sam stared. "No, really," Dean fumed. "What, you think this was all a game? I moved heaven and earth and worked for demons and did every freaking thing I could think of to get you back! I thought we already talked about this."
"But -"
"What was that lecture you gave me after I made the deal? Something about how I had no right to put you through the pain of having me die for you? So now it's OK for you to do that to Mom? Swear to God, Sam, if you weren't so freaking little I'd beat the living daylights out of you for this."
"But -"
"No, OK? Death was right. We need to stop messing with these things. Mom's at peace. Dad's at peace. I have my brother back, even if his time downstairs seems to have fried his brains. That's all I need."
Sam huffed out a breath. "You sure?"
"Look at me, Sam." Sam looked up reluctantly. Dean met his brother's eyes, letting Sam read all the emotion that he would never admit to - except when his little brother needed it. "You still think I'd trade you for anything?" Sam flushed, and Dean shook his head. "You're a moron, Sam. I don't want to hear about this again, got that?" Dean waited long enough for Sam's mumbled acknowledgement before he said, "Come on, we've still not seen the south wing."
Chapter XIV: Let the Screaming Echoes Rest