R&R (Revelations and Realisations) 1/?
So, this is the WIP sequel to "Reset".
The first time it happened, Dean had been sick.
The terrifying thing about sick children is they can get very very sick very very fast. Dean went from absolutely fine at bedtime to shaking Sam's arm at 3 AM, sweat-soaked and red-faced with fever.
But it was the whined words, making him sound much younger than his physical 7 years, that ripped at Sam's heart.
"I don' feel so good, Daddy."
Sam abandoned his bed and soon Dean was settled in his arms on the couch. The boy had a fever of 102 but was responding to the medication and was dozing fitfully while Sam called the pediatrician on call at the medical centre.
No, Dean hadn't thrown up. No, Dean wasn't complaining of a sore throat. No, he wasn't complaining of a stiff neck. Yes, he was very lethargic. Yes, he was acting out of sorts. Yes, he was responding to the medication.
Reassured that Dean would be okay and would not need to be seen unless the fever spiked again or he started complaining of a stiff neck or bad headache, Sam hung up the phone and just lay there on the couch, cradling the precious bundle in his arms.
He was nearly asleep when it finally registered what Dean had called him in the throes of his illness.
Daddy.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
January 24, 2003 was a normal Friday. Sam and Dean got up, had breakfast, and Sam took care of the household tasks while Dean fired up the computer and got his lessons for the day.
Sam came back in and smoothed Dean's hair down, pressing a gentle kiss to the part he'd made in the ash-blond hair. "Happy birthday, kiddo."
"You remembered," Dean whispered, his eyes huge as he turned to look at Sam.
"Yeah -- there's been enough forgetting important days to you. Only thing I'm strugglin' with now is, are you 24 or are you 8?"
Dean considered that for a moment, then smiled a freckled, dimpled smile that revealed the missing front left tooth and the ridges of the permanent one that was growing in. "I'm 8," he announced.
Sam beamed, then cupped the back of his head. "I'll be home at noon, okay?"
"Okay," Dean said, hugging him again. "See you then."
Sam opened the door and smiled as Jessica Moore walked in. "He's already got his lesson plans and is ready to work -- and what have you got there?"
Jessica smiled at him. "Red Velvet cupcakes. I always have them on my birthday. And since it's Dean's birthday, too..."
Sam smiled and nodded. "Great! Oh, and happy birthday. I gotta run. Deanie, be good for Jess, okay?"
"Sure will! Bye, Dad!"
Sam blinked, a giddy smile spreading as he left, dashing to class.
The smile didn't fade all day.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sam took Dean out for dinner and gave him his presents -- a laptop of his own and an ipod loaded with songs that were on the tapes in the Impala and a bunch of others in similar styles. Dean was in heaven, and was high off the music before they got home.
Sam had to confiscate the ipod until Dean was bathed, teeth brushed, and in bed. He tucked him in and read to him -- a routine they'd started that first night when he had arrived at the CPS office to find a frightened, silent boy waiting for him. Tonight it was chapter 3 of "The Silver Chair".
A kiss to the forehead of the half-asleep child, and Sam made his way down the stairs to his office to work on his homework. He was nearly there when the front door creaked open.
Slowly moving, Sam grabbed one of the guns hidden around the apartment and sidled into the living room. He flicked the light switch and raised the gun in one swift motion -- and froze as he saw the man who had broken into their home.
"Dad?"
The first time it happened, Dean had been sick.
The terrifying thing about sick children is they can get very very sick very very fast. Dean went from absolutely fine at bedtime to shaking Sam's arm at 3 AM, sweat-soaked and red-faced with fever.
But it was the whined words, making him sound much younger than his physical 7 years, that ripped at Sam's heart.
"I don' feel so good, Daddy."
Sam abandoned his bed and soon Dean was settled in his arms on the couch. The boy had a fever of 102 but was responding to the medication and was dozing fitfully while Sam called the pediatrician on call at the medical centre.
No, Dean hadn't thrown up. No, Dean wasn't complaining of a sore throat. No, he wasn't complaining of a stiff neck. Yes, he was very lethargic. Yes, he was acting out of sorts. Yes, he was responding to the medication.
Reassured that Dean would be okay and would not need to be seen unless the fever spiked again or he started complaining of a stiff neck or bad headache, Sam hung up the phone and just lay there on the couch, cradling the precious bundle in his arms.
He was nearly asleep when it finally registered what Dean had called him in the throes of his illness.
Daddy.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
January 24, 2003 was a normal Friday. Sam and Dean got up, had breakfast, and Sam took care of the household tasks while Dean fired up the computer and got his lessons for the day.
Sam came back in and smoothed Dean's hair down, pressing a gentle kiss to the part he'd made in the ash-blond hair. "Happy birthday, kiddo."
"You remembered," Dean whispered, his eyes huge as he turned to look at Sam.
"Yeah -- there's been enough forgetting important days to you. Only thing I'm strugglin' with now is, are you 24 or are you 8?"
Dean considered that for a moment, then smiled a freckled, dimpled smile that revealed the missing front left tooth and the ridges of the permanent one that was growing in. "I'm 8," he announced.
Sam beamed, then cupped the back of his head. "I'll be home at noon, okay?"
"Okay," Dean said, hugging him again. "See you then."
Sam opened the door and smiled as Jessica Moore walked in. "He's already got his lesson plans and is ready to work -- and what have you got there?"
Jessica smiled at him. "Red Velvet cupcakes. I always have them on my birthday. And since it's Dean's birthday, too..."
Sam smiled and nodded. "Great! Oh, and happy birthday. I gotta run. Deanie, be good for Jess, okay?"
"Sure will! Bye, Dad!"
Sam blinked, a giddy smile spreading as he left, dashing to class.
The smile didn't fade all day.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sam took Dean out for dinner and gave him his presents -- a laptop of his own and an ipod loaded with songs that were on the tapes in the Impala and a bunch of others in similar styles. Dean was in heaven, and was high off the music before they got home.
Sam had to confiscate the ipod until Dean was bathed, teeth brushed, and in bed. He tucked him in and read to him -- a routine they'd started that first night when he had arrived at the CPS office to find a frightened, silent boy waiting for him. Tonight it was chapter 3 of "The Silver Chair".
A kiss to the forehead of the half-asleep child, and Sam made his way down the stairs to his office to work on his homework. He was nearly there when the front door creaked open.
Slowly moving, Sam grabbed one of the guns hidden around the apartment and sidled into the living room. He flicked the light switch and raised the gun in one swift motion -- and froze as he saw the man who had broken into their home.
"Dad?"